My Son Thought I Didn’t Know He Was Stealing My House. I Transferred The Deed At 3AM…

Frank also gave me a recording device that looked like a pen.

“Keep this in your pocket,”

he said.

For 2 weeks I watched and recorded, and what I found broke something in me. On camera, when I was at the library, Marcus and Jennifer went through my office systematically.

They photographed documents and made copies of bank statements. Jennifer found my password notebook.

Diana had insisted I write them all down, and they took pictures of every page. I heard Marcus on the phone with someone.

“Yeah, we need a neurologist who will do an evaluation. Someone sympathetic. He’s showing signs definitely: forgetfulness, confusion about dates, trouble with financial decisions.”

I wasn’t showing any of those signs. I was sharp as I’d ever been.

Jennifer talked to her friend Cheryl on speakerphone.

“We’ve got maybe 3 months before he figures out what we’re doing. If we can get the capacity evaluation done and get him declared incompetent, we can move fast. Sell the house, put him somewhere.”

“The market’s hot right now. We could clear 800,000 after everything.”

800,000. That’s what I was worth to them.

That’s what our relationship had been reduced to. The worst was when Emma, my 12-year-old granddaughter, asked Marcus about me.

“Is Grandpa really sick? You keep saying he forgets things, but he seems okay to me.”

Marcus’ response was chilling.

“Grandpa’s getting old, sweetie. Sometimes people seem fine, but they’re not. We’re taking care of him. Don’t worry about it.”

He was teaching her to lie. He was teaching her that using people was acceptable if you needed money.

I called Arnold.

“I have everything,”

I said.

“Hours of recordings. What do we do?”

We met with Frank and Arnold together. They reviewed the evidence.

Then Arnold made some calls.

“We have two options,”

Arnold said.

“One, we go to the police now and file a criminal complaint for attempted financial exploitation. Two, we wait, see how far they’ll go, and build an airtight case.”

“I want them out of my house,”

I said.

“Then here’s the plan,”

Frank said.

“We’re going to set up a situation where they make their move. We’re going to give them an opportunity to show their intentions and we’re going to have everything documented.”

Here’s what we did. I called a family meeting.

I told Marcus and Jennifer I’d been thinking about their trust suggestion. I told them I’d had a bad scare, thought I might have had a mini-stroke, and felt confused.

I said that maybe they were right and maybe I needed help managing things. Jennifer’s eyes lit up, actually lit up.

“We just want what’s best for you, Dad,”

Marcus said, taking my hand.

His hand was cold.

“I know,”

I said.

“I’ve been stubborn, but I’m ready to sign the papers. I trust you.”

We scheduled it for that Friday. Arnold, playing his part, had drawn up new documents that looked identical to the fraudulent trust papers but were actually nothing.

They’d transfer nothing. They were a test.

That Thursday night I pretended to go to bed early, feeling tired. I told them,

“Big day tomorrow.”

At midnight I crept down the hallway. The camera was rolling.

I heard them celebrating.

“It’s done,”

Jennifer was saying.

“After tomorrow the house is basically ours. We can start the sale process next month.”

“I already talked to that realtor Stephanie. She says we can list at 1.3 and probably get close to that.”

“What about Dad?”

That was Marcus.

“What about him? We put him in Riverside Gardens. It’s nice enough. Costs like 4,000 a month, but whatever. We’ll have plenty.”

“Marcus, we’re going to be okay. Finally, no more struggling. Emma’s braces, Tyler’s tutoring, the trip to Hawaii we’ve been putting off. We can breathe.”

“He’s going to be upset.”

“He’s old. He’ll adjust. Old people adjust. And honestly, he’s been declining anyway. This is best for everyone.”

I stood in that hallway and I felt something I’d never felt before toward my son. Not anger, not betrayal, but something colder: resolve.

Friday morning came. Arnold arrived at 10:00 a.m.

Marcus and Jennifer were dressed nicely, professional, playing their parts. But I’d invited other people too.

Detective Sarah Morrison from Portland PD, Adult Protective Services investigator James Chen—no relation—and Bernard, my friend who happened to be a retired Circuit Court judge.

Marcus saw them coming up the walk and his face went white.

“Dad, what’s going on?”

“Sit down, Marcus,”

I said.

My voice was steady and calm.

“We need to talk.”

I’d prepared a script with Arnold. I didn’t deviate from it.

“Over the past 2 months I’ve been investigating suspicious activity regarding my finances and property. I’ve collected evidence of attempted financial exploitation, fraud, and conspiracy to illegally obtain my assets.”

Jennifer stood up.

“This is ridiculous. We’ve been helping—”

“Sit down, Mrs. Chen,”

Detective Morrison said.

It wasn’t a suggestion. We played the recordings, all of them.

We played the conversations about getting me declared incompetent, the plans to sell the house, and the discussion of nursing homes.

Marcus and Jennifer’s faces went from white to red to gray. Emma started crying and Tyler looked confused.

I hated that they had to see this, but it was necessary.

“Under Oregon law,”

Detective Morrison said,

“financial exploitation of an elderly person is a class B felony. Attempted fraud is also prosecutable. Mr. Chen has provided sufficient evidence for us to proceed with charges.”

“Dad.”

Marcus’ voice was strangled.

“Dad, please, we weren’t actually going to.”

“You were,”

I said.

“You absolutely were. You planned every detail.”

Arnold spoke up.

“Mr. Marcus Chen and Mrs. Jennifer Chen, you are hereby served with an eviction notice. You have 72 hours to vacate these premises.”

“All documents you removed from Mr. Chen’s office must be returned. All financial accounts you accessed without authorization are being frozen and investigated.”

James Chen from APS added his part.

“We’ll also be conducting a full audit of Mr. Chen’s finances to determine if any funds have been misappropriated.”

Jennifer finally broke.

“You manipulative old man,”

she spat.

“You played us. You set us up.”

“I protected myself,”

I said,

“from my own family. From people I loved and trusted. Do you understand what you’ve done? Not just the legal part. Do you understand that you destroyed this family for money, for a house?”

Marcus was crying now, real tears maybe.

“Dad, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We were desperate. The pressure, the bills. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“You thought clearly enough to plan this for months. You thought clearly enough to poison your children’s view of their grandfather. You thought clearly enough to decide I was worth $800,000 to you.”