“He couldn’t read it,” Mr. Abernathy agreed, “which is why he came to me in April and had me pull every document filed under his name in the county, and had me read every one of them to him, out loud, twice.
He knew about the power of attorney before I did.
He asked me not to act on it.”
“Why?”
“He said, ‘Because if I stop it now, Patrice will stop the girl from coming, and I’m not done knowing her yet.'”
I had to leave the room.
The confrontation, when it came, happened at the house.
Patrice had a key.
Patrice had, in fact, been at the house every day since the reading, “sorting things,” which Mr. Abernathy had permitted for one week because the estate hadn’t closed, and which he had allowed to continue for a second week for a reason he didn’t explain to me until later.
