I recognized the man immediately.

It was Arthur Vance, my mother’s personal attorney, holding a thick leather briefcase.

Dr. Chen was standing beside him, looking at a set of papers on the counter.

“Mr. Miller,” Vance said as I approached, his voice smooth and entirely devoid of emotion.

“I glad you are here.”

“Get away from my wife’s doctor,” I said, stepping between him and Dr. Chen.

“Mr. Miller, please keep your voice down,” Dr. Chen said, looking nervous.

“Your mother’s legal representative has brought forward some very serious documentation.”

Vance adjusted his glasses, his fingers manicured and clean.

“These are the original power of attorney and medical proxy forms, Jake,” Vance said, tapping a document on the counter.

“They grant your mother full authority over Megan’s medical decisions in the event of cognitive or emotional distress.”

“They are forged,” I said, pulling the photocopies from my folder and throwing them onto the desk.

“She stole our signatures from our apartment lease.”

Vance did not even look at my papers.

“These are fully notarized originals, Jake,” he said calmly.