“You signed over power of attorney to Graham five years ago,” I said.

“To manage my portfolio, yes,” Gloria said, her chin trembling. “Because he is a businessman. Unlike you.”

“He used that power of attorney to put your house up as collateral for his personal trading accounts,” I said. “When those accounts were margin-called last winter, he forged your signature on a secondary mortgage to cover the debt.”

Gloria stared at the document.

Her hand reached out, her long, manicured fingernails scraping against the paper as she pulled it closer.

“No,” she whispered. “No, this is a mistake. Graham would never do that.”

“Ask him,” I said.

Gloria turned to her son, her face pale.

“Graham,” she said, her voice shaking violently. “Tell her she’s lying. Tell me this is some cheap trick she’s playing because she’s jealous of us.”

Graham didn’t look up from his hands.

“I had to cover the short position, Mother,” he mumbled into his palms. “The market was supposed to rebound.”

“You mortgaged my house?” Gloria gasped. “My husband’s house?”

“I was going to pay it back,” Graham said, his voice cracking. “I just needed more time.”