Conservatorship Active.
The words echoed in my skull as they marched me past the line of staring customers. I caught the eye of the young mother I had seen earlier—the one who was denied the loan. She clutched her toddler to her chest, watching me with a mixture of pity and fear. I held my head high, refusing to break eye contact with her until the guards shoved me through a heavy oak door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
They dragged me down a carpeted hallway and thrust me into a windowless security office in the back of the building. The room smelled of stale coffee and ozone from a bank of glowing security monitors on the wall.
The larger guard shoved me into a hard plastic chair. "Sit there. Don't move."
The second guard, a younger kid with a hesitant look in his eyes and a name tag that read 'Julian,' hovered near the doorway. "Do we really need to be this rough with him, Rick? He's just an old guy."
"Vance's orders," Rick snapped. "Watch him. I'm going to wait for the manager."
Rick stepped out of the room, leaving me alone with Julian.
I sat perfectly still, regulating my breathing. My leather folder was still clutched tightly in my right hand. I placed it gently on my lap. I needed to understand what was happening. If Marcus had secured a conservatorship—a legal guardianship declaring me mentally incompetent to manage my own affairs—it meant he had total control over my estate. It meant the board of directors thought I was a vegetable. It meant Clara’s trust was entirely in his hands.
But why? Marcus was already the CEO. He already had a seven-figure salary. Why go through the massive legal risk of secretly declaring his father-in-law mentally unfit?
Unless he was hiding something he knew I would eventually find.
The door clicked open, and David Vance, the impeccably dressed branch manager, stepped into the room. He locked the door behind him and turned to face me. The smug, patronizing look he had worn in the lobby was gone. In its place was a tight, nervous energy. He was sweating, his forehead gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights.
"Julian, step outside," David ordered, his voice tight.
"Sir, protocol says two guards—"
"I said get out!" David barked.
Julian flinched, nodded apologetically to me, and hurried out of the room, pulling the door shut.
David paced in front of me, pulling out his secure banking tablet. He frantically tapped the screen, his thumb swiping aggressively. He kept glancing at me, then back to the tablet.
"You couldn't just stay on your farm, could you?" David muttered, almost to himself. "You just had to come into the city today."
I looked at him, playing the role of the confused old man he desperately wanted me to be. "I just wanted to withdraw my wife's money, young man. I don't understand why you're treating me like a criminal."
David let out a harsh, breathless laugh. "Your wife's money? Do you even know what year it is, old man? Marcus said you've been wandering the fields talking to yourself for six months. You don't have any money. You don't have legal standing to buy a cup of coffee without Marcus's signature."
"Marcus is a good boy," I said, letting my voice tremble slightly, watching David's reaction. "He takes care of me. Why would he lock my account?"
David stopped pacing. He looked down at me, a cruel sneer twisting his face. He actually believed the dementia lie. He believed I was a broken, confused ward of the state.
"Because you're a liability," David said, leaning down so his face was inches from mine. "Marcus knew you’d eventually have a lucid day and try to touch the Founder's Trust. He secured the conservatorship three months ago. You are legally incapacitated. Your signature is worthless. Now, I’m going to call the police, and they are going to take you to the psychiatric hold at Mercy Hospital. And Marcus will be waiting for you there."
David turned his back to me and pulled out his cell phone, hitting a speed dial.
As he raised the phone to his ear, I looked past him to the secondary computer terminal sitting on the security desk. It was logged in under Julian's basic security credentials.