Chapter 3 - DEREK HOLLIS
Derek Hollis lived in Westport in a glass-and-stone house overlooking the Sound.
He was forty-four, divorced, and professionally polished in the way men who managed other people’s money often were. He wore expensive watches without obvious branding, drove a black Range Rover, and spoke about wealth in calm sentences designed to make risk feel intellectual.
Gavin had disliked him immediately when they met three years earlier at a hospital fundraising dinner.
Monica had seemed amused by that.
“You’re jealous of a man I dated twenty years ago?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I think he looks like he charges people to tell them water is wet.”
She laughed.
At the time Gavin liked making her laugh.
He had not considered that Monica and Derek remained in contact.
Now he learned they had been communicating for at least sixteen months.
Gavin’s attorney, Margaret Bell, specialized in elder law and trust litigation. She told him not to contact Derek directly.
“Preserve first. Confront later.”
Gavin hated waiting.
Margaret asked for bank records, trust documents, communications, notarization, and list of people with access to Beatrice’s finances.
Then:
“Does your mother understand what these transfers were?”
“I haven’t asked yet.”
“Ask through qualified communication support.”
He nodded.
“Not through Tyler.”
That stung.
“Why?”
“Your son should not become interpreter in potential financial abuse case.”
Of course.
Gavin had let Tyler carry too much already.
A speech-language pathologist named Leah Monroe met Beatrice the next morning. She introduced a yes/no eye-gaze board and a tablet-based AAC system with large icons and predictive text.
Beatrice was exhausted after fifteen minutes but managed.
MONEY
MONICA
DEREK
Gavin’s throat tightened.
Leah asked whether Beatrice authorized transfers.
Beatrice selected:
NO
Did she sign new power of attorney?
NO
Did Monica ask her to sign documents?
YES
Did Beatrice refuse?
YES
Did anyone hold her hand to help sign?
Beatrice’s eyes filled.
She selected:
YES
Gavin stood abruptly.
Margaret touched his arm.
“Let her finish.”
Leah asked:
Who?
Beatrice struggled.
She selected letters.
M.
O.
N.
Gavin closed eyes.
Monica.
But Beatrice continued.
D.
E.
R.
Derek too.
Beatrice began crying.
The interview stopped.
No need to push.
Margaret said:
“That is enough for today.”
Gavin walked into hospital hallway and leaned against wall.
His mother had been physically assisted to sign something she did not want.
Maybe the signature was traced later.
Maybe she had been pressured.
Maybe more.
But there was now direct indication.
He called Monica only after speaking to attorney.
The call was recorded with consent? Connecticut generally two-party for electronic communications? Connecticut has complex wiretap laws. Better not record secretly. Margaret joined as counsel on speaker with notice.
“Monica, Margaret Bell is on the call.”
“You brought a lawyer into our marriage?”
“This is about Mom’s finances.”
“It’s all connected.”
“Did you and Derek have Mom sign a new power of attorney?”
Silence.
Then Monica sighed.
“She agreed at first.”
“She says she didn’t.”
“She can barely communicate.”
“Don’t say that.”
“You weren’t there.”
“Exactly.”
Monica’s voice sharpened.
“She was terrified the house would have to be sold to pay for care.”
“Her care is covered.”
“Not indefinitely.”
“She has long-term care insurance, Medicare, investments.”
“Do you know what twenty-four-hour care costs?”
“Yes.”
“Do you?”
Gavin almost laughed.
His company supplied equipment to nursing facilities. He knew.
“Answer question.”
Monica hesitated.
“Derek offered to restructure things.”
“Why Derek?”
“He’s good.”
“He’s your ex-boyfriend.”
“Oh, please.”
“Did you tell me you were using him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you hate him.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is part.”
Gavin looked at Margaret.
She wrote something.
“Did you receive any money?”
“No.”
“Did Derek?”
“Management fees.”
“$138,500?”
“That is not fees.”
Monica went quiet.
“Then what?”
“Investments.”
“In what?”
“A private fund.”
“What fund?”
“He’ll explain.”
Gavin’s voice went cold.
“My mother did not authorize.”
“You don’t know that.”
“She told us.”
“She is angry at me.”
“Because you told her to die?”
Silence.
Gavin continued:
“Because you forced food into her mouth?”
“I did not force.”
“Because you handled medications?”
“I followed plan.”
“Two doses missing.”
“I’m not a nurse.”
“Then why were you doing it?”
“Because you refused to hire full-time help!”
That was partly true.
Gavin had delayed hiring night nurse because Beatrice disliked strangers.
Monica volunteered.
He accepted.
The guilt returned.
Then he asked the question he did not want to ask.
“Are you sleeping with Derek?”
Monica stopped breathing audibly.
Margaret looked at Gavin sharply.
This was not legal focus.
He knew.
Still.
“Answer.”
“You have no right to turn this into—”
“I am your husband.”
“And you haven’t acted like one for two years.”
There.
Not no.
Gavin’s hand tightened.
“Monica.”
She whispered:
“It happened.”
His chest felt hollow.
“How many times?”
“Gavin.”
“How long?”
“Six months.”
He closed his eyes.
Margaret looked away to give illusion of privacy inside the most unprivate call imaginable.
“While he was moving my mother’s money?”
“It didn’t start because of money.”
“That’s worse.”
“No.”
“How could it be better?”
“Because I loved him once.”
Gavin laughed once, without humor.
“Do you love him now?”
Monica did not answer.
That was answer.
His marriage rearranged itself.
Late nights Monica said she was at Pilates.
Two weekends with college friends.
A hotel charge in Boston she called a spa package.
The expensive perfume she started wearing again.
New lingerie he noticed but never saw her wear.
He had assumed it was for him eventually.
Maybe not.
“Did Derek know Mom was vulnerable?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know she couldn’t speak?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know she refused?”
Monica’s voice trembled.
“She didn’t understand the opportunity.”
Gavin stared.
“My mother understands everything.”
“No, Gavin. She understands words. That doesn’t mean she understands sophisticated finance after a stroke.”
Margaret’s expression hardened.
This was classic.
Equating communication disability with incapacity.
Gavin said:
“You do not get to decide that.”
“Neither do you.”
“Doctors do assessments.”
“And Derek had one.”
“What?”
Monica immediately realized mistake.
Gavin leaned forward.
“What assessment?”
She went silent.
“Monica.”
“A private geriatric consultant.”
“Who?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You hired someone to assess Mom without telling me?”
“She came to house.”
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
Gavin’s memory flashed.
Monica had mentioned a “home health evaluation” while he was in Chicago.
He had not asked details.
He hated himself.
“Name.”
“Dr. Alan Keene.”
Margaret began typing.
“Did he determine incapacity?”
“He said she had limited financial decision-making capacity.”
“Was her neurologist consulted?”
“No.”
“Did you show me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you would overreact.”
Gavin almost shouted.
Instead, he became very quiet.
“You had an affair with the man receiving my mother’s money, brought in a private doctor, altered power of attorney, and hid all of it.”
“You’re making it sound criminal.”
“I don’t have to.”
Margaret raised hand.
Enough.
“Monica,” the lawyer said. “Preserve all documents, texts, emails, devices, and financial records. Do not access Beatrice Rowan’s accounts. Do not contact Derek Hollis about destruction or alteration of records.”
Monica laughed bitterly.
“Do you hear yourself?”
“Yes.”
“This family will destroy me to protect its reputation.”
Gavin answered:
“No.”
He looked toward hospital room where Tyler sat beside Beatrice doing math homework.
“We already almost destroyed someone by protecting appearances.”
Monica went quiet.
“Who?”
“My mother.”
“My son.”
Then he ended call.
Ten minutes later, Margaret found Dr. Alan Keene online.
Licensed geriatric psychiatrist.
No obvious misconduct.
But one connection.
He served on the advisory board of Hollis Advisory Partners’ “senior wealth transition” program.
Conflict.
Margaret stared.
“This is bad.”
Gavin sat.
His marriage was over for now.
His mother’s money was compromised.
His son had become whistleblower inside family.
And for the first time, Gavin wondered whether Beatrice’s stroke had really been followed by exploitation—
May you like
or whether the exploitation had begun before the stroke.
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