I did not even have to go looking for the confrontation.

My mother brought it to me.

Late that morning, Patricia walked into the sunlit kitchen wearing a triumphant smile, a stack of legal documents in her manicured hands, Brenda trailing behind her already browsing car dealerships on her phone.

My mother set the papers down on the granite counter with the air of a woman doing me a great kindness.

“Austin, dear,” she said, warm as honey now that there was four hundred thousand dollars in the picture.

“Since you’re going to be so busy getting settled back into civilian life, and dealing with certain… family matters, I had our lawyer draw up a power of attorney.