“I wasn’t given the original power-of-attorney document,” she said.

“He told me your lawyer had arranged it.”

“Which lawyer?”

“I never met one.”

She pushed a folder toward me.

Inside were invoices for a wheelchair ramp we had never installed, several months of a home aide I had never met, and consulting charges with generic descriptions like care coordination.

“Those aren’t mine,” I said.

Joanna leaned back, shaken.