Then, six months ago, the strange behavior started.

Trevor began posting on Facebook about our “cognitive decline.” He manufactured stories about William getting confused, about me forgetting lunches we never scheduled. He called our doctor, creating a medical paper trail of concern. He called Adult Protective Services, filing false reports of unsafe living conditions.

He was building a case for guardianship.

Three weeks ago, he showed up with a moving truck and a sob story. “We got evicted, Mom. Just for a few weeks.” We let them in. We let the fox into the henhouse.

Within days, they took over. Kesha stole my diamond earrings. Trevor rifled through our financial documents. They isolated us from Janelle and Ronald. And yesterday, Trevor lured us into the basement under the guise of a “water leak.”

And now, here we sat.

William pulled a plastic tote from under his workbench. “I stocked emergency supplies years ago,” he said, handing me a bottle of water and a protein bar. “I planned for intruders. I never thought the intruder would be my own blood.”