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He survived. He thrived. He put himself through law school at night while working full-time, graduated top of his class, and eventually became one of the most respected elder law attorneys in Ohio. He specializes in cases where adult children financially abuse their aging parents, where families turn toxic, where the people who should protect the vulnerable instead prey on them.
I press call before I can talk myself out of it.
He answers on the second ring. “Loretta? Is that really you?”
My voice comes out smaller than I’d like, shaky and uncertain. “Marcus. I need help.”
The warmth in his voice instantly shifts to professional concern, sharp and focused. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
I don’t tell him everything. Not yet. Just the essentials. The slap. The smoking. The six months of slowly escalating financial exploitation. The fact that they’ve been taking four hundred dollars every month from my eleven-hundred-dollar disability check for “household expenses,” plus additional fees for utilities and groceries that mysteriously always add up to more than seems possible.
