My adult niece visited me after my stroke and told the doctor, “Aunt Helen can’t make decisions anymore.” Then she smiled and asked me to blink if I understood. I blinked once. She thought that meant yes. It actually activated the communication board where I had already typed: call my lawyer now.

Once Julian was gone, Dr. Vance apologized profusely and left to update my chart, permanently noting my cognitive competence. Marcus adjusted my pillows, offered a supportive nod, and gave Evelyn and me privacy.

Evelyn pulled up a chair, opening her laptop. “Arthur, I know you can’t speak, but you can listen. Julian’s desperation today wasn't just arrogance. It was panic.”

I blinked twice—my pre-established signal for her to continue.

“While you were in a coma for the past week, I initiated a quiet audit of your corporate accounts,” Evelyn explained, bringing up a spreadsheet. “Julian has been running the European division for three years. You gave him full autonomy. But he hasn't been building the business. He’s been bleeding it dry.”

She turned the screen toward me. My good eye scanned the red lines.

“He has accrued over four million dollars in corporate debt,” Evelyn said, her voice tight with anger. “He used company credit lines to fund high-stakes offshore investments that went completely bust. The loans are coming due next Friday. If he doesn't get control of your master accounts to pay them off, the creditors are going to seize his assets, and he will face federal embezzlement charges.”

The pieces fell into place. Julian didn't want my medical proxy to make health decisions; he needed my proxy to authorize a massive wire transfer before the quarterly audits caught his theft. He was trying to steal my life's work to cover his own monumental stupidity.

I looked at the screen. I spelled out my next instruction.

L-E-T H-I-M T-R-Y.