Her Brother Held Their Father's Power of Attorney and Would Not Show Her the Books — Then a Judge Ordered Him to Account for Every Asset

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There’s a special kind of tension that shows up when a parent starts slipping and the kids have to step in. Everyone tells themselves they’re doing it “for Dad,” but money has a way of exposing who’s actually serving and who’s just taking control. In Delaware, one family’s private strain turned into a courtroom order that forced a son to open the books on everything he touched.

The case, detailed in the source material, centers on siblings Barbara Thompson and William Barrow and how William handled their father Ralph Barrow’s affairs under a durable power of attorney. Barbara accused William of mismanaging assets, helping himself to benefits, and refusing to provide a real accounting while their father’s dementia worsened. The Delaware Court of Chancery didn’t buy every allegation, but it did find enough self-dealing and enough dodging to order a formal accounting of all assets William controlled.

It’s the kind of situation that doesn’t start with villainy. It starts with an aging parent, a family that thinks it’ll stay functional under pressure, and one sibling holding the authority. Then time passes, receipts get thin, and trust gets thinner.

A power of attorney is trust with teeth

Ralph Barrow’s long-standing estate plan generally aimed to divide property equally among his four children. But as his cognitive decline became significant and he was later diagnosed with dementia, the family had to deal with the day-to-day question: who is actually going to run Dad’s life on paper? In February 2018, Ralph signed a durable power of attorney naming William as the sole agent.

That role isn’t just a convenience. Under Delaware law, a power-of-attorney agent is a fiduciary, which is a plain way of saying: you don’t get to treat someone else’s money like it’s your own, even if you’re the one paying the bills and taking the calls. The job is to act in the principal’s best interest, keep records, and be able to explain what you did and why.

The document required semiannual reports, and they never came

This power of attorney had an unusually clear accountability hook: William was supposed to prepare written financial reports every six months for Barbara, detailing income and expenses. Not a casual “you can log in and look around” arrangement, but actual written reports on a schedule. The court found that William served as agent for a little over three years and never provided those formal reports.

William’s defense on that point was basically that Barbara had online access to many accounts and he was available to answer questions. Plenty of families try to operate that way, and it works right up until it doesn’t. The court wasn’t impressed, because the agreement required formal reports, and Delaware law also supports an accounting when properly requested after the principal’s death.

Shared passwords and informal explanations might feel cooperative, but they’re not the same as a formal accounting. If you’re the one holding the authority, you don’t get to decide that transparency is optional just because you’re tired of being questioned.

Small “perks” became clear self-dealing

Not every questionable act in cases like this involves a huge wire transfer. Sometimes it’s the steady drip of little benefits that add up: using a parent’s vehicle as your own, letting your kid use it, or covering personal errands with the parent’s card. Barbara argued William crossed that line, and the court agreed on several points.

The court found that William used Ralph’s vehicles personally, allowed his son to use one of them, and used Ralph’s money for expenses that included groceries, alcohol, and gas for William’s own benefit. Those are the kinds of charges that people justify in their heads because they were “already at the store” or “handling everything anyway.” But fiduciary duty doesn’t run on vibes; it runs on permission, documentation, and benefit to the person you’re serving.

Under Delaware law, if an agent personally benefits or transfers a principal’s property to himself, the burden can shift to the agent to show the principal knowingly approved it after full disclosure. William did not establish that his father knowingly approved those personal benefits, and that mattered.

The license plate transfer was unusual, and the court didn’t shrug it off

One detail that stands out is the low-number Delaware license plate, PC 1145. When Ralph’s Dodge Caravan was sold, William signed on Ralph’s behalf and transferred the plate to himself. People who know those plates know they’re not just a random tag; they can carry real value and personal pride.

The court treated that transfer as self-dealing. If you’re acting under a power of attorney, moving an asset from the principal to yourself is the kind of move that needs clear, documented approval. Without that, it looks like what it is: taking.

There’s a quiet lesson here for families: the “weird” assets are often where the trouble shows first. Everyone watches the house and the retirement accounts, but the plate, the car, the collectibles, the tools, the side account—those are the places a person can start acting like a beneficiary instead of a steward.

Barbara didn’t prove the biggest suspicion about the retirement account

If you’ve ever watched a family fight, you know the biggest money issue is usually the one everybody circles. Here, it was Ralph’s VCM retirement account, which ultimately paid William about $43,147.82, rolled into a beneficiary IRA that later grew to roughly $48,000. Barbara claimed William used his power-of-attorney authority to make himself the beneficiary.

William said something different happened. He claimed that back when the account was with USAA, Ralph’s wife was the primary beneficiary and William was already the secondary beneficiary, and after the wife died and the account moved to Victory Capital Management, he entered himself as primary simply to reflect the existing reality. The problem was that the original USAA beneficiary records were gone, and neither side could produce definitive evidence of who was listed before the transfer.

Because Barbara carried the burden to prove William improperly changed the beneficiary designation, the missing records were decisive. The court concluded it could not find it more likely than not that William secretly made himself beneficiary using the power of attorney. So William kept the entire VCM account, and the court expressly ruled Barbara failed to prove his beneficiary status was invalid.

The judge ordered a real accounting, not a guess at damages

The court found William breached fiduciary duties by transferring the license plate to himself, personally using Ralph’s vehicles, and spending Ralph’s funds on some personal expenses. The court also found William was unjustly enriched through the personal use of Ralph’s money, vehicles, and the plate, but it noted the estate can’t recover twice for the same conduct when those claims overlap.

Instead of trying to slap a big, pre-set number on the case, the remedy focused on accountability. The judge ordered William to provide a formal accounting of all of Ralph’s assets that were under William’s control while he acted as power of attorney. After that accounting, Ralph’s estate would be entitled to recover any unaccounted-for assets and any damages resulting from the proven breaches.

That’s how these cases often have to go if the records are messy: first you force the person in control to lay everything out, then you figure out what’s missing and what was improper. It’s not flashy, but it’s the only way to replace suspicion with facts.

What families miss about “helping” a parent

Lots of men step into the power-of-attorney role thinking it’s just paying bills and keeping the lights on. Then they start feeling entitled to little conveniences because they’re the one doing the work. But the moment you start benefiting personally, you’re standing in a different place, morally and legally, and the burden starts shifting onto you to prove you’re clean.

It also shows why a written accounting isn’t an insult. It’s a guardrail. It protects the parent, it protects the siblings, and it protects the agent from future accusations—because if you can calmly produce reports, statements, and receipts, the temperature drops fast.

The court didn’t say William did everything wrong. It rejected the biggest allegation about the retirement account because the evidence wasn’t there. But it did say enough was wrong—and enough was undocumented—that a judge had to step in and require a full accounting of every asset William controlled.

Families don’t plan on ending up in court over Dad’s car, his grocery bill, and a license plate with a low number. But stewardship is measured in the small decisions, not just the big inheritance paperwork. When someone holds power over another person’s life, especially a declining parent, honesty has to be boring and consistent—or it won’t hold up when the questions get serious.