I came home from the funeral to tell my parents and sister that my husband had left me $8.5m and 6 Manhattan lofts. When I walked into the house, I overheard my parents talking. What they were saying… made my blood run cold.

I walk outside. The screen door clicks shut behind me. In my coat pocket, my phone is still recording. Through the window, I hear Gerald’s voice thin and strained.

“She knows. Pat, she knows.”

And Patricia, “She doesn’t know anything. She’s guessing. She’s wrong.”

I’m not guessing. I’m documenting.

Five more days until the gala.

The email arrives at 11:14 on a Tuesday night. I’m lying in bed scrolling through nothing when my phone buzzes. From Chloe Hobbes.

Subject: Re timeline.

It takes me 3 seconds to realize this wasn’t meant for me. Chloe was forwarding an email to Patricia. Our names sit next to each other in her contacts. FA then family group then mom. She hit the wrong one.

The email reads, “Mom, when is Voss sending the paperwork to the court? Ryan is asking about wedding deposits and I need to lock in the venue this month. Here’s the updated budget attached. Everything marked F accounts is what we’ll pull once the guardianship goes through. Don’t tell Ryan.”

The attachment is a spreadsheet. I open it.