Marlena’s water glass trembled as she set it down. “Diana,” she said softly, “this doesn’t have to become adversarial. Your father is getting older. He deserves security. If there’s money sitting in your name doing nothing, the family should benefit.” I stared at her, then at the attorney sitting beside her. “The family?” I repeated. “You’ve been married to my father four months. Since then, you emptied my late mother’s house, changed the names on his accounts, and replaced his financial adviser. Now you’re sitting in my living room with a lawyer, asking about my grandfather’s trust.” Marlena smiled, but there was nothing warm behind it. “I’m only trying to protect your father.” “No,” I said. “You’re trying to protect something else.”

The attorney shifted uncomfortably. His name was Barrett Cole, and he had arrived carrying a thick folder labeled with my name. “Perhaps we can simply discuss the terms of the trust,” he said. I almost laughed. Nobody outside the family was supposed to know the details. My grandfather had made certain of that. I reached toward the drawer beside my utility bills, and both of them leaned forward. Marlena’s eyes sharpened. She clearly expected me to produce the trust documents. Instead, I pulled out my phone, turned on the speaker, and called my father. He answered immediately. “Dad,” I said, looking directly at Marlena, “I have something you need to hear.”