Chapter 2
My name is Margaret Ellis.
I am sixty-nine years old, widowed, and very tired of people mistaking loneliness for weakness.
My husband, James, died five years ago.
He left me financially secure, yes, but more than that, he left me prepared. We had built our life carefully. Every account had a purpose. Every investment had a file. Every piece of silver, every watch, every heirloom, every deed in this house had a story and a place.
I knew where everything was.
I knew what everything meant.
I knew exactly what I owned.
But after James died, Rebecca changed.
At first, I thought grief had softened her. She came by more often. She brought groceries I did not ask for. Philip offered to “organize” my financial statements. Rebecca asked about passwords, insurance policies, estate documents.
They used gentle words.
Simplify.
Protect.
Make things easier.
What’s best for everyone.
I wanted to believe them.
A mother can survive many things, but it is very hard to survive realizing your child has been studying your life like a locked room.
That night, after Alice fell asleep, I went downstairs and opened the drawer where I kept James’s old attorney’s card.
Luka Daniels.
He had handled our wills, trusts, and every serious paper James and I ever signed.
It was 9:48 p.m. when Rebecca texted me.
Hope Alice isn’t too much trouble. Meetings are going great.
Meetings.
I stared at that word until it turned ugly.
Then I called Luka.
He answered because he had known James, and because good lawyers understand that old women do not call late at night for small reasons.
“Margaret?” he said.
“My daughter is trying to take my estate,” I said.
There was one second of silence.
May you like
Then Luka’s voice changed.
“Do not sign anything. Do not send them anything. And tomorrow morning, I’m coming over.”
