But that afternoon, standing in my own living room, something changed.
Raymond held out a document.
“A simple family settlement,” he said.
I didn't take it.
“What does it say?”
“It would prevent an ugly legal fight.”
“By doing what?”
“Distributing the trust more fairly.”
I stared.
“More fairly?”
He gave a condescending smile.
“Margaret, you're seventy-two. You don't have children. What could you possibly do with twenty-eight million dollars?”
The words stung.
Not because I believed them.
But because they sounded so much like the judgment I'd secretly feared all my life.
A childless widow.
An elderly woman.
Someone who should be grateful for whatever others decided to leave her.
I looked directly at Raymond.
“Apparently I could spend some of it hiring a lawyer.”
His smile disappeared.
“Don't be difficult.”
I opened the front door.
“Please leave.”
Raymond stared at me.
“Margaret—”
“Now.”
For a moment, I thought he might refuse.
