“She won’t leave my sight,” he said.

“Get on your plane.”

The line went dead as he hung up.

I rested my forehead on the cool plastic case of my laptop for three seconds before opening it and connecting to the airport Wi-Fi.

I started a new email to Douglas Hayes, our family estate lawyer, who had handled my late mother’s property distributions eight years before.

I attached the log from my phone showing that our home garage security camera had been disabled by hand from inside the house at four o’clock Ohio time.

“Douglas,” I wrote, my fingers flying over the keys.