The daughter I’d raised, the one I’d sacrificed everything for, the one I still wrote checks to without question, was actively working to seize my assets and have me declared mentally incompetent.

For the first time since James died, I felt something other than grief or loneliness stirring in me.

It felt suspiciously like cold, hard rage.

By the time I climbed the stairs to my bedroom, a plan was starting to form.

Rebecca and Philip had clearly underestimated me, dismissed me as a doddering old woman too confused to manage her own affairs.

They thought I was easy prey.