The same house I’d stubbornly refused to leave after his death, despite Rebecca’s repeated suggestions that I might be happier in a luxury retirement community.

Now I finally understood why she wanted me out of here.

Back in the kitchen, I opened the junk drawer where I kept the household paperwork.

Behind the neatly organized utility bills and warranty cards was a business card I hadn’t looked at in years: Luka Daniels, my husband’s old attorney and the executor of his original will.

I hesitated only briefly before reaching for my phone.

It was nearly ten at night—far too late for a professional call.