It placed the Boston house and everything in it into a separate trust.

I was the sole trustee.

Thomas read the clauses aloud in a flat voice, one hand holding the page so it wouldn’t curl.

Then he pulled a court filing out of the bottom drawer.

“This came to me by courier,” he said.

“An emergency petition for probate.

It asks the court to name your mother executor because Arthur supposedly died without a will.”

“Without a will?” I said.