“Jacqueline,” I said, staring at the seal.

“This notary works for Christopher.

She’s been his executive office manager for four years.”

If Christopher’s own assistant had notarized a forged signature on my property, eighteen months before any of this, then the scheme had not begun with my surgery.

It had begun a year and a half earlier.

Someone had been working, patiently, to take my estate the entire time I thought I was simply married.