My Son Struck Me Thirty Times at His Birthday Dinner. The Next Morning, I Sold the Mansion He Thought He Owned.

Everyone.

“Gloria,” Kristen continued, “since I know you’re listening, you should check your email.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

One new message from an address I didn’t recognize.

Subject line: Raymond Sutter Trust Documents.

My hand stopped halfway into my coat.

Kristen’s voice turned almost sweet.

“You really should have told Trevor what his father left him.”