I pulled the small wooden stool up to the mattress and read the whole letter to him in a low, steady voice, every typed word, the seven-day deadline, and Christopher’s printed signature at the bottom.

When I finished, Raymond slowly lifted his right arm off the white linen sheet.

His hand reached across the mattress and clamped around my left wrist with a sudden, firm grip that took my breath away.

His fingers were warm, and his grip had real strength in it.

“Don’t obey that paper,” he rasped, his deep voice rough and slow, like iron rubbing on stone.

“He says he has full legal authority over the estate,” I whispered, staring down at his large hand locked around my wrist.