And underneath all of it was the reason, which Naomi pieced together from the corporate filings: the family firm had been quietly sliding toward bankruptcy for two years before my divorce.

When the banks stopped lending to them, they had looked around for a source of money that would not ask hard questions — and they had found one, sitting in the trust of a grieving, distracted, soon-to-be-ex-wife who had handed her husband the keys during the worst season of her life.

My grandmother, Amalia, had built that estate over decades for one reason: so that I would never, ever be financially dependent on anyone.

And the people who held me in the deepest contempt had turned the very thing meant to protect me into the thing that funded their contempt.