“Mom, you made it,” Colton said, his smile tight. “This is my friend Marcus. He drew up the papers we talked about. To help you with the bank.”

“Hello, Mrs. Hayes,” Marcus said, slick with false sympathy, not meeting my eyes. “Colton’s told me how overwhelmed you’ve been. Cognitive fatigue is very common under this kind of stress. We’ll make this easy for you. Just a few signatures, and Colton will assume full fiduciary control of your estate, the house, and your bank accounts.”

He slid the stack toward me and offered a heavy gold-plated pen.

“Just sign on the sticky notes, Mom,” Colton urged. “Then you can go home and sleep.”

I looked down at the documents — a comprehensive Durable Power of Attorney. Sign this, and I’d become a legal ghost; Colton would own every asset I had, including the twelve million waiting to be claimed.

I picked up the gold pen. It was heavy in my hand. I looked at Colton. His eyes were locked on the tip, his pupils dilated with greed.