“Thank you all for coming,” he said. “I’ll read the operative provision first, and then we can discuss particulars.” He looked down, though he clearly did not need to.

“By the express and documented directive of the late Roderick Benedict, executed three days before his passing, before witnesses, with medical and psychiatric certification of his capacity, and recorded in full on video — the entirety of his estate, including all real property, all corporate holdings, all investments, and all liquid assets, passes into trust for the sole benefit of Mr. Brandon Robbins.”

For a moment Demi simply did not understand the sentence. The words went into her and found nothing to attach to. She heard “trust” and “sole benefit” and a name that meant nothing, and her mind refused the arrangement of them the way a lock refuses the wrong key.

Then it landed.

“To an orderly?” The dignified grief evaporated. She was on her feet, both palms flat on the table. “To — I’m sorry, is this a joke? I am his wife.

I am his lawful wife of four years. You’re telling me he left everything to a — a boy who empties bedpans? He was out of his mind. He was dying, he was drugged to the eyeballs, he didn’t know what he was signing—”