“The seventy-two hour clause,” I said, my voice cracking. “Why would she put that in there?”

“Your grandmother knew you, Miss Ashford,” he said. He handed me a second card. This one had a personal cell number handwritten on the back.

“She knew that if she gave you unlimited time, you might talk yourself out of acting. The deadline isn’t a punishment. It’s permission,” he said.

“Permission?” I asked.

“To stop waiting for your family to change their minds about you,” he said. “To take what’s rightfully yours.”

He checked his watch. “The deadline is 8:30 p.m. on May 18. Three days. If you want to move forward, you’ll need to submit a formal request for an emergency board meeting. I can help you draft it,” he said.