And I had my own estate attorney draft a second set of documents — real ones, legally binding, held in reserve for the right moment.

There was a symmetry to the plan that satisfied the old lawyer in me.

Dulce had built her scheme out of documents and witnesses and a staged performance of my decline; I would defeat it with documents and witnesses and a staged performance of my compliance.

She had a fraudulent competency evaluation; I had a real forensic toxicology report.

She had a doctor willing to certify a lie; I had a detective from the Financial Crimes Division reviewing her wire transfers.

She had drafted papers surrendering my estate to her; my attorney had drafted the papers that would protect it, updated and ironclad, waiting in a drawer of my own.