They were planning to take advantage of me while I was still dressed for my husband’s funeral.

Then my father said something that made my skin go cold.

“Once she signs,” he said, “we’ll move the accounts and cut off her access. If she fights back, we’ll say she’s unstable after Gideon’s death. Courts listen to family.”

I stood frozen, breathing shallowly.

They weren’t trying to help me recover.

They were planning to make sure I never touched what my husband had left behind.

Quietly, I stepped away from the doorway.

My first instinct was to burst in and confront them—to shout, to demand answers.

But anger would only give them control.

So instead, I walked into the kitchen, turned on the faucet, and let the water run so it sounded like I had just arrived. I took a few deep breaths and forced my expression to calm down.

Then I entered the dining room.

They all looked up at once.

My mother rushed toward me immediately.
“Oh sweetheart,” she said with practiced concern. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m… trying,” I replied honestly.

My father gestured for me to sit.
“We’ve been worried about you.”

Marina squeezed my hand gently.
“We’re here for you.”

I sat and watched them rearrange their expressions into sympathy.

My father leaned forward.
“Claire, we need to talk about practical matters. Estate matters. You shouldn’t deal with this alone.”

My mother nodded.
“You’re grieving. Let us take care of things.”

Marina added, “Gideon’s finances are complicated. Manhattan property especially. People could take advantage of you.”

I lowered my gaze and made myself look uncertain.

“Okay,” I whispered.

My father visibly relaxed.

He opened a drawer and pulled out a folder that had clearly been prepared in advance. Inside were documents and a pen.

“We had an attorney friend prepare a family trust,” he explained. “It will keep everything safe.”

I stared at the folder without moving.

“Just sign,” Marina said softly. “Then you can rest.”

I picked up the pen.

My mother smiled as if she had already won.