Beatrix set the opening for Saturday night, only six days away, and I painted until my hands cramped, finishing the eleventh canvas at dawn. Then Rebecca called. Stuart Ellison had asked a judge to freeze the estate, and the hearing was Thursday morning. If the judge agreed, the studio, the supplies and my living expenses would vanish before I could hang a single painting.

In court, Natalie sat in the front row in a cream suit, smiling at me. Stuart read a doctor’s letter claiming Leonard had been confused when he signed. The judge frowned and reached for his pen. Rebecca stood slowly and said my cousin had recorded a video eleven days before he died. Natalie’s smile cracked. Then the heavy doors swung open, and a thin man in a gray coat walked in, clutching a black folder. Natalie whispered, “Anton?” The whole room froze.