Barrett Cole shuffled his pages, buying time. “Mrs. Preston, as your father’s spouse, has a legitimate interest in the family’s financial picture,” he said. I kept my eyes on him. “That was not my question. I asked for the document, signed by my father, authorizing you to demand an accounting of my personal assets. A power of attorney. A written request. Anything with his signature. You brought a leather folder. Surely it’s in there.” Marlena’s pleasant mask slipped for the first time. “Gerald doesn’t need to sign anything. I’m his wife. What’s his concern is mine.” “Then this is your interest,” I said. “Not his. Let’s be precise, since your attorney charges by the hour.”

Barrett tried to recover the ground. “The trust in question originated from the Preston family. Marital and family estate principles may entitle—” “The trust,” I interrupted quietly, “was established by my grandfather, in my name alone, years before this marriage existed. It is not marital property. It is not my father’s. It never passed through his estate, so it cannot be part of it.” I finally picked up the letter, read it in five seconds, and set it back down. “This letter cites statutes that don’t apply to an irrevocable trust naming a single beneficiary. Did you tell your client that, Mr. Cole, or did you let her believe I’d be an easy afternoon?”