The third person stepped out slowly, a tall, gray-haired man in a long raincoat carrying a leather briefcase. It was Douglas, my late husband’s younger brother, whom I had not seen since the funeral. My heart skipped. Jonathan would not meet my eyes. Vivian’s lips parted, and the color drained from her cream-colored coat. I opened the door before anyone could knock.

Douglas stepped inside, set the briefcase on my kitchen table, and said quietly, “Margaret, Helen called me last night. She found something in that business account you have never heard of.” Jonathan whispered, “Mom, please, let me explain.” Douglas slid out a loan document with my signature on it. I had never signed it. The date was two years old, and the amount made my knees weaken.