So I opened my desk drawer and took out all the folders my mother taught me to keep.

At 6:02 the following morning, instead of putting on my wedding dress, I typed a message to Julian.

The wedding is canceled. We’re not getting married.

The message turned blue.

Ten seconds later, my cell phone lit up like an alarm.

Julian. Eleanor. Chloe. Julian again.

I turned off the device, sat down at the kitchen table, and placed the phone next to the audio recording, the apartment deed, and the envelope containing my mother’s saved documents.

So I called Aunt Sylvia.

When she replied, her first words were, “Aren’t you getting married today?”

I looked at the white dress hanging in the corner.

“No,” I said. “I need you to help me protect everything my mother left me.”

When Sylvia arrived, the sun had already risen over the brick buildings across the street. She entered my studio wearing a gray pantsuit, glanced once at the wedding dress, once at my face, and placed her briefcase on the table.

“Coffee first or facts first?” she asked.

“Facts.”

“Good.”

PART 3

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