I turned, and the man behind me was not a stranger. He was Grandma Ruth’s attorney, Mr. Delacroix, the one who had handled her affairs before she passed the previous spring. He was holding a leather folder of his own, far thicker than the check I had just paid, and his eyes moved past me to the long table where my mother sat beneath melting birthday candles. “I’ve been trying to reach this family for weeks,” he said, loud enough to carry. “But since everyone is finally in one room, this is as good a place as any.” My mother’s smile began to fade. Kaitlyn’s smirk followed it down. The attorney turned to me first, gently. “Annabel, Ruth’s estate could not be settled until tonight, because you were the only heir I hadn’t been able to formally notify.”

The word heir landed on the table like a dropped glass. My mother half-rose from her chair. “There must be a mistake. Mother’s estate goes to her children.” Mr. Delacroix opened his folder without hurrying. “It does,” he said. “And Ruth was very specific about who her child was.” He looked at me again. “You cared for her every day for five years. She was of sound mind, and she made her wishes legally airtight precisely because she anticipated this reaction.” He slid the first page across the bar toward me, and even upside down my mother could read the number printed on it. The restaurant, already quiet, went absolutely still. Then Mr. Delacroix said the sentence that rearranged the entire room. “Annabel is the sole beneficiary of Ruth’s estate. Including the house.”