Impulsive.

At your age.

Emotional financial decisions.

Jonah was silent for nearly ten seconds.

When he finally spoke, his tone had changed.

“Wilma, don’t sign anything.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“And don’t let Reid take photographs of documents.”

My stomach tightened.

“Jonah?”

“I was going to discuss something with you after the sale closed.”

“What?”

He hesitated.

“Your bank contacted my office yesterday.”

I stood up.

“Why?”

“Someone attempted to submit a preliminary power-of-attorney authorization using your information.”

The room seemed to tilt.

“Who?”

“It was rejected.”

“Who submitted it?”

“We don’t know yet.”

But I did.

Or I thought I did.

“Tessa.”

Jonah did not answer.

“Tomorrow,” he said, “do not accuse anyone. Let them talk.”

I barely slept.

At exactly ten the next morning, Reid knocked.

Tessa stood beside him wearing cream trousers, dark glasses and an expression that suggested she had been inconvenienced.

Neither apologized.

Reid brought flowers.

I found that almost insulting.

“Mom.”

He hugged me.

I remained still.

Tessa walked past us into my apartment.

Her eyes moved around the room.

I had seen that expression before.

Appraisal.

“How are you feeling?” Reid asked.

“Fine.”

“You slept?”

“Yes.”

“Any confusion?”

I looked directly at him.

He smiled too quickly.

“I mean, after everything last night.”

“I remember everything.”

Tessa removed her sunglasses.

“Good.”

They sat at my kitchen table.

Reid folded his hands.

“Mom, we’re worried about you.”

“Since when?”

His expression flickered.

“What does that mean?”

“I’m seventy-two, Reid. You’ve never once asked whether I was capable of handling my finances until you heard I had a hundred-and-sixty-five-million-dollar company.”

“That’s unfair.”

“Is it?”

Tessa leaned forward.

“Wilma, nobody is trying to take anything from you.”

I hadn’t accused them of that.

Interesting.

“We simply think,” she continued, “that a transaction of this size should be reviewed by family.”

“Why?”

“Because family protects family.”

I almost admired the nerve.

Before I could answer, there was another knock.

Jonah entered carrying a leather briefcase.

Tessa’s face changed.

Only slightly.

But I saw it.

Fear.

Reid stood.

“Why is he here?”

“My attorney is part of my financial decision-making.”

“You don’t need an attorney for a family conversation.”

Jonah closed the door.

“Unfortunately, this is no longer a family conversation.”

He opened his briefcase.

Then he placed a document on the table.

Reid stared at it.

Tessa went completely still.

I looked down.

At the top were the words:

PETITION FOR EMERGENCY TEMPORARY GUARDIANSHIP.

My name appeared beneath them.

Wilma Jean Tate.

Petitioner’s relationship:

Son.

I lifted my eyes.

Reid was pale.

“Explain.”

“Mom, listen—”

“You filed this?”

“It wasn’t filed.”

Jonah answered.

“It was.”

Tessa turned toward Reid.

“You said the lawyer was waiting.”

“He was supposed to.”

Jonah opened another folder.

“Submitted electronically yesterday at 3:17 p.m.”

Hours before dinner.

My chest tightened.

I looked at my son.

“What were you asking the court to do?”

“Nothing permanent.”

“Answer me.”

He swallowed.

“To make sure someone could help if you became unable to manage things.”