She had been testing something.

The question was what.

At 10:14 that night, someone knocked.

Daniel.

I opened the door but didn’t invite him inside.

“Mom.”

“Where’s Lily?”

“With Madison.”

“Then you should probably be with her.”

“Please.”

He looked exhausted.

I stepped aside.

Daniel entered and stared around the apartment.

“I remember this place.”

“You were nine the last time we brought you.”

“I thought Dad designed it for the hotel.”

“He did.”

“You never told me it was ours.”

“It isn’t ours. The lodge owns the residence. I have lifetime use.”

He stared through the windows.

“How wealthy are you?”

I hated the question.

Not because it was inappropriate.

Because it was the first thing he had asked.

Not Are you okay?

Not Why did you stop coming here?

Not even How could I have let Madison do that to you?

How wealthy are you?

“Enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“For me.”

He turned.

“Mom, come on.”

“No.”

He looked frustrated.

“You kept this from me my whole life.”

“I kept numbers from you.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“No, Daniel. It isn’t.”

I walked to the fireplace.

“You had food. Education. A home. Help when you needed it. Your father and I paid for college. We helped with your first house. We gave you twenty thousand dollars when Lily was born.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

His voice rose.

“I’m your son!”

“And?”

He stared at me.

I had never asked that question before.

The entitlement in his face frightened me.

“Your money becomes mine eventually.”

There it was.

I almost admired the honesty.

“Does it?”

His expression changed.

“Mom.”

“Why did Madison cancel my room?”

He looked away.

“She was angry.”

“At what?”

“You wouldn’t sign the documents.”

“What documents?”

“The power of attorney papers.”

I remembered.

Madison had brought them at Thanksgiving.

She said they were standard emergency documents.

I told her my attorney already handled my estate.

“She thought you didn’t trust us.”

“I don’t.”

Daniel flinched.

“After tonight, should I?”

He sank onto the sofa.

Then something unexpected happened.

He started crying.

Not theatrically.

Quietly.

Like Thomas used to when he thought nobody could see.

“We’re in trouble.”

I said nothing.

“Madison’s business failed.”

I knew she had operated an interior-design firm.

“She borrowed against the house. Then again.”

“How much?”

“Almost eight hundred thousand.”

My stomach tightened.

“Daniel.”

“I didn’t know at first.”

“But you know now.”

“Yes.”

“And you came to Aspen anyway.”

He rubbed his face.

“She said you had assets here. She found old records online. She thought if we could get you to give me financial authority—”

I stared at him.

“You canceled my room to pressure me into signing a power of attorney?”

“No. That wasn’t my idea.”

“But you knew.”

“Yes.”

“Why Aspen?”

He looked toward the windows.

“She thought something here belonged to you.”

My blood went cold.

“What?”

“She wouldn’t tell me.”

I remembered Marcus.

Ownership structure.

Transfer restrictions.

Probate.

Then I understood the real question Madison had been asking.

Not how much I owned.

What happened to it when I died.

I looked at my son.

“Go downstairs.”

“What?”

“Take Lily and go to your room.”