She walked to the sideboard and picked up a folder.
“Since it’s your fifth anniversary, we thought it would be lovely to set up a family trust.
For your future.
For the children you’ll have one day.”
She placed the folder in front of me.
Matthew sat beside me, his hand on my knee.
“It’s just estate planning, sweetheart,” he said.
“Standard stuff.
Mom’s lawyer drew it up.
All you have to do is sign.”
I opened the folder.
The document was thick.
Dense.
The same kind of language I’d seen in the prenup.
Page after page of legal terms designed to look boring enough that no one would read them.
I turned to page four.
There it was.
The clause.
The same one.
Transfer of inherited assets into a trust controlled by Matthew.
I looked up.
Margaret was smiling.
Matthew was smiling.
Everyone at the table was watching me like I was the entertainment.
“Before I sign,” I said, “I have a question.”
Matthew’s smile flickered.
Just barely.
“Sure, babe.
Anything.”
“Who is Catherine?”
The room went silent.
Margaret’s smile stayed on her face, but her eyes changed.
Matthew’s hand tightened on my knee.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“You don’t?
Because I have her court records.
I have your annulment filing.
I have the prenup you made her sign — the same one you made me sign.
Same lawyer.
Same clause.
Same page.”
Matthew pulled his hand away from my knee.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“Your sister told me.”
That hit him.
His face went pale.
He looked at his mother.
She was still standing, but her hand was gripping the back of a chair.
“Diane is a liar,” Margaret said.
Her voice was sharp.
“She’s been unstable for years.
You can’t believe anything she says.”
“Then explain the burner phone,” I said.
