“Excuse me?”
“Your husband sat at my kitchen table after the fun*ral. He drank my coffee. He held my hand. He told me Cooper left us nothing.”
Her voice shook, then steadied.
“I worked nights for seventeen years, because I believed him. I wore the same shoes for four winters. My daughter wore other people’s coats.”
“Millie—”
“You don’t get to throw money at me.”
Henrietta’s face went red.
“Everything in that trust was legal,” she snapped. “Every page. Signed, stamped, and filed properly. I would know.”
I looked up.
“How would you know?” I asked.
It was the first thing I had said.
Henrietta’s mouth closed.
For half a second, something flickered behind her eyes.
“Because my husband is meticulous,” she said. “That’s all.”
Then the elevator dinged again.
Jonathan came down the hall almost at a run, with Detective Ridgeway behind him.
He still wore his suit, but the burgundy tie hung loose around his neck, and his eyes were swollen.
