Chapter 4

When Daniel and Maya returned from the charity gala, twenty-two black wardrobe boxes lined our circular driveway.

Two commercial locksmiths were standing by the heavy mahogany double doors, power drills in hand, looking uneasy.

Beside me on the marble porch stood Arthur Vance, my family's estate attorney, holding a thick leather briefcase of certified title deeds.

Two of our longtime neighborhood friends, whom I had invited over as independent witnesses, sat quietly on the stone terrace chairs.

Daniel slammed his car door so hard the frame rattled.

"Elena! What the hell is this circus?" Daniel strode up the stone steps,…