I married my high school sweetheart at seventy-three to honor his final wish—but after his funeral, his lawyer came to my door and said, “You walked straight into his trap.”

”

“No, Nancy. It was for Raymond. Thomas made you his legal wife so no one could ever touch what he left you. It’s ironclad.”

Raymond came pounding on my door three days later, red-faced, waving threats about lawyers and undue influence.

Walter, who visited often, happened to be sitting at my kitchen table with tea.

“Every document is airtight,” my lawyer continue reading …