“I have the hospital records, Sophia,” he said. “We need to set up a meeting with Ethan and his attorney immediately.”

“Did Ryan visit her?” I asked.

“No,” Arthur said. “According to the visitor logs, the only person who visited your mother on that day was Ethan, and he was only there for ten minutes during non-visiting hours.”

My stomach tightened.

“And the medical chart?” I asked.

“Your mother was administered a high dose of palliative sedatives at noon,” Arthur said. “The alleged will is dated two in the afternoon. She was medically unconscious.”

I closed my eyes and breathed in the cool air of the morning.

“Let’s end this,” I said.

Arthur arranged the meeting for Thursday afternoon at his office in Midtown Manhattan.

The conference room was on the twentieth floor, overlooking a gray grid of streets and yellow cabs.

The table was made of dark mahogany, polished so bright I could see the reflection of the fluorescent lights.

I arrived first, sitting next to Arthur.

He had three thick blue folders arranged neatly in front of him.

At two o’clock, the door opened.