“The ring was just the beginning,” I said.

“Then you’re as foolish as your mother was,” Graham said.

He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling of the old church.

“I’m going to contest the entire marital protection clause in court,” Graham said, his lips curling into a smug smile.

“You can’t,” Julian said. “The terms are ironclad.”

“They aren’t ironclad if the person who signed them wasn’t of sound mind,” Graham said.

He leaned closer, his breath smelling of stale coffee and mints.

“Your grandmother was eighty-eight when she altered that trust to favor her biological heirs,” Graham said.

“She was in the early stages of dementia, and I have the medical records from the Grace Harbor clinic to prove it.”

I felt the blood drain from my face, the coldness of the stone floor rising up through the soles of my shoes.

“She was perfectly lucid,” I said, though my voice sounded thinner now.

“We’ll see what a probate judge thinks when I present the daily logs from her private nurse,” Graham said.

“She didn’t even know what year it was when she signed the ninety-eight amendment.”