“I traded them,” Daniel said. “It was a transaction. She gave me the voting rights to the harbor development project, and I gave her the real estate assets.”

“The assets that belonged to my mother’s estate,” I said.

“Your mother’s estate was part of our marital property,” he said. “I had every legal right to manage those assets as I saw fit.”

“Even if it meant lying to the probate court?” I asked.

“The court only knows what the documents show,” Daniel said.

He took a step toward the sculpture, his eyes tracing the clean, sharp lines of the carved wood.

“And the documents show that you signed over power of attorney to me three years ago,” he said.

“I signed a medical proxy,” I said. “Not a financial surrender.”

“The wording was broad enough,” Daniel said. “Your lawyers should have read the fine print.”

He reached out and ran his fingers over the polished cedar.

I held my breath, watching his hand hover just inches from the hidden microphone.

“You really thought you could paint your way out of this,” he said, his voice soft, almost mocking. “You thought a few gallery openings would make you independent.”