“The firm we called in the city wants a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar retainer just to take the case.”

“Then I suggest you find the money,” I said.

“I don’t have that kind of liquid cash sitting in a bank,” she cried, her voice echoing in the quiet hallway.

“You know how our family assets are structured.”

“Most of your wealth is tied up in the luxury rentals in Boston and the coastal cottage,” I said.

“Then sell them,” I added coldly.

She stared at me as if I had struck her.

“Those properties have been in my family for forty years,” she said.

“My father bought those townhouses.”

“And your son used them to hide marital assets from my children and me,” I said.

Just then, my phone vibrated in my hand.

The screen lit up with Rachel’s name.

I swiped to answer and put it on speaker so Robert could hear.

“Rachel?” I said.

“Clara, is my mother with you?” Rachel’s voice sounded exhausted but firm.

Patricia stepped closer, her eyes locked on my phone.

“Rachel, tell her,” Patricia pleaded toward the screen.