Elias Cohen’s number had sat untouched in my contacts for three years. He had been my grandfather’s estate lawyer. After our marriage, Arthur replaced him with younger attorneys who agreed with everything he said. He called it “a fresh perspective.” I had let the only lawyer loyal to me disappear from the room.
Elias worked in a small, cluttered office above a bookstore. It smelled of old paper and bitter coffee. He listened while I told him everything, then I placed the broken air freshener and tiny lens on his desk.
He looked from the camera to my face and stayed quiet. Years ago, those same hands had lifted me onto his knee while he worked with my grandfather. Now he pushed the lens beneath his desk lamp.
“Divorce wasn’t enough for him, Willa. He needs your money. All of it.” Elias t
