She sounded thin.
Careful.
Afraid.
I let the silence stretch between us.
“About what?” I asked evenly.
“You know about what.”
“I actually don’t.”
Another pause. I imagined her somewhere polished and temporary—maybe a short-term rental, maybe a friend’s condo. The penthouse overlooking the Hudson had been leased in Daniel’s name. Once the estate froze during probate, it had become legally complicated. And once the will was executed, it became very clear.
She had nothing.
“I’d rather discuss this in person,” she said.