After my father-in-law’s funeral, my unemployed wife inherited $379 million. Out of nowhere, she asked for a divorce, saying, “You’re no longer of any use to me.” I responded, “Don’t end up regretting this.”

“She thought I was asleep,” Arthur said, a tear leaking from the corner of his eye. “I felt her hands on me. Not holding my hand, Ben. She was patting down my pockets. Then she went to the desk. I opened my eyes just a slit. She was photographing my bank statements. The investment portfolios. The trust documents.”

A cold dread coiled in my gut. “Arthur, maybe she was just…”

“Don’t,” he snapped, coughing violently. “Don’t defend her. I confronted her. I asked her what she was doing. Do you know what she said? She said she was ‘organizing’ for the inevitable. She told me I should cut her siblings out of the will. Said they abandoned me. Said she was the only one here.”

He looked at me, his gaze piercing. “She lied to a dying man, Ben. She stood right there and lied, knowing you’ve been the one wiping my brow and feeding me ice chips while she’s out buying shoes.”

I stayed silent. What could I say? We both knew who Kimberly was. We just hadn’t wanted to admit it out loud.

“She’s pressuring me,” Arthur continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “She wants everything. The liquidity, the properties, the portfolio. $379 million. She thinks she’s entitled to it because she stayed in the same zip code.”

He gestured to the heavy iron safe in the corner of the room. “Open it. Combination is your birthday.”

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