I came home from the funeral to tell my parents and sister that my husband had left me $8.5m and 6 Manhattan lofts. When I walked into the house, I overheard my parents talking. What they were saying… made my blood run cold.

James adds, “I’ve also sent copies of everything to your personal attorney as a precaution. If Patricia tries to retaliate with a defamation claim or a counter petition, you’re covered.”

That afternoon, Gerald’s phone rings at the house in Ridgewood. It’s Voss. James’ parillegal confirmed this through a mutual contact. Voss is panicking.

“What did you get me into, Gerald? I could lose my license. I could face charges.”

Gerald doesn’t answer.

According to Patricia, who called Chloe, who mentioned it to Ryan before he blocked her number, who then texted me unprompted, Gerald has barely spoken since Sunday night. He sits in his recliner. He doesn’t eat. He doesn’t watch television. He stares at the wall where his church service award used to hang. Patricia took it down Monday morning before the neighbors could see.

The alliance is crumbling, and nobody is reaching for the pieces.

The call comes on Tuesday evening. Patricia. I almost let it ring. Then I pick up because this is the last time and I know it.

“You’ve destroyed this family.”

Her voice is horsearo. Whether from crying or from shouting, I can’t tell.

“Your father could go to prison. Is that what you want?”