Sign the papers, Margaret, or I’ll make sure every gallery in Manhattan blacklists you

I let Celeste finish her threat. I let Trent slide the pen toward my hand. Then I walked slowly to the north wall and pulled back the linen sheet covering David’s final unfinished canvas. “Before I sign,” I said, “you should meet someone.” The freight elevator groaned open. Out stepped Howard Linville, the silver-haired director of the Whitcomb Foundation, the same foundation Celeste had been courting for two years to fund Trent’s vanity museum in Aspen. Behind him came David’s estate attorney, Ms. Reyes, carrying a folder thicker than the Manhattan phone book. Celeste’s smile cracked at the corners. “Margaret, what is this?” I poured myself coffee. “This is the part where you learn David updated his will four days before the stroke. The studio, the unfinished works, and the licensing rights to the entire Hale catalog were placed in a trust. I’m the sole trustee.” Trent lunged for the contract. Ms. Reyes calmly slid it into her bag. “That document is void,” she said. “Coercion of a trustee is a felony in New York. We have the audio.” I tapped the small brass pin on my collar. Celeste went the color of old paper. Howard cleared his throat. “Mrs. Hale, the Foundation is prepared to announce the David Hale Memorial Residency tomorrow morning. Fifty artists a year, fully funded, hosted in this loft.” He paused, looking at Celeste with polite disdain. “We’re also withdrawing all consideration from the Aspen project. The Foundation does not partner with families under criminal review.” Celeste’s lips trembled. “Margaret, please. Trent’s firm, our house, the kids’ school —” I picked up the pen she’d brought, the heavy gold one engraved with her initials. I clicked it once. “Move on with dignity, Celeste. Isn’t that what you told me at the funeral?” I handed the pen back. “Keep it. You’ll need something to sign your own paperwork with.” The elevator doors closed on her shaking shoulders. I turned back to David’s canvas, dipped a brush in cobalt, and finally finished the sky he’d started.