The first hour was pleasant enough. We sailed into calm waters, the Massachusetts coastline growing smaller behind us. But then David started asking questions, casual ones at first, about my will, about the trust arrangements. “It’s just that probate can be so complicated, Mom,” he said, refilling my champagne glass with a little too much enthusiasm. “We want to make sure everything’s taken care of.”

That’s when I noticed Vanessa filming me with her phone. Not openly, but holding it at an angle while pretending to take selfies, getting me on camera while I was drinking, while I was talking about financial matters, building some kind of evidence.

The pieces clicked together with horrible clarity. The surgery I’d had. They’d insisted on handling all my paperwork afterward. The power of attorney documents they’d brought to the hospital, claiming it was “just temporary.” The way my financial adviser had stopped returning my calls.