As Emma tossed her bouquet and the evening wound down, I watched my new son‑in‑law work the room with the efficiency of a seasoned con artist. He clearly had elaborate plans brewing in that handsome head. Too bad for Marcus, I’d spent seventy‑two years learning that the most dangerous opponents are usually the ones everyone underestimates. And this old widow was about to become very, very dangerous.

The post‑wedding aftermath lasted exactly forty‑eight hours before the real show began. Emma called daily, each conversation a breathless symphony of marital bliss and how wonderfully Marcus was treating her.

“He’s so thoughtful, Mom. Always thinking ahead about our future and financial security.”

Security. The word floated through our conversations like smoke before a fire.

“How lovely. Sweetheart, a husband should definitely think about money constantly—especially other people’s money.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, dear. Just that financial planning is so romantic.”

Emma missed the sarcasm entirely, which was probably for the best.