"Pretend you're my wife.

I called Giovanni from the street outside Danny's office.

He answered on the second ring.

"You went to meet Carver," he said.

Not a question.

"Yes."

A pause.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine.

I need to see you.

Not tonight — now.

This morning."

Forty minutes later we were sitting across from each other in a quiet corner of a restaurant near the river.

Giovanni had ordered coffee.

I hadn't ordered anything.

I put the document on the table between us.

He looked at it.

Then at me.

"Where did you get this?"

"Carver gave it to me.

He said it proves your grandfather initiated the trust clause.

Not Marco."

Giovanni picked it up.

Read it.

His expression didn't change much, but his jaw set in a way I was beginning to recognize.

"This is the document," he said.

"Which document?"

"The one I've been trying to locate for six months." He set it down carefully.

"My attorney believes it exists.

Marco's team has denied it at every step." He looked up.

"Carver gave this to you."

"A copy.

To convince me to walk away."

"And instead you brought it to me."

"I brought it to a lawyer friend first," I said.

"He told me the notarizing firm dissolved in 2021.

Which means verifying the original is complicated.

He also told me the document proves Aldo signed it — but doesn't prove Aldo initiated it."

Giovanni was quiet for a moment.

"My grandfather had a stroke in the spring of that year," he said.

"He was recovering.

Marco managed most of his affairs for four months.

The legal team reported to Marco during that period."

"So Marco could have prepared the document and put it in front of Aldo to sign."

"Yes."

"And Aldo might not have fully understood what he was signing."

"He was seventy-eight and on medication that affected his cognition," Giovanni said.

"His personal physician documented it.

I have those records."

I looked at him.

"Then that's your case."

"It's part of it.

The document itself is the piece I was missing.

With this — " He stopped.

"With this, my attorney can file the challenge with actual evidence instead of theory."

"Will Marco know Carver gave it to me?"

"Not immediately.

Carver was trying to use it as a tool to push you out.

He didn't expect you to take it and walk." Something that wasn't quite a smile crossed Giovanni's face.

"He underestimated you."

"Most people do," I said.

"It's useful."

Giovanni looked at me for a long moment.

"Why did you bring this to me?

You could have taken Marco's envelope and walked away."

"I thought about it," I said honestly.

"For about thirty seconds."

"What changed your mind?"

I thought about how to answer that.

"He mentioned Lily," I said.

"Carver.

He said my name and my daughter's name would be part of the public record if the legal challenge went forward.

He said it like it was neutral information." I paused.

"It wasn't neutral.

It was a warning aimed at a single mother who can't afford a prolonged legal fight." I met Giovanni's eyes.

"I don't respond well to that kind of warning."

Giovanni was quiet.

"There's something else," I said.

"If what you're telling me is true — if Marco has been systematically sabotaging your life for years — then three hundred people are going to lose their jobs because one man wants to win an inheritance dispute." I shook my head.

"I'm a pediatric nurse.

I spend my shifts making sure children don't suffer for things that aren't their fault.

I can't sit across from you, know what I know, and hand that envelope back to the people who sent it."

Giovanni set his coffee cup down.

"I'd like to revise the arrangement," he said.

"Revise it how?"

"I'd like to retain Danny Chen," he said.

"Properly.

As part of the legal team.

His observation about the notarizing firm is exactly the kind of detail my attorney needs."

"Danny's a contracts lawyer.

Not a trust litigator."

"My trust litigator needs a contracts lawyer who can read documents quickly and spot what others miss," Giovanni said.

"I'll cover his fees.

Retroactively from this morning."

I blinked.

"You can do that?"

"I can do that."

I sat with it for a moment.

"And the arrangement itself?" I asked.

"The six to eight weeks?"

"Still necessary," he said.

"Renata is already asking questions.

Marco will be watching.

The trust review is in five weeks." He paused.

"But I want to be clear with you, Jessica.

What you did this morning — walking into that meeting, taking that document, bringing it here — that wasn't part of what I asked you to do.

You did that because you decided to." He held my gaze.

"I don't take that lightly."

I looked out the window at the river.

The same river from the ballroom last night, just seen from a different angle.

"There's one more thing," I said.

"Tell me."

"Tyler mentioned filing for something.

Custody or visitation.

Vanessa told me at the wedding." I kept my voice level.

"If that becomes a real legal action, I need to be able to respond to it.

I can't be in the middle of a Fierro family trust dispute and a custody fight without — "

"You'll have the same legal support," Giovanni said immediately.

"Whatever you need.

That's not a negotiation."

I looked back at him.

"You didn't even hesitate," I said.

"No," he said simply.

"I didn't."

Outside, a river taxi moved slowly past.

A family on the upper deck — two kids, a man pointing at something on the far bank, a woman laughing at whatever he said.

My phone buzzed.

A text from my mother: *Lily wants to know when you're coming home.

She made you a drawing.*

I typed back: *Soon.

Tell her I love it already.*

"I need to get back to my daughter," I said.

"Of course."

I stood.

Giovanni stood with me.

"Giovanni," I said.

"The document.

How quickly can your attorney move on it?"

"I'll call him from the car," he said.

"Then call him now," I said.

"Because if Marco realizes Carver gave me that copy, he's going to move first."

Giovanni already had his phone out before I finished the sentence.

I left him at the table, phone to his ear, the document in his hand.

On the street, I walked toward the train station and thought about Lily's drawing waiting for me at home — whatever it was, whatever colors she'd used, whatever story she'd decided to tell on a piece of paper.

I thought: whatever happens next, she doesn't need to know any of this.