16

Nathaniel “Do you have any fucking idea what you’re doing?” I sigh for the thousandth time today and face my nephew—the source of the unnecessary question. “He does,” Aspen tells him with her usual assertiveness. The three of us are standing near City Hall, ignoring the people buzzing around us, and focusing on the time. Or I’m probably the only one who’s having an unhealthy obsession with my watch. Gwyneth is twenty minutes late. Surely there’s a reason behind her tardiness. She’s never been the type who’s late to appointments. Or irresponsible. Though it’s true that getting married only five days after her father’s accident isn’t a normal situation, it’s not like we have time. The sooner she gives me power of attorney, the easier I can stop Susan’s moves. Because she’s plotting them as we speak. I made calls, talked to judges, and I know about the subpoenas her lawyer is trying to file. I can only ward her off for so long before I run out of options. Time isn’t on our side, which is