Pretending To Be In A Tight Spot, I Asked For One Safe Night Indoors. My Well-Off Kids Said It Wouldn’t Work. Only My Youngest Son, A Teacher, Took Me In, Ready To Sell His Wedding Ring To Cover Groceries. Next Morning, My Lawyer Arrived With A $100m Check, And Their Expressions Changed…

“I’ll be there in 90 minutes. But Annie, whatever’s happening, we should discuss it carefully. Major financial decisions when you’re dealing with a health crisis.”

“The health crisis is exactly why I need to do this now.

I’ll explain everything when I see you.”

Robert’s law office occupied the top floor of a colonial era building in downtown Newport. At 2:30 a.m., the streets were empty except for a few stragglers from the waterfront bars. I parked in the empty lot behind the building and made my way to the back entrance where Robert was waiting.

He looked exactly like what he was, a 60-year-old attorney who’d been dragged out of bed by a client’s emergency. His gray hair was disheveled. His shirt wrinkled, but his eyes were sharp and alert.

“All right, Annie, talk to me.”

I told him everything. The cancer diagnosis, Sandra and Donald’s manipulation, Miguel’s call, and my decision to disappear. Robert listened without interruption, his expression growing more concerned with each detail.

“You want to fake your own death?” He asked when I finished. “Not fake it, just step away from this life and into another one legally.”

“Annie, what you’re describing is incredibly complex. The tax implications alone can be handled.”

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