“Go over it again,” I demand, leaning my elbows on my massive mahogany desk. The wood surface is completely bare, since I swept the contents onto the floor after reading the clause my father added to his will. Scott pushes his black glasses up his hawkish nose, blinking rapidly. “I’ve read it twice. Unless there’s a message in invisible ink, it says what I told you: if you want to keep the firm, you have three months to get married and must stay married for at least one year. Otherwise …”
