Placing his glasses on his nose, he starts reading the will. It doesn't take me long to realize this is the same one Nikki told me about—the one that leaves most of his assets to me.

"I don't understand why they are here if I'm the beneficiary. They don't get anything." I point to the family when Mr. Daniels finishes.

"Actually," Mr. Daniels clears his throat. "They are here because Mr. Archibald"—he nods to Nikki's uncle Matthew—"wants to contest the will."

"Contest?" I burst out. "What for? I'm his wife, and his will states that I get the majority of his assets, including the company. What is there to contest?" I get to my feet, giving Mr. Daniels a belligerent look.

"Lucero, dear. You've been in the hospital for quite some time, so you may not be aware," Ophelia addresses me in a fake voice. "But once we discovered that Nicholas was using hard drugs, we did our duty and talked to his therapist and his physician." She feigns a sound of distress.

"What are you talking about?"

"His doctor told us that he hadn't been in his right mind since that accident years ago. The therapist confirmed it, too. Since the accident took a toll on his brain, it caused some issues with his frontal lobe. It's that part of the brain that deals with decision-making."

"I know what the front lobe is," I snap.

"Frontal," she corrects, her finger delicately raised.

"Your point?" I arch an eyebrow.

"We've talked to his other therapists, of course, and they all confirmed that he suffered personality disturbances after the accident. We've brought the medical records here. They've already been notarized."

"I don't see what that has to do with the will."

"Of course it does. He ratified the will after his accident."

"Nikki said his doctor cleared him for that." I narrow my eyes.

"And who knows what other lies he might have told you? All his therapists said the same thing. The boy was living in a delusional world." She flutters the documents in her hand. "Why, those houses of his alone were more secure than Alcatraz. To say he was paranoid would be an understatement."

"I still don't get what you're trying to do with this. Even if that were all true—and I know it's not—I'm still his wife and that means I stand to inherit his assets."

"Not if the marriage happened under duress, too. Not if he wasn't able to make a sound decision. He did marry you after his accident, after all. Didn't you move in with him only a few months after he woke up from his coma? Who's to say you didn't influence him in some way?" she says innocently, although the malice is evident.

"What?" I whisper, horrified.

"And of course, if he wasn't of sound mind to make these decisions, that means there are grounds for the annulment of your marriage, too."