On Wednesday, a white Range Rover pulled into my drive.

Vanessa stepped out holding a tape measure.

“Daniel said I could pop round,” she said, walking past me into the hall. “I'm doing the curtains. These are very... dated.”

“You know you're in my house,” I said.

“For four more days.” She looked me up and down. “Grace, I'll be honest, because nobody else will. Daniel outgrew you years ago. He needs someone who understands business. On Friday, the board is making me Chief Operating Officer.”

“Is it?”

“It's a formality. Daniel runs that company.” She took a selfie with my fireplace behind her. “And an investor is coming in. Sterling Group. Thirty per cent. Daniel's going to be very, very rich.”

She left her coffee cup on my windowsill when she went.

That night, her Instagram had a new post: my living room, her smile, and the caption New chapter. New home. Three of the likes were from my so-called friends.

I called my lawyer, Marcus Hale.

“They're bringing in Sterling on Friday,” I said.

“I know,” Marcus said. “And the deal needs Whitmore Holdings to approve it. Daniel has asked me to get ‘the old trustee' to sign.”

I smiled for the first time in days. “Tell him the director will attend in person.”