His question made me pause, my fingers still on my lap. I turned slightly to face him. "Simon, don't you want to avenge our father?"
His gaze faltered, and after a long moment, he whispered, "But we're usurping someone else's position… What if the real heir returns?"
"There is no 'what if,'" I interrupted firmly. "We've spent this past month going to every court in the city, seeking justice for Father. And what's the result?"
A month ago, our father came to London to present his case, but he was never seen again. Simon had heard whispers in the streets—Father, known for his integrity, had offended someone powerful and was imprisoned on false charges. Not long after, he died in his cell.
Mother passed away when we were still young, and Father, a man of modest means, raised us with nothing but honesty and hard work. We grew up with barely enough, but now he's gone—condemned, framed, and dead for no reason.