"Enough!" He wrenched my hands away. "If you weren't Harvey's nephew by blood, I'd have called the police on you for harassment long ago. Keep this up, and I won't be so lenient!"
George limped toward me, his voice weary. "Simon, I know this is hard to accept. Your uncle must have had his reasons. You're young—your future achievements might surpass his. Why torture yourself like this?"
"Why torture myself?" I stared at him in disbelief. "We're not talking about thousands or even millions. We're talking about a billion-dollar fortune—my uncle's entire life's work. Doesn't it strike you as strange that he suddenly changed his mind right before he died?" My gaze cut to Russ. "What do you have on them? What leverage?"
George's expression hardened. "Suspect what, exactly? Simon, your uncle is gone. I expect you to respect his final wishes."
Russ let out a cold laugh. "All this drama—you're trying to insinuate your uncle and I had some kind of sordid relationship, aren't you? He was your own flesh and blood, Simon. And you'd drag his name through the mud like this?"
Heat flooded my face. The shame of being exposed burned through me.