Great-Uncle George was the most respected elder in my mother's family. My uncle had been explicit: a will was only valid if George witnessed it in person.
I scrambled to find the video of my uncle's first will—the one leaving everything to me.
George was right there, clear as day.
I shot to my feet, heart pounding. I was going to expose Russ Finch for what he really was.
I drove back to the villa and slammed through the front gate, ready to storm inside—but Butler Lambert blocked my path.
"Young Master Abbott." His voice was ice. "This is no longer your home. If you cause another disturbance, I'll call the police."
This was the same man who'd fussed over me for years, who'd snuck me extra desserts and asked if I was sleeping enough. Now he looked at me like I was a trespasser.
The rejection stung more than I wanted to admit.
"I need to see Russ Finch," I said, forcing my voice steady. "Let me in."
"Mr. Finch has retired for the evening. Come back tomorrow."
I checked my phone. Just past eight.
The man's nightlife hadn't even begun, and he was already asleep? What kind of young person kept the same hours as my elderly uncle?
I didn't leave.
I stood outside the gate all night.