What he did not know, what no one knew except my attorney and my late grandfather’s estate manager, was that three days earlier I had inherited nearly ten million dollars. My grandfather had been a quiet investor, the kind of man who never boasted and never explained himself. I was the only grandchild who visited him without obligation, who listened instead of waiting to speak. When he passed, he left everything to me.
I never told Brandon because something in me already knew he would try to claim it as his own.
My daughter was born just after dawn. She had a full head of dark hair and a cry that sounded indignant, as if she already understood how unfair the world could be. I held her against my chest and promised her silently that she would never have to beg for love the way I had.
The next afternoon, as exhaustion pressed down on me like a weight, I heard the distinct sound of heels approaching down the hallway. The door opened without a knock.
Katherine Sloan stepped inside. She was taller than I expected, dressed impeccably, her posture straight, her face unreadable. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then she smiled, not cruelly, but carefully.