“My son chose a birthday party over his father’s funeral. That night, I opened the letter my dying husband left behind—and discovered a clause that gave me the power to decide whether our only child would inherit everything… or nothing at all.

Eleanor sighed. “Your father earns one point two million dollars a year as regional director. His salary remains unchanged. Richard never wanted to leave him destitute. He wanted to keep the company safe.”

“They don’t see it that way.”

“No. I don’t imagine they do.”

Charlotte twisted her napkin. “They’re meeting with lawyers. Victoria keeps saying you were too grief-stricken to make rational decisions. She said they’ll prove Grandpa was drugged and that you poisoned him against Dad.”

Eleanor felt a coldness spread through her.

“And what do you think?” she asked.

Charlotte looked up. Her eyes were Richard’s eyes, gray and steady.

“I think Grandpa knew exactly what he was doing,” she said. “And so do you.”

That afternoon, Walter called.

“Thomas has filed preliminary paperwork,” he said. “He’s contesting the will.”

“On what grounds?”

“Undue influence, lack of testamentary capacity, emotional manipulation, and your alleged cognitive decline.”

Eleanor looked toward Richard’s portrait. “How strong is his case?”