“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.

“Weak on the merits. Richard prepared for this. We have medical certifications, video statements, independent legal review, and witnesses. But litigation is never painless. Especially not with the attorney Thomas hired.”

“Who?”

“Grayson Mills.”

Eleanor recognized the name. Every wealthy family in Chicago knew it. Mills was not merely an estate litigator. He was a demolition expert. He won not only by arguing law, but by making the process so humiliating, so expensive, and so public that opponents settled to stop the bleeding.

“Prepare yourself,” Walter said gently. “This will get ugly.”

Richard, as always, had prepared too.

Three days later, Jennifer Avery arrived at the penthouse with a sealed envelope and a key.

“Mr. Mitchell instructed me to give this to you when you needed to remember why you were fighting,” she said.

The envelope contained a note in Richard’s handwriting.

“For when Thomas forces your hand. Storage unit 447. All my love, always.”