Chapter 8 - THE WILL
I stared at my father.
He didn't move.
Rebecca was still on the phone.
“Tell her,” she whispered.
My father closed his eyes.
“Your mother wasn't killed because of Graham.”
I felt numb.
“Then who killed her?”
“No one.”
I stared.
“What?”
“She died from the illness.”
I couldn't speak.
“But the poisoning—”
“Graham poisoned her once.”
My father looked at me.
“He tried.”
“But she recovered.”
“Yes.”
“Then what happened?”
“She was already dying.”
I felt tears fill my eyes.
“So the whole story…”
“Was partly true.”
“Why did you let me believe she was murdered?”
“Because Graham needed to believe we suspected him.”
I shook my head.
“You lied to protect me.”
“Yes.”
“Everyone lied.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Adrian.
He had arrived at the house.
He stood near the doorway.
Maren and the baby were safe at another location.
He looked exhausted.
I wanted to hate him.
Part of me did.
But there was something else in his eyes.
Regret.
“I need the will,” I said.
My father nodded.
Rebecca told us where it was hidden.
A safe deposit box.
We went there before dawn.
Inside was a sealed envelope.
My mother's handwriting covered the front.
For Hannah, on her thirty-fifth birthday.
I opened it.
The letter inside was longer than I expected.
My mother explained everything.
The adoption.
The trust.
Graham.
My father.
Adrian.
And then I reached the final paragraph.
There is one person I fear more than Graham.
I stopped.
Not because he is cruel.
Because he is willing to sacrifice anyone to protect you.
I looked at Adrian.
My mother continued.
His name is Edward.
My father.
I felt the room go silent.
“What did he do?”
The answer was on the next page.
My father had made a secret agreement with Graham.
In exchange for keeping me alive, he had promised to surrender his own rights to the trust.
But Graham betrayed him.
My father then spent years collecting evidence against Graham.
The problem was that the agreement made my father appear complicit.
The final document was a confession.
Not from my father.
From Graham.
He admitted everything.
Including the attempt to access my accounts.
Including the forged medical records.
Including the plan to seize my inheritance before my thirty-fifth birthday.
But one sentence terrified me.
The final transfer requires Hannah's signature.
Darcy—my father's attorney—had arranged for the document to be delivered to me.
I looked at the signature page.
Someone had already signed it.
My name.
I stared.
“I didn't sign this.”
My father went pale.
Adrian stepped forward.
“Neither did I.”
Then the safe deposit officer entered.
“Ms. Cole?”
“Yes?”
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
He looked at the signature.
“That document was submitted yesterday.”
“By whom?”
He checked the record.
May you like
Then looked directly at me.
“Your husband.”
