I had not answered a single one.
Daniel had taught me something during our twelve years together: never interrupt someone while they are exposing themselves.
Vivian turned toward the casket and rested her fingers on its polished edge.
“My son spent his final months trying to clean up her mess,” she announced. “Now Grant and I will have to protect what remains of Daniel’s legacy.”
Grant gave a solemn nod.
There it was. Not grief. Ownership.
Vivian believed Daniel’s company, our house, and the insurance money would fall into her hands before the flowers on his grave had wilted. She believed the documents blaming me were real. She believed Daniel had died before discovering who created them.
And she had no idea what he had placed on his phone seven days before the accident.
Noah’s hand moved beside me. At first, I thought he was reaching for mine.
