My mind flashed back to the countless nights watching Grace struggle, the whispered hopes for a remedy.
The next paragraph made my stomach drop.
“Caleb Monroe shall serve as silent partner and fiduciary, bound to protect the confidentiality of the research and the interests of the sole heir.”
He—my brother, my best friend—had been paid, not by love, but by a contract.
The legal language was cold, clinical, yet it laid bare the motive behind every smile, every promise.
I could see Caleb’s silhouette in the background of every memory, a shadow of greed behind his kindness.
One line sealed the horror: “In the event of Grace’s death, all patents, assets, and research data transfer immediately to Emily Harper.”
My breath caught; the inheritance was not just money, but control over a future cure—something only I could unlock.
I stared at the paper, feeling betrayal coil around my heart like a vine.
