Chapter 2 - The Final Stroke of a Pen
“‘Addendum to the Last Will and Testament of Arthur James Sterling,’” Mr. Blackwood read aloud, the crisp paper rustling in the quiet sanctuary. “‘Executed on February thirteenth, at precisely 4:16 p.m.’”
He paused, letting the timestamp drop like a lead weight into the center of the room. Yesterday afternoon—less than twenty-four hours before my father’s heart stopped.
“‘To my daughter Natalie,’ ” Mr. Blackwood continued, his eyes scanning the page, “‘who called me yesterday afternoon regarding her husband’s marital betrayal...’”
Grant forgot how to breathe.
I heard the sharp, violent hitch in his chest as his lungs seized. The color drained from his face so fast he looked like a plaster bust in a courtroom hall. Rebecca’s hand froze mid-motion as she reached up to touch the crystals at her collarbone.
“That’s—that’s absurd!” Grant choked out, his voice cracking wildly as he took a half-step forward. “He was medicated! He was elderly and confused—”
“Your father was sharper than a surgical scalpel until his final heartbeat, Grant,” Mr. Blackwood interrupted smoothly, his voice rising just enough to carry over the murmurs of the pews. “‘...and who chose, with characteristic restraint, to bring me documentation of systematic embezzlement, unauthorized corporate asset transfers, and total marital abandonment.’”
The cathedral erupted into a wave of sharp gasps and whispering.
“Embezzlement?” My cousin Marcus muttered from the second row, leaning over to whisper to his wife.
“Silence in the sanctuary!” Father Martinez called out from the altar, though even the priest’s eyes were wide with shock as he looked down at the unfolding disaster.
Grant stumbled backward, his thighs hitting the polished wooden pew. His tie suddenly seemed two sizes too small, his fingers clawing frantically at his shirt collar. “It’s a lie! It’s corporate restructuring! The offshore accounts were for the expansion of the firm—Natalie doesn't know the first thing about commercial finance!”
“I know enough to recognize a felony when I see one,” I said, turning to face him fully. The numbing grief that had hollowed me out just an hour ago was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, surgical fury. “You thought Dad didn't know about the accounts in Grand Cayman? You thought because he was getting older, he didn't notice four hundred thousand dollars missing from the commercial real estate trust?”
Rebecca grabbed Grant’s sleeve, her voice rising in shrill panic. “Grant, make them stop! What is he talking about? You said his accounts were clean!”
Grant yanked his arm away from her with a violence that made her stagger back against the wooden pew. The illusion of their polished, untouchable partnership shattered in a single second. They weren't a couple defending their love; they were two rats trapped in a bucket, instantly turning on each other the moment the water rose.
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“Shut up, Becca,” Grant hissed, his face dark with rage. “Just shut your mouth.”
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