I looked up sharply.
“What happened to Grandma?”
Nathaniel did not answer.
“She had cancer.”
“Yes.”
“She died from it.”
He hesitated.
“She died from complications.”
“What kind?”
“Pneumonia, officially.”
“Officially?”
He reached for another file.
“Six weeks before her death, Opal dismissed a home-care nurse.”
“Why?”
“She believed someone was interfering with her medication.”
I stood.
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
My head spun.
“No.”
“Sylvie—”
“No.
Are you telling me you think my parents killed my grandmother?”
“I’m telling you Opal was suspicious.”
“Did you investigate?”
“She refused police involvement.”
“Why?”
“She said she had no proof.”
I paced toward the window.
This was becoming monstrous.
Inheritance betrayal was one thing.
Attempted academic sabotage another.
But murder?
No.
I refused to leap there.
“What were the medications?”
“Mostly pain management.”
“Could someone have killed her with them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why tell me this?”
“Because your parents filed a petition yesterday.”
I turned.
“What petition?”
“They are challenging the trust.”
I laughed once.
“They have no basis.”
“They claim undue influence.”
“By me?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know it existed.”
“They allege your grandmother concealed communications with you.”
“That’s insane.”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“Litigation doesn’t require truth to become expensive.”
My parents had chosen war.
Fine.
I would give them facts.
The lawsuit became public within a week.
Suddenly relatives who had barely spoken to me in years developed opinions.
Aunt Cora supported me.
Uncle Ambrose urged reconciliation.
Three cousins messaged asking whether the rumors about “Grandma’s secret millions” were true.
Someone leaked my Wexford compensation package.
A business blog published my photograph beneath the headline:
UNKNOWN HEIRESS JOINS WEXFORD LANE IN $9M DEAL
I hated it.
Not because the numbers were false.
Because once money entered the story, everything else disappeared.
No one wrote:
Woman’s parents skip graduation and fabricate failure.
