For three hours, a stranger kept brushing my leg on the bus while I traveled with my son to visit my seriously ill father-in-law. Just before getting off, he slipped me a handkerchief and whispered, “Pretend you're feeling dizzy, and don't sign anything.” I stayed silent, but when I arrived, I found a will and realized who wanted to take everything from us.

"Martha?" I gasped, looking at my mother-in-law in absolute shock. "You... you knew?"

Martha didn't flinch. She stepped forward, her expensive pearl necklace catching the glare of the floodlights. Her tearful, grieving persona from the previous night had completely vanished, replaced by an icy, calculating glare.

"Don't look at me like that, Jennifer," Martha said coldly. "You were always an outsider. An accountant from a middle-class family who had no business marrying into the Lawson bloodline. Brandon was weak. He let his conscience blind him to what it takes to maintain an empire."

"He was your son!" I screamed, holding Toby tightly behind my back as Marcus subtly shifted his position to cover us. "You let Christian murder your own son!"

"Brandon brought it upon himself!" Martha spat back, her composure slipping into venomous rage. "He was going to destroy everything my father built! Everything we worked for! Lawson Enterprises feeds hundreds of families, controls municipal contracts across three states. I couldn't let one idealistic fool burn it all to the ground—even if he was my own flesh and blood."

"You're sick," I whispered, stomach churning with revulsion.

"She’s pragmatic," Christian corrected with a cruel smile. "And now, Jennifer, the games are over. Marcus, drop the gun you have tucked in your jacket, or my men will put a bullet through the boy first."

Marcus slowly raised his hands, his face tense. "Christian, the feds already have half the paper trail. Killing us won't stop the investigation."

"No, but it will buy me enough time to clear the accounts and leave the country," Christian replied smoothly. He signaled to one of his armed guards. "Take the envelope from her pocket. And take the boy."

"No! Touch him and I'll jump into the river with the documents!" I screamed, backing toward the edge of the mill's open cargo hatch, where the churning river raged twenty feet below us.

Christian laughed, a dark, mocking sound. "Jump if you want, Jennifer. But do you really think Walter was trying to save you tonight?"

I hesitated, my heart skipping a beat. "What do you mean?"

"Dear old Dad didn't give you Brandon's will out of love," Christian sneered, taking a step closer. "He gave it to you because he knew I’d track you down. Walter has been playing us against each other for three years! He’s the one who authorized the hit on Brandon in the first place!"

The world felt like it was tilting on its axis. "Liar," I gasped.

"Ask Marcus!" Christian shouted. "Who do you think hired the mechanic that cut Brandon’s brake lines, Marcus? It wasn't me! I was in New York! It was Walter! The grand patriarch! He killed his own son because Brandon refused to take the fall for Walter's tax evasion scheme!"

I turned my head slightly to look at Marcus. Marcus’s silence was deafening. He didn't deny it. His eyes fell to the floor, filled with shame.