“Sit in the back, Vanessa,” he snapped. “And keep quiet.”

Mr. Sterling arrived moments later, carrying a heavy leather-bound folder. He took his seat, straightened his glasses, and surveyed the room. His eyes paused on me for a fraction longer than on anyone else—thoughtful, impossible to read—before moving on to Curtis.

“We will now begin the reading of Mr. Arthur’s final will and testament,” Sterling announced.

Curtis tapped his fingers impatiently against the table.

“Let’s skip the formalities,” he said sharply. “I want to hear about properties and liquid assets. I’m flying to Monaco on Friday and need funds ready.”

Sterling proceeded through the legal language. Curtis sighed loudly. Finally, the lawyer reached the inheritance section.

“To my only son, Curtis, I leave ownership of the family residence, the automobile collection, and the sum of seventy-five million dollars…”

Curtis slammed his fist down and jumped to his feet.

“I knew it!” he shouted, grinning triumphantly. “Every cent is mine!” He turned toward me, cruelty curling his lips. “Did you hear that, Vanessa? Seventy-five million. And you? You get nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

I sat motionless, shame burning my chest. His advisers snorted under their breath. I braced myself for one last humiliation.

Curtis grabbed his briefcase.

“All right, Sterling. Start the transfers. I’m done here.”