My eyes widened as the document loaded, revealing a signature page dated only three days ago.

The signature at the bottom was not Vivian’s, and it was not Garrett’s.

It was Arthur Bradford’s signature.

The grandfather, the patriarch who had built the entire Bradford dynasty from a single lumber yard, had signed the document.

I stared at the glowing blue screen of my phone, my thumb trembling slightly against the glass.

The amendment stripped Vivian of her trustee powers if she were ever found guilty of corporate malfeasance.

“Clara?” Marcus whispered from the doorway of the guest room. “What is it?”

“Arthur signed this three days ago,” I said, keeping my voice low so as to not wake the boys.

Marcus walked over, his leather shoes silent on the thick carpet, and looked over my shoulder.

“He knew,” Marcus murmured, his eyes scanning the digital document. “The old man knew what she was doing to the company funds.”

“We go to court in six hours,” I said, locking the screen. “This changes everything.”

The next morning, Chicago was gray and slick with a cold October rain.