Twelve years of living in a place that felt like a prison.

Twelve years of watching my neighbors get sick from the damp.

Twelve years of wondering if we would survive the winter.

All while Arthur Dunleavy accumulated a fortune on our misery.

“Why?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

I looked up at Arthur.

“Why did you do this to us?”

“Because you are nothing,” Arthur said, his voice sharp and cold.

“You and your mother were nothing but a stain on this family’s history.”

“You didn’t deserve a single dime of the Graves fortune.”

“It wasn’t yours to decide, Arthur,” Nathaniel said.

He stood up, towering over his desk.

“My mother’s will was very clear.”

“The property was to be maintained for the people who lived there.”

“And a trust was set up for Claire’s family.”

“A trust you hid from her.”

I stared at Nathaniel.

“A trust?” I asked.

“My mother never told me about a trust.”

“Because Arthur told her it was dissolved,” Nathaniel said.

“He told her the money was gone.”

“But it wasn’t.”