Scott stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the hardwood floor.

“Who gets it then?” Scott demanded, his fists clenched at his sides. “Does it go to Avery? Is that what this is?”

“No,” Pendelton said. “Under the secondary clause of the will, the entire estate is redirected.”

He looked at me, a faint, respectful nod passing between us.

“The seven point three million dollars will be transferred in full to the Oakridge Community Foundation,” Pendelton said.

Scott frowned, looking confused. “The what?”

“The Oakridge Community Foundation,” Jerome repeated, leaning back in his chair. “It is a registered charitable trust that supports local housing initiatives.”

Kayla looked from Scott to me, her eyes wide.

“What does that mean?” Kayla asked, her voice shrill. “Who runs that?”

“I do,” I said.

The room fell into an absolute, suffocating silence.

Scott stared at me, his mouth slightly open.

“You,” he whispered.

“I have been the executive director of the foundation for three years, Scott,” I said. “Your grandmother was one of our primary donors.”

He looked like he had been struck.