The Cost of Inheritance and the Truth Behind a Family Legacy
“Do not open it for anyone.”
“Not even the nurses.”
“I’ll be back by eleven-thirty.”
I nodded.
Ana slipped out of the room, her movements quiet and swift.
I stood up from the bed, my legs trembling.
I walked to the door and turned the small lock.
The click sounded incredibly loud in the quiet room.
I went to the window.
Below, the streetlights cast long, distorted shadows on the wet pavement.
I could see the dark shape of a sedan parked across the street.
Its headlights were off, but the wipers were moving slowly.
Someone was inside.
Watching.
I pulled the curtain closed, blocking out the light.
The room was dark now, save for the green glow of the heart monitor that wasn’t connected to anything.
I sat back down on the edge of the bed.
My mind went back to Evelyn Vance.
I pictured a young boy standing in the rain, watching his mother lose everything she owned.
I pictured the anger that must have grown inside him over the years.
It was a cycle of ruin.
Abigail had started it.