“Ladies and gentlemen,” Richard said, smiling at the crowd.

The chatter in the room died down.

“Thank you all for joining us tonight to celebrate the expansion of the Harrison Pediatric Pavilion.”

The crowd applauded politely.

“This hospital has always been a cornerstone of our family’s commitment to Chicago,” Richard continued.

“We believe in protecting the vulnerable.”

“We believe in legacy.”

I felt a wave of nausea at his words.

Eleanor stood just behind him, nodding graciously to the front row.

“Tonight, we are proud to announce a new chapter,” Richard said.

“A chapter built on trust, integrity, and family.”

Ethan looked at the technician’s monitor.

The transfer was complete.

“Now,” Ethan said.

The technician hesitated for a fraction of a second, then hit the enter key.

The massive projection screen behind Richard flickered.

The polished promotional video of the hospital disappeared.

In its place, a harsh, black-and-white scan of a financial document appeared.

The words *CONFIDENTIAL: HARRISON TRUST AGREEMENT* were printed in bold letters at the top.

A murmur ran through the crowd.

Richard stopped speaking mid-sentence.

He turned his head slowly to look at the screen behind him.