He met my gaze.
“But there’s one condition,” he said.
“And it changes everything.”
I stared at him.
“What condition?”
Richard Hartwell didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a thick brown envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Nathan Brooks.
Not Nathan Brooks Jr.
Not “to the grandson.”
Just my name.
My hands suddenly felt cold.
“What is that?”
“Your grandfather’s final instructions.”
He held the envelope toward me.
I didn’t take it.
“I think you have the wrong person.”
“I don’t.”
“My grandfather died before I was born.”
Richard’s expression hardened.
“That is what your father
told you.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
He looked around the alley before lowering his voice.
“Your grandfather didn’t die before you were born, Nathan. He was alive for seventeen years after your birth.”
I stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
“No,” Richard said quietly. “What’s impossible is that your father convinced you otherwise.”
The words hit harder than anything my father had said that morning.
I finally took the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
I nearly dropped it.
A younger version of my father stood beside an older man in front of a massive brick building.
The older man had silver hair, a sharp jaw, and the same dark eyes I saw every morning when I looked in the mirror.
I flipped the photograph over.
There was handwriting on the back.
My son Daniel. My grandson Nathan.
My breathing stopped.
“Daniel is your father,” Richard said.
“And James Brooks was your
grandfather.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“Why did my dad say he was dead?”
“That,” Richard replied, “is the condition.”
I looked up.
Richard opened the envelope and removed a second document.
“Your grandfather knew your father would attempt to claim the estate after his death.”
“Why?”
“Because your father already tried once.”
My fingers tightened around the paper.
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
I shook my head.
“My dad never mentioned any inheritance.”
“He wouldn’t.”
Richard slid another document toward me.
It was a legal notice.
At the top was the name Brooks Holdings.
Below it were several signatures.
One of them belonged to my father.
“He attempted to have himself declared your grandfather’s only surviving heir,” Richard said.
“But James refused.”
“Why?”
“Because your grandfather had already made his decision.”
Richard pointed to the final paragraph.
