At seven the next morning, Russ Finch emerged in my uncle's Maybach. I stepped directly into its path.
"Russ Finch." My voice rang out in the cold morning air. "I can prove you're not the legal heir. You're coming with me to see my great-uncle. Now."
Finch studied me, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then, unexpectedly, he nodded.
"Alright." A half-smile curved his lips. "I'm curious to see what proof you think you have."
The moment we arrived at George's house, the words tumbled out of me.
"Great-Uncle George, do you know my uncle left everything to this man?" I jabbed a finger at Finch. "You're not in the will video. Tell me the truth—he forged it, didn't he? He coerced my uncle into this. That's what happened, isn't it?"
George stared at me, genuine confusion creasing his weathered face.
"I know about the will, Simon. Your uncle told me himself." He shifted in his chair, wincing. "I was supposed to be there as witness, but I got into an accident on the way. Broke my leg—see?"
I looked down. Bandages wrapped his leg from knee to ankle.
"I recorded a video testimony before my surgery," he continued. "Confirming the will's validity. They didn't show you?"