The safe door swung open.
The blood in my veins turned to ice. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, drowning out everything else.
Around me, voices swirled—congratulations, flattery, sycophants tripping over themselves to praise "Mr. Finch."
And me? I was the punchline.
"So desperate for money he's lost his mind. The court already confirmed Mr. Finch is the legal heir, but he just wouldn't accept it. Bet that stings now, huh?"
"Must've done something awful in a past life. Parents died on him, and now even his own uncle doesn't want him. Karma's a bitch."
"Some people just aren't meant for fortune. Give it up already!"
I stood frozen, trembling like a leaf in a storm.
How?
How could this be?
Great-Uncle George had vouched for a man he'd never met. Uncle Harvey had signed that will like a man betting everything on one last hand. He'd given this stranger his most guarded secret—the password no one else knew.
Every single piece of evidence pointed to the same conclusion: Russ Finch was the legitimate heir.
Who the hell is Russ Finch?
No.
No.
Something didn't add up. I was missing something.
My thoughts churned into chaos—
Then my phone buzzed.
Blake Morgan. The private investigator.