I looked up at the mainsail snapping clean in the wind, then back toward the harbor, barely visible now as a low line on the horizon.
“Tell me we can crush him.”
A pause.
Then: “I think your father anticipated this. There’s one item from the safe we haven’t discussed yet. I was saving it for the hearing.”
I felt my stomach drop. “What item?”
“The video.”
The boat surged forward on a gust, spray hitting my face.
“What’s on it?” I asked.
Blackwood’s voice softened.
“Your father,” he said, “explaining exactly why he changed the will.”
I went still with the salt drying on my skin and the tiller warm under my palm.
Because if my father had left behind a direct statement, Grant’s challenge wasn’t just cruel.
It was about to become catastrophic.
Part 8
The video was worse and better than I expected.
Worse because it hurt to watch him alive again.
Better because my father had always known exactly how to speak when he wanted history arranged in his favor.
Blackwood played it for me in his office three days after Grant filed the motion. He closed the blinds first, which I appreciated. There are some griefs you do not want lit by downtown sunlight and the glow of a conference-room monitor.