He Married Me to Steal My Family’s Shipyard. My Brother Spent Fifteen Years in a Wheelchair Waiting to Prove It

There is not even a body, God help us.

And you are sitting in her chair trying to sign away her land?”

Callum wore grief like a well-tailored suit.

“I’m not trying to take anything, Emmett.

I’m trying to keep this company alive while the divers do their terrible work out there in the bay.

It’s what she would have wanted.”

His attorney slid a stack of folders onto the table — the forged power of attorney, the land-transfer deeds, every page carrying a careful copy of my signature.

“The board needs to authorize these transfers today,” Callum said, gentle and grave.