I leaned against the footboard, staring at the blue wool blanket wrapped around my baby’s shoulders.

The illness that had kept Raymond paralyzed in bed for six weeks had never been a natural decline.

Christopher had been paying Dr.

Wallace to poison his uncle so he could clear the estate before anyone found out Raymond had a living son and grandson.

“If Brandon is your son,” I said, “he’s the sole legal heir to Winslow Transport Fleets.”

“And Theodore is second in line,” Raymond said, his voice clear and hard.