And you take whatever is left and use it to do some good in this world — real good, the kind that costs something.” He paused for breath. “My wife has been killing me for months.

She told me so herself, an hour ago, standing right where you are. If this money falls into her hands, then murder pays, and evil wins, and everything I spent my life building becomes a beach house for the woman who poisoned me.

I would rather burn it. But I’d rather do this.”

Brandon took a step back, as though physical distance might make the words make sense. “Mr. Benedict — I don’t even know you. You don’t know me. You can’t just—”

“I know enough about you.” Roderick’s voice, thin as it was, had iron under it. “I know you work sixteen hours a day hauling other people’s laundry and freight so your sister can keep her medication.

I know you do it without complaining, and without asking anyone for anything, and without cutting a single corner. And I know my wife poisoned me over four years so she could buy a house on the water with a man who calls himself a fitness coach.”