When the others had filed out to handle the filing, Brandon came to the bedside at last. He had said almost nothing the whole time.

“Mr. Benedict, I—”

“Listen to me.” Roderick caught his wrist. For a dying man the grip was startling, almost fierce. “You’re going to spend the next while thinking you don’t deserve this.

Stop. I didn’t give it to you because you deserve it. I gave it to you because I trust you to carry it. You’re not inheriting a fortune, Brandon. You’re inheriting a duty.

Do you understand the difference?”

Brandon looked at the ruined, determined old man holding his arm, and nodded, because his throat had closed and he could not speak.