Brandon thought about them less and less. Real justice, he had come to understand, was not mainly the two of them in prison. Real justice was the sound of healthy children running down a hospital hallway, and the wall of photographs, and Sierra’s letter.

Roderick Benedict had spent his life chasing a fortune, and had lost his own family somewhere along the way in the chasing of it. But in his final hours, betrayed by the person closest to him, he had made one last decision — to put everything he had into the hands of a stranger who understood what a life was actually worth.

His fortune could not save his own heart.

In the end, it saved hundreds of others. And that, Brandon thought, listening to the rain — that was the only inheritance that had ever really mattered.

THE END.