“Dad signed the medical confinement forms!” Wyatt roared back. “Don’t you dare pin this on me!”

My father just stared at me, his eyes full of a strange, deluded sense of betrayal. “Peyton, how could you do this? We’re your family.”

“No,” I said, turning away. “You’re my suspects.”

Inside the house, our techs hit gold within the hour: crushed sedatives, stacks of blank legal forms carrying forged copies of Franklin’s signature, and a burner phone full of texts with a corrupt local doctor.

The physician had been paid a fortune to declare my grandfather incompetent. The next step in the logs was to raise the sedative dose until his heart failed on its own.

My mother collapsed into tears in the living room. “You have no idea what it costs to maintain the prestige of this family name!”