“He is not waiting for my inheritance.” He gathered what strength he had and forced out the rest.

“He is speeding up the process.” I pulled back and looked at his face, and his one open eye held mine steadily, making sure I had understood, making sure the words had landed.

Speeding up the process.

There is no innocent way to read that sentence, spoken by a dying man about the nephew who stood to inherit everything he owned.

I felt the floor of the familiar world tilt under me.