The pull tab on your finger was a placeholder for a promise. The red dress belonged to my late daughter, Lily. The estate is yours. But beware: my son Caleb knows I am gone, and he will come for what he believes is his. Protect Lily’s memory. Protect the shop.
With all my gratitude, Julian.
Before I could process the weight of his words, the heavy wooden door of the hospital room slammed open.
Part 3: The Confrontation
A tall man in a bespoke charcoal suit walked into the room, flanked by a younger corporate associate carrying a briefcase. He had sharp, cold features, but there was an unmistakable resemblance around his eyes that sent a chill through my spine.
It was Caleb.
He scanned the empty hospital bed, then turned his gaze toward Arthur, completely ignoring me at first.
“Pendelton,” Caleb said, his voice cold and transactional. “I got the notification from the nurse’s station. Where are the estate authorization forms? My legal team needs to file the probate claim before the courts close today.”
