Three days before his death, my father had called me from his hospital room. His voice was weak but clear.
“They changed my medication,” he whispered. “Grant brought papers. Owen held my hand down. Celeste saw everything. Don’t come alone.”
The call ended with a crash and silence, but it had been automatically recorded on my phone.
While my brothers were planning their inheritance, I had been tracing forged signatures, suspicious bank transfers, and a payment made to keep one frightened nurse quiet-
