The name hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest.
Harrison Davenport, written in the same careful handwriting I remembered from birthday cards and Christmas letters. Except now that familiar script was signing off on decades of manipulation, murder, and global conspiracy.
"This isn't real." The words came out as barely a whisper. "There's some kind of mistake."
But even as I said it, pieces were clicking together in my head. The mysterious funding that had launched Dad's biotech company. Grandfather's uncanny ability to predict market trends. His international connections that had opened doors most people could only dream of.
I'd always thought he was just brilliant at business. Turns out he was brilliant at something much darker.
Sterling caught me as my legs gave out, pulling me aga
