Chapter 3: What My Grandfather Wrote

My father didn't ask what the next clause said. He lunged for the pages instead, and that told me everything.

Elias stepped back before his fingers could close on the paper. "I would advise against that, Mr. Halvorsen. The original is with the court. What I hold is a copy."

"Give it to me."

"Gregory." My mother's voice shook. She was still holding Lydia against her shoulder. "Let him read it."

I had never seen the expression on my father's face in either of my lives. It wasn't anger. Anger I knew. This was fear, the kind a man tries to hide by standing a little straighter.

Elias adjusted his glasses and read in a steady voice.

"To my son, Gregory Halvorsen, I leave the chairmanship of the Halvorsen Group, for as long as he conducts himself as a father to my granddaughter Tessa. Should he abandon, humiliate, or harm her in any way, in front of witnesses or otherwise, his seat and voting rights shall pass to her."

A murmur ran through the guests.

Elias turned the page. "I know my son. If this letter is being read, I suspect he is already angry. Gregory, please do not make me right."

Nobody laughed this time.

My fingers closed around the pendant under my collar until the jade bit into my palm. It was my grandfather's voice, coming out of a lawyer's mouth, a year after his funeral. Even from the grave, he had stood in front of me.

I swallowed hard. I could not cry. Not in front of them.

"This is blackmail," my father said hoarsely. "Walter is trying to make me look like a monster in front of my own guests."

"He didn't make you do anything," Elias said. "He only wrote it down."

My father's gaze swept the room, the whispering guests, the sparkling chandeliers, his reputation hanging in the air like smoke. Then it landed on my mother, and his voice dropped.

"Miriam. You know I would never..."

My mother didn't answer.

She was looking at me.

Not with the horror from earlier. Her eyes searched my face as if she were seeing something in it for the first time, the dark hair that matched hers, the stubborn set of the chin she had once given a baby she'd never held.

"Tessa," she said slowly. "Did he... did your grandfather..."

For one heartbeat, I thought she might finally ask me the right question.

Then Lydia shivered against her shoulder and let out a small, broken sob.

"Mommy, my chest hurts."

I watched my mother's face change. The doubt in her eyes flickered like a candle in the wind, and then it went out. She turned away from me, wrapped both arms around Lydia, and whispered, "I'm here, baby. I'm here."

Something inside me quietly closed.

It's working, Lydia thought, and the satisfaction in it made my stomach turn. Mommy never stays on her side for long.

"Enough of this nonsense," my father said, clearing his throat. His voice had steadied. Whatever panic he'd felt, he had found a way to turn it into a weapon. "Brandt, read all the clauses you like. It changes nothing. Tessa attacked her own sister tonight. She put shellfish in her food, knowing Lydia is allergic. That is harm, isn't it? If anyone has forfeited anything, it's her."

He pointed at me like a judge pointing at a criminal.

"Is that so?" Elias asked.

"Ask anyone here!"

The guests looked away, some uneasy, some eager. Nobody defended me. I hadn't expected them to.

"Then I suggest the matter be settled properly," I said.

My voice came out steadier than I felt. Every face turned toward me again.

"If I poisoned her, there will be proof. Take Lydia to the hospital tonight and have her tested. Her blood, her symptoms, everything. If I'm guilty, I'll accept whatever punishment this family decides."

Silence.

My father blinked. He had expected me to cry. He had expected me to beg.

At my mother's shoulder, Lydia stiffened.

No. No hospital. They'll run the tests, and they'll find out, and then...

Her thoughts broke off into a whisper of pure panic. Under her tears, the color had drained from her lips. I had never seen her this afraid, not even on that cliff.

Because she wasn't allergic to shrimp. She had never been allergic to anything.

"A hospital?" my mother said, looking from me to Lydia. "Maybe... maybe that's wise. Lydia, sweetheart, we should at least..."

"I don't want to go," Lydia whispered. "Please. I just want to rest. I'm so tired, Mommy..."

"Nonsense." My father's voice was firm. If Lydia was afraid of the hospital, he assumed it was only because she was ill. "She's right, Miriam. We'll prove this once and for all. Call the car."

"Gregory..."

"Now."

Lydia's fingers curled into my mother's sleeve. Her lashes fluttered. I felt it before I saw it, a quick, sharp shift in her thoughts, like a door slamming shut on a bad idea and opening onto a worse one.

If they won't stop, I'll make them.

"I... I feel dizzy," Lydia breathed.

Then her eyes rolled back, and she slid from my mother's arms onto the marble floor.

The ballroom exploded.

A woman screamed. Chairs scraped. My mother dropped to her knees, shrieking Lydia's name, shaking her shoulders. Callum took a step forward, his face white. My father roared, "Call an ambulance! Now!"

Then he turned and found me with his eyes. In that moment, all of his fear had turned into pure hatred.

"If anything happens to her," he said, low and shaking, "you will pay for it. I swear it."

I didn't flinch. I only looked past him to the girl lying still on the floor, her hair spread out like a painting, her face as pale as a ghost.

And then I heard her. Faint, calm, cold, from somewhere behind those closed eyes.

Go ahead, Tessa. Come to the hospital. I'll make sure you never leave it.