“Grayson.”
“My name is Wyatt Cole. I’m calling on behalf of Sadie Davis, granddaughter of Harold Davis.”
Silence followed.
Then the man’s voice became guarded.
“Where did you get this number?”
“Someone delivered your card to Sadie at the hospital.”
Another long silence.
“Is she safe?”
The question made everyone in the room still.
“For the moment,” Wyatt answered.
“Put me on speaker.”
Wyatt did.
Mr. Grayson spoke carefully.
“Sadie, I need you to listen. Your grandfather prepared a revised will six months before his death. Under that will, you inherited controlling ownership of Davis Development Holdings.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was absurd.
“My grandfather didn’t own a development company.”
“Yes, he did.”
“My parents said he was nearly broke.”
“They lied.”
The detective stepped closer.
Mr. Grayson continued.
“Davis Development owns commercial land, several apartment buildings, and a substantial portion of the block where your parents currently live.”
The pain medication made the room feel distant, yet his words cut through the fog.
“How much is it worth?”
“I cannot give you an exact current valuation without updated appraisals.”
“An estimate.”
“Between twelve and eighteen million dollars.”
Wyatt stared at the phone.
I stopped breathing.
Mr. Grayson’s voice softened.
“Your grandfather distrusted your father. He believed your parents were pressuring him to change his estate plan. He placed the assets in a trust and named you the primary beneficiary.”
“Then why didn’t I know?”
