"Simon." His voice dropped, sharp as a blade. "What nonsense are you spouting? I met Mr. Finch for the first time today. I'm an old man—what would I do with his money? This was your uncle's decision. His choice."
"No!" The word tore out of me. "My uncle would never abandon me!"
I spun and seized Finch by the collar, hauling him close, glaring into his face from inches away.
"Who the hell are you?" I snarled. "Why would my uncle willingly give you everything? Tell me—what did you use to threaten a dying man into signing away his legacy?"
The composure Russ had maintained finally cracked.
"Enough!" He wrenched my hands away. "If you weren't Harvey's nephew by blood, I'd have called the police on you for harassment long ago. Keep this up, and I won't be so lenient!"
George limped toward me, his voice weary. "Simon, I know this is hard to accept. Your uncle must have had his reasons. You're young—your future achievements might surpass his. Why torture yourself like this?"
"Why torture myself?" I stared at him in disbelief. "We're not talking about thousands or even millions. We're talking about a billion-dollar fortune—my uncle's entire life's work. Doesn't it strike you as strange that he suddenly changed his mind right before he died?" My gaze cut to Russ. "What do you have on them? What leverage?"
George's expression hardened. "Suspect what, exactly? Simon, your uncle is gone. I expect you to respect his final wishes."
Russ let out a cold laugh. "All this drama—you're trying to insinuate your uncle and I had some kind of sordid relationship, aren't you? He was your own flesh and blood, Simon. And you'd drag his name through the mud like this?"
Heat flooded my face. The shame of being exposed burned through me.
The servants and the family doctor exchanged glances, their eyes filled with contempt.
"Listen to him, all those high-minded words. He's just bitter someone else got the money. Calling his own uncle a deviant—disgusting!"
"If you ask me, Mr. Dickerson saw right through him years ago. That's why he cut him out. Ungrateful wretch."
"Mr. Dickerson raised him for twenty years like his own son. And this is the thanks he gets? Slander from beyond the grave. Shameful."
"Get out! Money-grubbing backstabber. You're dirtying our floor just standing there!"
A maid brandished her broom, sweeping furiously at my feet until I was backed against the doorway.