But my brother, Jesse, was rarely there. He had always been the favorite. The boy who could do no wrong. But Jesse was lazy. He liked the country club lifestyle Simon had shown him, and he hated the smell of sickrooms.

Simon capitalized on that. He took Jesse out for drinks, paid for his dinners, and convinced him that I was manipulating our father to get the entire inheritance.

By the time my father died, Jesse would barely speak to me. He stood next to Simon and Misty at the funeral, looking at me like I was a stranger who had stolen from him.

And now, Misty was standing in his garden, telling me to pack.

“There’s nothing to discuss. This is my father’s house,” I said. My voice was flat. I kept my head down, clipping another dry stem.

“Your father’s estate,” Misty corrected, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy. “And Simon was like a son to him for many years. The least would be for us to receive what we deserve.”

I wiped my hands on my canvas gardening apron. I stood up, letting the shears hang by my side. I looked her in the eyes.

“You mean the same Simon who cheated on his wife with his secretary?” I asked. “That ‘son’?”

“Oh, please, that’s in the past,” she waved her hand dismissively. “Harrison forgave him. They kept going to the club together every Sunday until the end.”

I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach. She was lying. My father had stopped going to the club a year ago. But I did not argue. I just watched her.

“My father didn’t leave anything to Simon,” I said. “He was many things, but he wasn’t stupid.”

Misty’s smile faded for a fraction of a second. “We’ll see tomorrow. Jesse doesn’t think the same.”

“You’ve been talking to my brother?”

She stepped closer, smelling of expensive perfume and damp earth. “Let’s just say he helped me understand your father’s mental state in his last months. A man on that much medication shouldn’t be making major decisions alone.”

My hands started shaking. She was planning to challenge the will. She was going to use my own brother to claim my father was senile.

“Get out of my house, Misty,” I said.

She laughed, a sharp, metallic sound. “Your house? How cute. This property is worth a fortune, Cassandra. Did you really think you’d keep it all? Living here like a queen while the rest of us just watch?”

“My father built this house. He planted every tree. This isn’t money. It’s his legacy.”