I read the line three times before the words actually began to make sense.
“That’s impossible,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Richard Black has never met me. He’s never spoken to me in my life. Why would a dead man write my name into his will?”
“Keep reading,” my father said quietly. “There’s more.”
My hands shook as I unfolded the rest of the letter, Richard Black’s handwriting slanting sharp and deliberate across the page, the kind of writing that belonged to a man who had never once doubted his own authority.
“By the time you read this, I will already be gone. My son believes he inherited everything unconditionally. He has not been told otherwise, and I trust the three of you, Mr. Lin, and whichever lawyer eventually delivers this… to keep it that way until circumstance
