Framed For Murder Loved By The Victims Billionaire Son

Becca POV The heavy oak door of the conference room swings open with a groan. I look up, expecting another McDermott family member with a grudge who has come to hear the reading of their father, John McDermott's will. Instead, I see Jason. I freeze, a suffocating tension seizing me. Everything blurs, leaving only him. He stands at the door, his presence an absolute sun, radiant and devastating. My heart skips a beat and then triples its pace. We lock eyes. The shock is a physical weight, pinning us to our respective spots. His hand is still on the brass handle, his knuckles white. "Becca?" he breathes. "Jason?" I gasp. He takes a step forward, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you doing here?" The grief I’ve been holding back for forty-eight hours threatens to spill. "My ward died." Jason stops dead. The air in the room seems to vanish. "Your ward? You mean, my father?" I blink, my brain scrambling to reconnect the wires. "What do you mean, your father?" Beside me, Silas, the eldest and most abrasive of the brothers, looks from me to Jason, his face twisting into a mask of pure suspicion. He asks, "What is this? What the hell is this?" At the head of the table, Nicholas Windler, the family’s longtime lawyer, lets out a soft, panicked sound. "Oh-oh," he mutters, adjusting his spectacles. "Whoa," Silas says, leaning back, his eyes narrowing to slits. "You two know each other? In fact, you don't just know each other, you're lovers. Great. Just great." I look at him, my brain connecting the dots. Jason is their brother? But how? Upon closer look, I detect the cruel joke of genetics. Silas is bald, his features heavy and sour, lacking much grace. Tony, sitting across from him, has a blonde crew cut and a stocky build. I’d heard he took after their mother. But Jason . . . Jason has those same refined, sharp features I saw in John McDermott’s youth photos. He has the fine, silky black hair and the piercing eyes that always seemed to see through my professional veneer. Jason walks into the room. Before he arrived, Silas and Tony were predators, and I was the prey. Now, the power dynamic has come together around Jason. He exudes a raw, quiet authority that makes the others look like bickering children. He gives me a sweet, lingering look. I force myself to look away. I can feel the heat in my cheeks. He doesn't say a word to the other men. The lawyer is practically vibrating with nerves, and Silas has gone strangely quiet, his bravado replaced by a watchful terror. Jason pulls out the heavy leather chair directly beside me and sits. "Thank you," he says softly. I choke on my own air. "For . . . for what?" "For caring for my father until his last breath,” he says. "You knew?" I whisper. "You knew who I was working for?" He doesn't answer. Instead, he turns his gaze to Nicholas. "Let's go on, please, Nicholas." Nicholas Windler wipes a bead of sweat from his upper lip. His hands shake as he fumbles with the thick manila envelope. He coughs, a dry, rattling sound. He says, "Okay. Yes. Right. Now, I am about to read the Last Will and Testament of John McDermott." The tension in the room is a living thing, coiled and ready to strike. Nicholas begins to read. It’s a long, droll list of legalities, standard preamble about being of sound mind and body. Then, he reaches the meat of it. "These are my estates in Connecticut and the various holdings in the Midwest. . ." "She killed him," Silas interrupts, his voice a jagged rasp. The room freezes. Jason turns his head slowly and gives Silas a stare so cold, so utterly void of humanity, that I find myself shrinking back in my seat. I’ve only ever known Jason as the man who brought me flowers and laughed at my bad jokes. This man is a stranger, a dangerous one. "Now, now, Silas," Nicholas stammers, "the police are investigating. It’s standard procedure." "Then let’s wait for the result of the investigation before we hand out a dime!" Silas snaps. "This is your father's wish," Nicholas explains, his voice rising in an octave of desperation. "We do this no matter what the circumstances of his death are. Okay?" "Not okay," Tony chimes in, his jaw set. Silas sneers, looking at Jason. "Brother, looks like you’ve been sleeping with our father’s murderer. Does that not bother you?" Jason’s expression doesn't change, but his aura darkens. "Silas, I need you to shut up." Silas actually cringes. He flinches as if Jason had swung a fist. I watch this, my heart sinking. What have I stepped into? This family is a nest of vipers, and apparently, Jason is the king cobra. Jason turns back to the lawyer. "Are you sure Becca should be here?" Nicholas looks at the document, his eyes darting across the lines. "Per your father's explicit instructions, yes. Rebecca Herman must be present for this reading." Jason nods. I let out a sigh. "Jason, if you want, I can leave," I whisper, my hand gripping the edge of the table. "Yes, she should leave!" Silas barks from the other side. "She’s not family. She’s just a nurse who’s under investigation for the murder of our dad!" Jason doesn't even turn around this time. "I'm warning you, Silas. Shut up." The silence that follows is absolute. Silas shuts up. "Go on," Jason says. Nicholas clears his throat and continues. He reads through the identity of minor assets, the charitable organizations, and offshore accounts. The numbers are staggering; millions upon millions of dollars being shuffled like cards. Finally, Nicholas reaches the final page. "As for all that has been stated here, and all of my estate," he reads, his voice beginning to waver, "including the primary McDermott holdings, all properties liquid and otherwise, both known and unknown, discovered and yet to be discovered . . . I leave everything to . . ." Nicholas stops. He frowns, a small, confused crease forming between his brows. Then, a ghost of a smile touches his lips and he shakes his head in disbelief. "Well, read what it says, goddammit!" Silas yells. "Yeah, what are you waiting for?" Tony adds, leaning forward. Beside me, Jason has gone perfectly still. He isn't breathing. He’s a statue carved from ice. I just want this to be over. I want to go back to my house and forget the McDermott name ever existed. Nicholas looks at me. It’s a long, searching look that makes my stomach do a slow, sick roll. Why is he looking at me? "I leave everything," Nicholas reads, his voice suddenly clear and loud, "to Rebecca Herman." Time stops. For a second, the room is so quiet I can hear the ticking of a clock in the hallway. It feels like someone has punched me in the solar plexus, leaving me gasping for a breath that won't come. "What?" I whisper. Jason is still staring at the lawyer. His face has gone pale, his eyes narrowing into sharp, predatory slits. "Nicholas, stop fooling around and read what’s in the document!" Silas screams. Tony stands up so fast his chair flips backward. "No way. No way my father left everything to his nurse. I need to see that. I need to see where it says that!" "Sit down," Jason says, his voice carrying the weight of a falling mountain. Tony sits. But Silas is already on his feet, stalking toward the head of the table. "No, we won't let this stand! Nicholas, you bastard, did she pay you? My father's wealth won't go to a girl he knew for six months!" "But that’s what it says here," Nicholas insists, holding the paper up. "Your father's wish is for everything to go to Rebecca Herman. Look." While Silas lunges for the paper, I find myself shaking. My hands are vibrating on the mahogany surface. I look at Jason, expecting anger, expecting him to join his brothers in accusing me of some grand conspiracy. But Jason isn't yelling. He’s just staring at Nicholas, and a terrifying, tiny smile is playing at the corners of his mouth. He looks almost . . . amused. "It could be forged," Tony yells, his voice cracking. "It has to be forged!" "It’s not forged," Nicholas says firmly. "It’s written in your father’s own hand. You all know his script. Look at the flourish on the 'R'." Silas peers at the document, his face inches from the ink. I know that handwriting too. I’ve seen it on a dozen grocery lists and medical charts. I want to see it, to confirm the madness, but I can’t move. I’m paralyzed by the sheer weight of the resentment directed at me. Silas slowly lifts his head and turns his venomous gaze toward Jason. "Aren't you going to say something, brother? It looks like your little lover didn't just murder our father, she managed to steal our birthright while she was at it." Jason slowly turns to look at Silas. The smile is still there, thin and sharp as a razor. "Maybe," Jason says, his voice silky and dangerous, "she deserves it more than all three of us."