My breath caught. “And if he was married…?”
“Under the explicit terms of your marriage certificate and the deed inside that backpack,” Arthur smiled faintly, “the entire estate, valued at over fourteen million dollars, belongs entirely to you, Nora. Julian didn’t marry you merely to avoid passing away alone. He chose you because he spent eleven months watching you comfort dying strangers, knowing you were the one person who would use his legacy for good.”
Arthur gestured toward the leather journal. “Open it. Julian penned his final words to you on the back page.”
I turned to the marked page, instantly recognizing Julian’s neat, flowing handwriting:
My dear Nora,
If you are reading these words, my heart has finally found its rest. Forgive me for concealing the truth during our brief week together. I needed absolute proof that your kindness was genuine, entirely untainted by the allure of wealth.
