Myra stood by her husband’s grave, clutching a black handkerchief. Rain mixed with the tears on her face.
She and Ethan had built a clothing empire from nothing. For 55 years, they were partners in life and business. Now, at 79, she was alone.
But the real blow didn’t come at the funeral. It came in the lawyer’s office 48 hours later.
Mr. Rothstein cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact. “I’m afraid Ethan left the entire estate—the mansion, the accounts, the company—to Mr. Carl Ferguson.”
Myra’s three children—Marcus, Alexandra, and Johnny—jumped to their feet.
“This is insane!” Johnny shouted. “Carl is just a business partner! Mom helped build that company!”
Carl Ferguson sat in the corner, looking solemn. But Myra noticed a tiny, almost invisible smirk on his face.
“What about my mother?” Marcus demanded, his voice trembling with rage. “Where is she supposed to live?”
The lawyer pushed a set of rusty, jagged keys across the polished mahogany desk.
“He left her his old fishing trailer,” Rothstein whispered. “And she has to vacate the mansion immediately.”