He was the anonymous donor who paid for my university scholarship.
He was the one who covered my hospital bill when I underwent surgery at twenty-two.
Even the hospice program where I volunteered was funded by his foundation.
At the end of the letter, he had written:
“I had no right to meet you. But when I learned that I was dying, I realized I couldn’t leave this world without looking into your eyes. My marriage proposal wasn’t only about loneliness. Under the law, only as my wife could you receive everything I had collected to reveal the truth.”
I looked up at the lawyer.
“What do you mean by everything?”
Mr. Anderson opened his briefcase and placed a thick stack of documents on the table.
William had not been a poor, lonely patient.
Years earlier, he had secretly founded a technology company and become a multimillionaire. He had left me his entire fortune—the house, his company shares, and more than forty million dollars.
