My Multi-millionaire Daughter Invited Me To Her Mother’s Will Reading Just To Mock Me With $50. She Thought I Was A Disgraceful Fraud Who Ruined Our Family. Then The Lawyer Opened The Final Letter, And Her Face Turned White. Who Really Lost Everything?

The Truth of the HER2 Patent

He turned the page. The room tensed. This was it.

“Article 7. To my daughter, Victoria Chen.”

Victoria leaned forward, her breathing shallow. All her attention, all her focus, was laser-locked on the lawyer.

“I give and bequeath the Presidio Heights residence.”

Victoria exhaled a huge sigh of relief. Color returned to her face.

The mansion, the crown jewel—it was hers.

“My complete collection of first-generation biotech patents.”

Victoria’s smile widened into a grin.

“Yes,”

She whispered.

“And the entirety of my personal art collection, valued at approximately $4 million.”

Victoria actually laughed. She shot a look at Brandon, then at me.

Her eyes gleamed with victory.

“Hear that?”

She said, her voice dripping with triumph.

“The patents. The house.”

Finally, Whitmore raised a single finger, stopping her celebration cold.

“However,”

He said.

The word hung in the air like a blade about to fall.

“All of the above bequests are contingent upon certain conditions outlined in Article 7, Section B, which relates to outstanding debts and obligations of the estate.”

Victoria’s smile faltered.

“What does that mean?”

Whitmore looked down at the document.

“It means, Miss Chen, that the patent portfolio you just inherited comes with a legally binding obligation. Your mother’s last patent filing, the HER2 inhibitor compound that Chen Biotech licensed to Pharmacorp for $800 million over ten years, has an unresolved intellectual property dispute.”

“That’s impossible,”

Victoria said.

“That patent has been held by Chen Biotech since 2004. It’s been litigated. It’s clean.”

“The patent,”

Whitmore continued, his voice steady.

“Was filed under Dr. Diane Chen’s name in 2004. However, there exists documented evidence that the original research was conducted by someone else—someone whose name was deliberately omitted from the patent application.”

I felt my heart begin to pound. No, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

“As a condition of your inheritance,”

Whitmore read.

“You are required to acknowledge this discrepancy and transfer 50% of all future patent royalties to the original researcher.”

Victoria stood up so fast her chair nearly tipped over.

“This is insane! That patent is worth hundreds of millions! Who the hell is claiming they did the research?”

Whitmore looked up from the document. His eyes found mine across the table.

“Your father, Miss Chen.”

The silence was absolute. Victoria stared at me, her face going through a rapid series of expressions: confusion, disbelief, rage.

“Him?”

She pointed a shaking finger at me.

“That’s a joke. He’s a fraud. He falsified data. He lost his license. He’s been teaching high school for twenty years.”

“Nevertheless,”

Whitmore said calmly.

“Those are the terms.”

“Then I refuse,”

Victoria said.

“I’ll contest this. I’ll sue. There’s no way—”

“If you refuse or contest,”

Whitmore interrupted.

“The patents revert entirely to your father, along with all past and future royalties. The house and art collection would be liquidated to satisfy estate taxes, with any remainder going to charity. You would inherit $50.”

“$50.”

The number hung in the air like a ghost. Victoria sank back into her chair, her mind visibly racing.

Brandon was already calculating; I could see it in his eyes. Jessica had her phone out, probably drafting a statement about how she’d never really been that close to Victoria anyway.

“There’s more,”

Whitmore said.

He reached beside him and pulled out a second folder. This one was slimmer, sealed with red wax.

“This is a codicil, a legally binding addendum to the original will. It was signed, witnessed, and notarized four weeks ago—two weeks before your mother’s stroke.”