But the most horrifying part wasn’t that. They were talking about me.

— How much longer do you think he’ll hold on? — my wife asked, looking at my brother. — Are you sure those pills are making him weaker and not stronger?

— I’m sure, — he replied. — It’s getting harder and harder for him to wake up. We need to finish everything before he starts to suspect anything.

A cold chill ran through me. Finish what?

My wife opened another folder. I squinted and almost screamed — inside was a copy of my will, the one I had signed years ago. And next to it was a new document — a forgery. The signature was mine, but clearly not written by me.