“Your grandfather’s real legacy.”
Melanie swallowed.
“Grandpa wasn’t just a developer.”
“I know.”
“No,” she said softly. “You don’t.”
She opened a metal drawer and removed a worn leather notebook.
On the cover were two initials.
H.D.
Grandpa.
Walter spoke carefully.
“Harold funded experimental medical research. Quietly. He believed a private laboratory could move faster than universities and corporations.”
“What kind of research?”
Melanie turned toward me.
“Regenerative nerve treatment.”
My heart stopped.
“Why?”
“For you,” she said.
I almost laughed.
“What are you talking about?”
Melanie’s eyes filled with tears that did not look staged this time.
“You were born with a degenerative condition affecting the optic nerve.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It was corrected when you were a baby.”
My fingers went cold.
Walter opened the notebook.
“Harold developed an early treatment using stem-cell-derived compounds. It restored the damaged nerve tissue.”
I touched the bandage over my eye.
