“Don’t.”
Something in my voice stopped her.
Not rank.
Not intimidation.
Certainty.
I continued.
You will be accused of selfishness.
You will be told Julian needs help.
You will probably hear that you have a stable career and therefore deserve less.
I know because I have already heard those arguments.
Julian looked at our mother.
“Already?”
Her eyes stayed on me.
The second page was shorter.
Your mother asked me to transfer the Boston property to Julian.
I refused.
Richard proposed that I pledge one of the commercial buildings as collateral for Julian’s expansion.
I refused.
Afterward, financial activity began appearing in places where it did not belong.
I stopped breathing for one second.
Martin spoke.
“Keep reading.”
I did.
I do not know how far this goes.
I do know that I made mistakes by avoiding conflict for too long.
That ends now.
The final page contained only three sentences.
Trust Martin.
Trust the original ledgers.
And when someone tells you the Boston house is only sentimental property, ask them why they already tried to sell it.
The room exploded.
Julian shouted first.
“Sell it?”
Richard swore.
Victoria pointed at Martin.
“This is privileged material!”
“No,” Martin said. “It is not.”
“What does that mean?” Julian demanded.
I turned toward him.
“It means Dad thought someone tried to sell Grandma’s house before he died.”
“That’s impossible. He owned it.”
“Exactly.”
My mother grabbed her phone from the table.
“I’m calling my attorney.”
One of the four lawyers beside her cleared his throat.
“Victoria, I am your attorney.”
She stared at him.
“Then do something.”
The attorney, whose name I still didn’t know, slowly closed his legal pad.
“I think we need to pause this meeting.”
“No.”
“Victoria—”
“No one is leaving.”
