You know how your mother gets.”
That sentence killed the last piece of guilt in me.
I opened a folder I had avoided for six months.
Inside were the mortgage statements, property records, bank transfers, and the trust documents my grandfather had left me before he died.
My parents had never bothered reading them carefully.
They thought the house belonged to them.
It didn’t.
Grandpa had placed the property in a trust, naming me successor trustee after my thirtieth birthday.
I had quietly become legal controller four years earlier.
I
