My sister Megan laughed nervously.
“Oh my God, are we seriously doing legal drama at a birthday party?”
Nobody laughed with her.
Harold adjusted his glasses.
“The piano was never Robert Thompson’s property to sell.”
My father finally moved.
“That’s ridiculous,” he snapped. “It was in my mother’s house.”
“Yes,” Harold replied calmly. “And legally transferred eight years ago through an irrevocable inheritance instrument.”
Then he looked directly at me.
“To Annabelle Thompson.”
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