“That has to be wrong!” my father shouted, jumping to his feet, his face turning red. “Four point seven million? To her? She barely came around!”
“I visited every weekend,” I said quietly. “I drove four hours every Friday night. I just didn’t post about it online.”
My mother spun toward me, her eyes filled with rage.
“You poisoned her mind. You took advantage of an old woman who couldn’t think clearly. You probably kept her medication from her until she signed it.”
“Nana Rose was mentally competent until the end,” Mr. Henderson said sharply. “The signing was recorded. She was very clear about her reasons.”
“This is fraud!” my father roared, slamming the desk. “We are her children. We are the rightful heirs. Elena is nothing. She has no life, no real career, nothing to show for herself.”
I sat completely still.
I did not mention my rank.
I did not mention my awards.
I had learned long ago that, to my parents, if you were not famous or rich in a way they could brag about, you simply did not matter.
“We’ll fix this,” my mother hissed, snatching up her purse. “Don’t think you’ll keep that money. We’ll sue you until you have nothing left.”
