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Something in my voice made her obey.
For the first time in eight years, I was not the one on the defensive.
I placed the deed in front of her.
Her face changed.
The soft, concerned expression she always wore hardened into something colder.
“It is. Mom and Dad signed it. It’s notarized. There’s a trust attached, too. Everything they had, they left to me.”
She gave a short, ugly laugh. “So you took everything. You cut Lucas out.”
Her jaw tightened. “How dare you.”
I slid the second document across the table.
For a moment, she could not speak.
Then she recovered, and her voice sharpened into something cold.
“You have neither,” I said quietly. “Not anymore.”
Lucas did not move.
“I’ve read the letter,” he said. “I’ve known for months.”
Her mouth opened, then closed.
“I knew everything,” he said. “And I chose to stand with the person who actually raised me.”
She looked between us, searching for a crack, for a way in.
She found none.
“After everything I’ve done for this family—” she began.
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