You had my number.”
He spread his hands.
“You moved constantly.
I was trying to protect the assets until you were stable.”
Eleanor slid another page across the desk.
It was the beneficiary instruction form Michael had shown me, the one supposedly signed on the afternoon of the funeral.
It stated that I waived direct communication and authorized my father to manage all distributions indefinitely.
“I never signed this,” I said.
“We know,” Eleanor replied.
She placed my original enlistment paperwork beside it.
My real signature ended with a narrow upward stroke.
The signature on the waiver ended in a heavy downward curve.
My father barely glanced at the comparison.
“People’s signatures change.”
“Within three hours?” Michael asked.
He opened a scanned copy of the funeral home register.
I had signed it earlier that same day.
My genuine signature matched the enlistment paperwork exactly.
My father’s face reddened.
“This proves nothing.”
“It proves enough to freeze the trust,” Michael said.
The word freeze finally broke through his composure.
“You cannot freeze those accounts.
There are bills scheduled.”
“What bills?” Eleanor asked.
He looked from her to Michael.
“Property expenses.”
Michael entered a security code.
The hidden balance appeared.
$2,318,442.17.
I stared at the number until the digits stopped looking real.
My father had reduced my grandfather’s final act of love to a scratched card and a cruel sentence.
He had let me walk away believing I had been tolerated, not chosen.
“How much was there originally?” I asked.
Michael opened the account history.
“Approximately $2.7 million, including the appraised value of the house at the time the trust was funded.”
The difference struck me harder than the balance.
“What happened to the rest?”
No one answered immediately.
Then Michael displayed a list of transfers.
Thirty-one transactions had been sent from the trust to accounts controlled by my father.
Some were labeled repairs.
Others were labeled trustee reimbursement, property security, consulting, or emergency maintenance.
One transfer had paid $68,000 toward a luxury vehicle.
Another had covered membership fees at a private club.
Three had funded trips to Florida, California, and the Bahamas.
There was also a $275,000 line of credit secured against the house.
My father stood.
“I maintained that property alone for five years.
I gave up my time.
I dealt with contractors, taxes, storms, tenants—”
“Tenants?” I interrupted.
He stopped.
Eleanor’s gaze sharpened.
“You rented the property?”
