Aunt Monica’s face went pale, all the color draining out of it at once. She glanced at my father. “Richard—”
He raised a hand sharply. “Don’t.”
He looked back at Mr. Grant, something ugly settling into his features. “You’ve always hated this family.”
Mr. Grant calmly closed the folder. “I have never hated your family.” He paused, letting the silence stretch just slightly. “I simply refused to let you confuse inheritance with ownership.”
My father’s jaw tightened. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”
Mr. Grant opened the folder again, unhurried, methodical. “Financial exploitation.”
The word seemed to make my mother’s shoulders drop several inches all at once. Aunt Monica shook her head immediately. “That’s absurd.”
“Is it?”
He removed several sheets from the folder, one at a time. “The first payment from Hazel’s account was made three months ago.” My father stared at the papers, saying nothing. “The second was four weeks later.” He placed another page on top of the first. “The third was two weeks after that.”
