“Why did you do this to Grandma?”
He looked away, out toward the parking structure visible through the terminal windows. Then he said something so quietly I almost missed it entirely.
“Because she was going to change the trust.”
Mr. Grant’s expression hardened. “She had every right to.”
My father looked at him. “She was going to leave everything to charity.”
That surprised me. Grandma had never once mentioned that to me, not in all our weeks of quiet mornings together.
Mr. Grant nodded slowly. “She was considering it.”
My father laughed bitterly again. “So you see?”
“No.” Mr. Grant shook his head firmly. “I see a son who believed his mother’s money belonged to him before she was even dead.”
My father’s face turned red. “She promised me.”
“Your mother promised you nothing.”
The terminal seemed suddenly, impossibly silent around us, despite the ordinary chaos continuing everywhere beyond our small circle.
