“You think they hid money from you?”
“No,” I said. “I know they did. I just never had a reason to do anything about it until now.”
And suddenly, everything that had felt like distance turned into leverage.
I wasn’t just gone.
I was finally in control of the narrative.
And I had no intention of handing that power back. Not when I was this close to showing them what being forgotten really felt like.
Alec found the lock box the next day.
He faceted me from the attic, the screen jerking around as he waited through insulation and dust bunnies to the far corner where I’d wedged it behind the wood beam.
I’d hidden it over a year ago during one of those long quiet nights where I stayed up sorting old family papers while my parents were on a wine tour in Napa.
I remember reading through those documents and feeling something twist in my gut.
College fund transfers marked for Bianca, not me.
Even though my name had been on the original account, a second savings account opened in my name, untouched, while thousands were funneled into a travel fund used to send Bianca around Europe.
A property title, my late grandfather’s cabin. Sold and transferred without my signature, even though I’d been legally co-owner since I turned 18.
I didn’t say anything back then.
I made copies.
I printed them.
I backed them up and sealed the physical evidence in that box.
Alec held up the stack to the camera.
“You weren’t kidding.”
I exhaled.
“Can you skin everything? I’ll send you a secure folder.”
“Done.”
It took me 2 days to go through the files again.