Nolan stiffened like he’d walked into a courtroom by accident.
Aunt Lauren’s smile faltered, dipped, and disappeared altogether.
“Morning,” Hardwick said without standing.
He gave a short nod like this was all perfectly ordinary.
“Didn’t realize we were expecting company.”
“What? What are you doing here?” Lauren asked, her voice just a touch too high-pitched.
“Rowan invited me,” he said, setting down the mug. “We’ve been reviewing some final paperwork, making sure everything’s in order. Which, as it turns out, it wasn’t. But that’s being handled.”
He turned his eyes on my father.
Nolan stepped forward.
“You mean the trust? That’s why you’re here.”
Herwick nodded.
“The real trust? Yes. Not the one you all conveniently reddrafted with some junior notary a week after the funeral.”
“I knew it,” my dad muttered under his breath. “You had this planned?”
That made me laugh.
“You really think I could pull this off without Grandpa’s help? You’re giving me too much credit.”
Hardwick opened his briefcase, slow and deliberate.
Papers slid out in neatly labeled folders, each one marked with a date, some from years ago.
One of them I recognized, was the signed and witnessed document from Grandpa’s hospital bed.
The one they all claimed didn’t exist.
Lauren’s eyes narrowed.
“So, what’s the point of this little charade, Rowan? To humiliate us? To make us gravel?”
“No,” I said, keeping my voice even. “This isn’t about revenge. It’s about truth. The truth you tried to rewrite. The truth Grandpa went out of his way to protect.”
Hardwick cleared his throat.
“If I may, I think it’s important to clarify for everyone present that Rowan is not only the sole beneficiary of the primary trust. He’s also the legal custodian of all remaining liquid assets tied to Grandpa’s estate, including the proceeds from the property sales in 2019 and the investment accounts moved offshore in 2022.”
He tapped one folder.
“There’s a paper trail,” he said, “with signatures. Yours included, Mr. Baines.”
He looked directly at my father.