My father read it once.
Then again.
The lawyer reached out his hand.
“Pass it here.”
He did.
And for the first time all night, I saw a genuine look of alarm on his face.
“What trust fund?” I asked.
My father went incredibly still.
I felt a hole open up under my feet.
“Dad.”
He exhaled slowly.
“There’s something I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t think it was necessary yet. And then because…” he stopped, annoyed with himself, “because I thought your marriage could be saved if I didn’t put more weight on you.”
I looked at him without understanding.
“What thing?”
It was Stephen who answered.
“Your grandfather left a testamentary trust for you. You wouldn’t gain full control until you turned thirty-five, or until there was proven financial risk due to economic abuse or marital coercion. You turned thirty-four two months ago.”
