First, I had to find my grandmother in a local nursing home and deliver the apology he was too cowardly to say in person. Second, I had to confront his children, Michael and Catherine, with the truth of my identity.
Third, a massive portion of the inheritance was earmarked to start a foundation for single mothers. I looked at the legal seals on the documents, knowing they were the only protection I had against the storm coming.
Michael walked in, looking at me with the same disdain he’d shown for three years, completely unaware that I now owned the chair he was sitting in. He adjusted his silk tie and demanded I bring him a coffee without looking up.
“Why are you still here, Lena? The service entrance is that way,” he snapped, his voice dripping with elitist venom. I didn’t flinch; I simply laid the DNA results and the new will on the mahogany desk.
The silence that followed was heavy and suffocating as his eyes scanned the legal headers. The look on his face as he realized his inheritance had vanished was worth more than every paycheck I had ever earned.