The email arrived late in the afternoon, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across my office. I barely glanced at the subject line before opening it. It seemed routine—an update from my father’s lawyer about the estate. But as I read the first sentence, my heart skipped a beat: “We need to discuss some discrepancies in your father’s will.”
I reread the sentence, each word carving a deeper groove of worry into my mind. Discrepancies? In the will? This was impossible. My father had always assured me and my siblings that we’d be taken care of, that everything was in order.
I reached for my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I dialed the lawyer’s office. The call was answered with rehearsed politeness by the receptionist, who put me on hold while she transferred me.
My mind raced. What kind of discrepancies could there be? Had there been a mistake? Or worse, had someone tampered with the will?
The lawyer’s voice was calm when he finally picked up. “There have been some amendments,” he said, “that may affect your inheritance.” His tone was steady, almost dispassionate, as he explained the situation, but his words blurred together in my mind.
“I need to see the documents myself,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Of course,” he replied, “I’ll have them ready for you by tomorrow.”
As I hung up, the weight of uncertainty settled over me like a heavy cloak. What else had been hidden from me all these years?
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