The answers came slowly, each one unraveling a bit more of the tangled web I was caught in. My father was the executor of the trust, a role that granted him significant control over the financial assets supposedly meant for me. « It’s a safety net, » he had said, yet the more I learned, the more it felt like a noose. The lawyer explained the provisions in detail, her words measured and careful. « Your father has the discretion to allocate funds as he sees fit, » she said, her eyes scanning the document. « And what about my discretion? » I asked, trying to keep the frustration from my voice. She paused, choosing her words carefully. « You have access to the funds, but within certain limits, » she replied, her smile tight. It was a dance of semantics, a complex game with rules I was just beginning to understand. I left the office that day with more questions than answers, the truth still elusive, but a resolve growing stronger within me.
