At my father’s funeral, my brothers stood beside his coffin and mocked the black dress I had borrowed. “Dad left everything to us,” the oldest whispered. “You’ll leave here with nothing.”

My brothers knew me as the broke daughter who left a finance career to care for an old man.

They had forgotten why regulators once called me the best forensic accountant in the state.

And while they spent the week choosing watches, cars, and offices, I spent it following signatures, prescriptions, transfers, and one payment they never thought anyone would uncover.

Part 2
Grant recovered first. His arrogance returned like a mask.

“This is obscene,” he snapped. “You turned Dad’s funeral into theater because you’re jealous.” Familyhistory research