The following week, I arranged a meeting with the estate lawyer. His office was a sterile space, every surface polished to a shine, every paper meticulously filed. The scent of leather and polished wood hung in the air, a stark contrast to the chaos I felt inside.
« I’ve reviewed the documents in question, » the lawyer began, adjusting his glasses as he spoke. « It’s clear that several unauthorized transactions took place. However, tracing them back to the source will require more investigation. »
His words were measured, but they carried a weight of inevitability. « And what about the signatures? » I asked, leaning forward, the edge of desperation creeping into my voice.
« It’s possible they were forged, » he replied, his voice steady. « We’ll need to get handwriting experts involved. »
Outside the office, I called Anna, hoping to hear something that would make sense of the situation. She answered on the third ring, her voice tinged with hesitation.
« Dad, I… I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you everything, but I was scared, » she confessed, her words tumbling out in a rush.
« Scared of what, Anna? » I pressed, my frustration bubbling over.
« Of losing you, » she replied softly, the vulnerability in her voice cutting through my anger.
Her confession hung in the air, a reminder of the fragile bond we were struggling to mend.
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