Two days later, we gathered at our parents’ house. The living room was filled with the low murmur of voices as we tried to piece together the puzzle. My sister, Emily, was the first to speak up. « Dad was always secretive about his finances, » she said with a hint of frustration.
« But this? » I countered, gesturing to the documents spread out on the coffee table. « This is beyond secretive. It feels… calculated. »
James nodded in agreement. « We need to talk to Dad directly, » he suggested. « Get his side of the story. »
We all knew that confronting our father wouldn’t be easy. He had a way of deflecting questions, of steering conversations away from uncomfortable truths. But we were determined to get answers.
The plan was simple: approach him calmly, present what we knew, and ask for an explanation. Yet, even as we strategized, I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that settled over me like a shadow.
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