This time, Dad did not let her.
“Did you move the money or not?”
Ethan looked around the room.
For the first time, he seemed to realize the audience mattered in a way he had not planned.
These were the same relatives in front of whom Mom had expected me to surrender Grandma’s bracelet.
The same witnesses who were supposed to make me ashamed enough to cooperate.
Now they were watching him.
“Yes,” Ethan said finally.
“I moved some money.”
Mom closed her eyes.
“But it wasn’t stealing,” he added quickly.
“I was going to sort everything out.”
“When?” I asked.
He glared at me.
“I don’t know.”
“The attorney has been asking for supporting records.”
His expression shifted.
That was another thing he had not known I knew.
I slid a document from the folder.
“The estate is being formally reviewed.
Access has been restricted while the transactions are reconciled.”
Ethan stepped toward me.
“You froze everything?”
“The attorney handled what needed to be handled.”
“You had no right.”
I held his gaze.
“I’m the executor.”
He laughed once, bitterly.
“So that’s what this is.
Power.”
“No.
Responsibility.”
“You always thought you were better than me.”
“No, Ethan.
I thought Grandma’s wishes mattered.”
He looked toward Mom.
“Are you seriously going to stand there and let her do this?”
Mom stared at him.
For years, that question would have ended the argument.
Mom would have turned to me, told me to apologize, told me to stop being dramatic, told me family mattered more than being right.
This time she asked him something instead.
“Why didn’t you tell us about the money?”
His face went still.
“I didn’t need permission.”
“You asked me to pressure Claire over a bracelet.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
He had no answer.
The projector kept humming.
Dad lowered himself into a chair.
I suddenly saw how tired he looked.
Not angry.
Not yet.
Just tired.
He looked at me.
“Did the attorney say what happens now?”
