Her voice wasn’t shaky or tearful; it was ice cold. Nineteen years of being her favorite uncle, attending every recital and birthday, and she spoke to me like a debt collector. There was no “hello,” just a demand that froze the blood in my veins.
“Send me dad’s money. I need it for college,” she said, the words clipping through the speaker. It wasn’t a question. It felt like she was accusing me of a crime I hadn’t committed, demanding restitution for a theft that never happened.
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I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. My brother had died in a horrific accident when she was just three, leaving the family shattered. He was a single dad, and in his final will, he had made a choice that confused everyone at the time.
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He left everything to me. Every dime, every asset, every account was transferred legally to my name. He trusted me implicitly, but looking back, I realize he never once told me to set up a trust fund for her.