Mr. Garrett entered the private dining room without acknowledging the shocked guests and walked straight toward Grandma Eleanor. The silence felt suffocating as he placed a thick leather folder onto the table beside her plate.

“Eighteen years of bank statements,” he announced calmly.

Diane’s face instantly lost all color. Uncle Richard began sweating while Grandma Eleanor reached for my trembling hand and guided me back into my seat. “Annabelle,” she said softly, “you are exactly where you belong.”

Then Eleanor slammed her palm against the table so hard the silverware rattled. “Diane told all of you my son died penniless,” she thundered. “That was a disgusting lie-