*After I refused to give my mom my inheritance, she invited me to a family meeting. When I arrived, they had lawyers ready to force me to sign it over. But the moment they handed me the papers, I smiled and said: . «Funny, I brought someone too»

Flipping through its pages, I saw everything. Dates. Numbers.

Names. Annotations in his sharp, unfussy handwriting. And a new note I’d missed the first time, scribbled in the margin near the back.

Francis has what Denise never learned. Restraint. Clarity.

If she chooses to lead, this business may survive me. If she chooses to love, it may outlive us both. I sat there a long time, just breathing.

That afternoon, I met Angela for lunch and showed her the journal. She helped me file it as supplementary evidence with the probate court, sealing any loophole that might be exploited later. We also drafted the paperwork for a small educational trust in Mason’s name.

Just enough to support his degree without tying him to anyone’s leash. Angela nodded as I signed it. This is clean, fair, generous.

When I got home that evening, Mason was reading one of Grandpa’s old trade magazines on the couch. You know, I said, leaning on the doorframe. He always wanted to expand the business into green materials.

Eco-lumber. Thermal concrete. But the board wouldn’t move fast enough, Mason looked up.

I remember. He used to rant about it during dinner. I smiled.

What would you say to an internship? Real work. No shortcuts. He blinked.

Are you serious? Completely. A slow smile spread across his face. Relief.

Hope. Maybe a trace of pride. Then yeah, he said…