After I refused to give my mom my inheritance, she invited me to a family meeting…

The amounts had increased dramatically in his final year. Your grandfather was very generous with your mother, Mr. Peterson noted diplomatically. Some might say, excessively so.

That night, I received the most disturbing call yet from Craig, his words slightly slurred from alcohol. You think you’re so smart, he growled. Little Miss Perfect with her business degree.

Your mother is having panic attacks because of you. I’m sorry she’s struggling, I said, trying to remain calm. No, you’re not.

You’ve always been selfish. Harold spoiled you rotten. That’s not fair.

No, what’s not fair? Your mother deserves that money. She had plans for it. What plans? I asked before I could stop myself.

He laughed bitterly. The house in Naples, for starters. We put a deposit down six months ago when the old man’s doctor gave us the timeline.

I felt physically ill. You were spending his money before he was even dead? It was going to be ours anyway, he slurred. Until you got involved.

The call ended with veiled threats about legal consequences and family secrets. I sat in my darkened apartment, shaking. For the first time, I considered giving in just to end the nightmare.

The money wasn’t worth this emotional torture. Ethan found me like that, curled on the couch in the dark. My boyfriend had used his emergency key after I’d missed our dinner date and wasn’t answering texts.

Talk to me, he said, pulling me into his arms. All of it. I poured everything out.

The inheritance. The pressure. Craig’s threatening call.

Maybe I should just give them what they want, I concluded, exhausted. Ethan listened without interrupting, his expression growing, increasingly concerned. When I finished, he took my hands in his.

Amber, this isn’t just about money anymore, he said gently. This is emotional abuse. And from what you’ve told me about your grandfather, giving in would betray everything he was trying to protect you from.

But my family is showing you exactly why Harold made the choice he did. His voice was firm but kind. He knew this would happen.

He was preparing you for it. That night marked a turning point. Ethan helped me set up an appointment with Samantha Reed, a lawyer friend of his who specialized in estate disputes.

Just to understand your options, he insisted. Samantha’s advice was clear. Document everything, restrict contact and prepare for a potential legal battle.

Based on what you’ve told me, she said during our consultation, your mother may be planning something more aggressive than just guilt trips. The inheritance is significant enough that she might take formal action. What kind of action? She might claim undue influence, suggesting you manipulated your grandfather.

Or she might argue he wasn’t of sound mind when he updated his will. He was perfectly lucid. I protested.

I believe you. And the medical records will likely support that. But we should be prepared.

Following Samantha’s advice, I started recording phone calls, legal in our state with one-party consent, and saving all messages and emails. I installed security cameras at my apartment after finding my mother’s car parked outside one evening. The emotional toll was immense, but Ethan’s support kept me grounded.

Your grandfather saw something in you. He reminded me during a particularly low moment. The strength to handle this.

Trust his judgment. His words echoed in my mind when, three weeks after the will reading, I received a text from my mother that would change everything. Family meeting tomorrow at three.

Time to resolve this situation once and for all. Be there. The text message sat on my phone screen like a landmine.

Family meeting tomorrow at three. Time to resolve this situation once and for all. Be there.

No please, no question mark. Just a command. Typically Patricia.

I showed it to Ethan over dinner that night. She’s planning something, I said, pushing my pasta around the plate. This isn’t just another guilt session.

Ethan took my phone, studying the message. Are you going to go? I don’t know. The thought of another confrontation made my stomach twist.

Part of me wants to ignore it. Another part feels like I need to face this head-on or it’ll never end. What does Samantha think? I’d forwarded the message to my lawyer as soon as I received it.

She’s concerned. Says it has the feel of an ambush. Ethan reached across the table, taking my hand.

Then don’t go alone. I’ll come with you. No, I said firmly, surprising even myself with my certainty.

If I bring you, they’ll say I’m hiding behind my boyfriend. This needs to be me facing my family. Then at least have Samantha on standby.

It was good advice. That night, I called Samantha and briefed her on the situation. This timing isn’t coincidental, she noted.

The 30-day period to contest the will expires next week. I hadn’t even considered that. You think they’re planning some last-minute legal challenge? Possibly.

Or trying to pressure you into a voluntary agreement before that deadline passes. Her voice turned thoughtful. Amber, do you have any documentation of your grandfather’s intentions? Beyond the will itself…