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

Like what? Letters, recordings, witnesses to conversations where he discussed his estate plans? I thought about it. Not specifically about the inheritance. But there’s George.

George Harmon had been my grandfather’s best friend for over 40 years. They’d played golf every Thursday, rain or shine, until grandpa’s health made it impossible. I hadn’t spoken to him since the funeral.

I’ll call him, I decided. He might know something. George agreed to meet me for coffee the next morning.

At 78, he still had the straight posture and direct gaze of the retired Marine he was. He enveloped me in a bear hug when I arrived at the cafe. You look like him around the eyes, he said gruffly, emotion briefly crossing his weathered face.

Harold would be proud of how you’re handling yourself. You know about the situation? He snorted. Everyone who knew Harold knows.

He spent years worrying about what would happen after he was gone. This was news to me. What do you mean? George stirred his black coffee thoughtfully.

Your grandfather made his fortune through hard work and smart decisions. Watching Patricia squander everything he gave her broke his heart. Did he tell you he was leaving everything to me? Not specifically.

But about a year ago, he asked me a hypothetical question. If I had to choose between giving my money to someone who’d waste it or someone who’d use it wisely, what would I do? George smiled sadly. We both knew who he was talking about.

I swallowed hard. Mom thinks I manipulated him. Harold wasn’t a man who could be manipulated, George stated flatly.

He was stubborn as a mule and twice as smart. If he left you his estate, it’s because that’s exactly what he wanted to do. Do you know if he kept any records or letters explaining his decision? George’s expression changed subtly.

As a matter of fact, he reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew an envelope. He gave me this about three months before he passed. Said if there was ever any question about his wishes, I should give it to you.

My hands trembled as I took the envelope. Inside was a letter, handwritten in my grandfather’s neat script, dated just after his diagnosis. It detailed his reasoning for the inheritance decision, his concerns about my mother’s financial irresponsibility, and his confidence in my judgment.

The final paragraph brought tears to my eyes. Amber, if you’re reading this, it means my fears about Patricia’s reaction were justified. Stand firm.

This decision wasn’t made lightly or in haste, but after years of watching both of you make choices about money, my legacy isn’t just financial. It’s about values. You’re the only one who truly shares them.

I love you all, but you’re the only one I trust. I carefully folded the letter and returned it to the envelope. Thank you for keeping this.

There’s more, George said. Harold kept a journal the last few years. Documented every loan to Patricia, every conversation about money.

It’s in his safe at the house. I haven’t gone through his personal things yet, I admit it. It’s been too hard.

Might be time, especially before this family meeting. He reached across the table, his hand steady on mine. And Amber? Don’t go alone tomorrow.

After saying goodbye to George, I called Samantha again. This time, we developed a real plan. I’ll be in my car outside the house, she decided.

If anything feels wrong, text me the word now and I’ll come in. And if they try to pressure me into signing something, don’t sign anything. Period.

No matter what they say, what they threaten, or how they make you feel. Any document can wait for proper legal review. That afternoon, I drove to my grandfather’s house, my house now, though I hadn’t moved in.

It felt strange using my key, walking through the quiet rooms where so many family memories lived. In his study, I found the safe behind the painting of his first store, just where he’d always kept it. The combination was my birth date, something only I would know he’d use.

Inside, among insurance policies and property deeds, was a leather-bound journal. As George had said, it contained meticulous records of my mother’s financial requests and my grandfather’s increasingly reluctant responses. The final entry was dated just weeks before his death.

Gave Patricia $15,000 today for what she claims are Jason’s college application fees. Ridiculous amount, but I’m too tired to argue. This will be the last time.

Arrangements are finalized with Peterson. Amber will face challenges, but she has what Patricia never developed strength of character. I pray I’ve made the right choice for all of them.

I photographed the journal entries and sent them to Samantha, who responded immediately, this is exactly what we needed. Bring the journal tomorrow, but don’t show it unless absolutely necessary. That night, preparing for the meeting, I felt a strange calm settle over me.

For the first time since this all began, I wasn’t questioning my grandfather’s decision or my right to honor it. I was simply determined to face whatever tomorrow brought. Ethan watched me pack my documents, the will, the letter from George, the journal…