My own parents handed over my $10 million inheritance to my sister and told me to leave the house immediately…

Perhaps you should see Dr. Mercer for some anxiety medication. I called my friend Ashley that night, explaining the strange behavior. Something feels really wrong, I told her.

They’re acting like they’re planning something behind my back. Your family has always been kind of toxic, Ashley replied, concern evident in her voice. But this does sound weird.

Can you check if anything important is missing? Taking her advice, I went to the safe in grandfather’s study the next morning, only to find it already open and emptied of the financial documents I knew he kept there. Increasingly concerned, I contacted Patricia, my grandfather’s long-time assistant who had retired shortly before his illness. We met at a coffee shop in town, away from my family’s watchful eyes.

Patricia seemed nervous, constantly looking over her shoulder. I can’t say much, she said, stirring her untouched latte. But your grandfather was worried about exactly this situation.

What situation? I pressed. Patricia lowered her voice. He knew they might try to That’s why he was so careful with the documentation.

Contest it on what grounds? She looked around again before answering. They might claim he wasn’t of sound mind, or that you manipulated him. Before I could ask more questions, Patricia abruptly stood up.

I shouldn’t be talking to you. Just watch your back, Vanessa. Your parents have more influence than you realize.

She left Cash for her untouched coffee and hurried out, leaving me with more questions than answers. That afternoon, Gregory Phillips requested a meeting with me. In his downtown office, surrounded by law degrees and family photos, he suggested I be reasonable about expectations.

Your grandfather’s decisions have caused quite a stir, he said, his tone condescending. Perhaps we can find a compromise that satisfies everyone. There’s nothing to compromise, I replied firmly.

My grandfather’s wishes were clear. Gregory smiled thinly. Wishes can be interpreted in many ways, especially when there are questions about a testator’s mental capacity.

I felt a chill run down my spine. My grandfather was perfectly sound of mind until the end. Of course you would say that, Gregory nodded sympathetically.

But medical experts might have a different opinion. And juries tend to find it suspicious when elderly men change their wills to favor young relatives who spent unusual amounts of time with them near the end. The implication was clear and revolting.

I left his office and immediately called a lawyer of my own, Benjamin Reynolds, a former classmate’s father who specialized in estate litigation and had no connections to my family. Benjamin’s findings were troubling. They’ve already filed preliminary paperwork suggesting your grandfather might not have been competent, he told me, and there are rumors of a revised will that supposedly supersedes the one that was read.

That evening, my parents called a family meeting. Seated at our formal dining table, they suggested for the first time openly that the will might be contested. It would be in everyone’s best interest to avoid a lengthy court battle, my father said, his tone reasonable, but his eyes cold.

Grandfather wanted me to have the company, I insisted. He prepared me for it my entire life. That’s your interpretation, my mother replied.

But the courts will consider all the facts, including your grandfather’s deteriorating mental state during his illness. Claire sat silently throughout the conversation, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Over the next two weeks, my isolation within my own home grew complete.

The security codes were changed without telling me. My belongings mysteriously migrated from common areas back to my bedroom. Household staff who had always been friendly became distant and formal.

I discovered my home office had been searched when I found papers rearranged and my laptop in a slightly different position than I’d left it. When I mentioned this to my parents, they suggested I was becoming paranoid and might need professional help. Their gaslighting tactics were systematic and relentless.

But I knew what was happening. They were building a case against me while simultaneously trying to undermine my mental stability and isolate me from potential allies. I began making copies of important documents and storing them with Benjamin.

I recorded conversations, when legally possible, and I started preparing for the worst, though even in my most pessimistic moments, I never imagined just how ugly things would become. Three weeks after the Will reading, on a rainy Tuesday morning, our family butler Peterson informed me that my presence was requested in the dining room for a family meeting. His usual warm manner was replaced with stiff formality, and he avoided meeting my eyes.

As I entered the dining room, I immediately sensed this wasn’t a normal family discussion. My parents sat at the head of the table, with Claire beside them. Gregory Phillips was there as well, along with another man I didn’t recognize who was introduced as Dr. Harmon, a medical consultant.

Sit down, Vanessa. My father commanded, not bothering with pleasantries. Once I was seated, Gregory cleared his throat and began.

We’ve uncovered some concerning information regarding your grandfather’s Will. He slid a folder across the polished mahogany table. Inside was what appeared to be a medical assessment, dated during my grandfather’s final month, suggesting cognitive impairment consistent with both his illness and medication.

Additionally, Gregory continued, producing another document. We’ve discovered this. It was a letter, supposedly written by my grandfather, expressing concerns that I had been manipulating him during his illness and requesting a review of any changes to his Will made during that period.

This is absurd. I said, my voice shaking with anger. That’s not even his handwriting.

Anyone who knew him would see that immediately. It’s been verified by experts. Gregory replied smoothly.

What experts? Let me guess. People on your peril? I shot back. My mother interrupted, her voice dripping with false sympathy.

Vanessa, we understand this is difficult, but the facts are clear. Your grandfather wasn’t himself at the end. We’ve already filed the necessary paperwork, my father added.

The courts have granted a temporary stay on the transfer of assets pending further investigation. That’s when Claire finally spoke. Her performance carefully reiterated.

I didn’t want it to happen like this, she said, tears welling in her eyes. I tried to tell them we should just split everything evenly. The audacity of her lie made my blood boil…