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

I need help, I managed to say through tears. They kicked me out, I have nowhere to go. As I waited for Ashley to arrive, huddled beneath a tree at the edge of the property, the full magnitude of what had happened began to sink in.

In a single morning, I had lost my home, my inheritance, and any illusion that my family had ever cared about me. But through the pain and shock, I remembered my Grandfather’s words. I’ve prepared for every possibility, and I realized that the fight had only just begun.

Ashley arrived within 20 minutes, her compact car swerving to a stop just outside the estate gates. Her expression of shock when she saw me, hair disheveled, clothes soaked, face streaked with tears, and a visible bruise forming on my cheek where I’d hit the stairs, told me exactly how bad I looked. Oh my God, Vanessa.

She jumped out of the car and rushed to help me with my damaged suitcase. What happened to you? I couldn’t answer immediately. The moment I was safely in her car, the adrenaline that had kept me functioning crashed, and I dissolved into uncontrollable sobs.

Ashley drove me to her apartment, a modest one-bedroom in the city where she’d moved after college. She helped me into the shower, brought me dry clothes, and sat with me as I struggled to explain what had happened between bouts of tears. We need to call the police, she insisted after I described my father dragging me by my hair.

That’s assault. They can’t just do that to you. The next morning, still shell-shocked, I agreed to file a police report.

We went to the local precinct, where a bored-looking officer took my statement with visible skepticism. So you’re saying your father, William Montgomery, physically dragged you out of the house? He clarified, typing slowly into his computer. Yes, I said firmly.

By my hair, down a flight of stairs. The officer looked up. The William Montgomery? Of Montgomery Enterprises? I nodded.

And this was during a dispute over an inheritance? It wasn’t a dispute. It was theft. I corrected.

They’re trying to steal what my grandfather legally left to me. The officer’s demeanor changed subtly. I’ll file the report, but I should warn you, this sounds like a civil matter.

Family disputes over inheritance usually need to be handled in court, not through criminal charges. The theft is a civil matter. I agreed.

Being physically assaulted is criminal. He nodded noncommittally. I’ll forward this to a detective, but don’t get your hopes up.

Without witnesses willing to testify, I left the station with a sinking feeling that nothing would come of the report. My suspicion was confirmed three days later when I received a call informing me that the district attorney had declined to pursue charges due to insufficient evidence and the civil nature of the underlying dispute. By then, I had already met with Benjamin Reynolds to understand my legal options regarding the inheritance.

They’re moving quickly, Benjamin warned, reviewing the documents they’d filed. The allegation that your grandfather was mentally incompetent is their strongest play, and they’ve already submitted statements from several doctors. But his actual physicians confirmed he was competent.

I protested. Yes, and we’ll present that evidence. But they’ve found experts willing to review his medical records and testify that someone with his conditions typically experiences cognitive decline.

What about the letter they produced? It’s obviously a forgery. Benjamin nodded. We’ll demand handwriting analysis.

But these cases can drag on for years, Vanessa. And they have resources to sustain a lengthy legal battle. So do I, I insisted.

I have the inheritance. Benjamin’s expression was grim. That’s the problem.

Until this is resolved, you don’t have access to those funds. And from what you’ve told me, they’ve already taken control of all liquid assets. Reality crashed down on me.

I had less than $3,000 in my personal account, money I’d earned from a summer internship before graduate school. My credit cards were all on family accounts that had surely been canceled by now. What am I supposed to do? I whispered, the magnitude of my situation becoming clear.

Do you have friends you can stay with? Other family members who might help. I shook my head. Just Ashley.

And she can only keep me on her couch for so long. True to my fears. Ashley received a call from her landlord just one week after I moved in.

Somehow, my parents had discovered where I was staying and had applied pressure. They threatened to buy the building and evict everyone if he doesn’t enforce the no long-term guests policy. Ashley explained apologetically.

I tried to fight it, but I can’t risk everyone in the building losing their homes. I understood. This wasn’t her battle, and I couldn’t drag her down with me.

Over the next three weeks, I bounced between budget motels, spending my dwindling funds on basic necessities while applying for any job I could find. But each promising lead mysteriously evaporated after I’d interviewed. At one point, a sympathetic hiring manager pulled me aside.

I don’t know what you did to piss off the Montgomery’s, she whispered, but I got a call from our biggest investor warning us not to hire you. I’m sorry. My parents’ influence ran deeper than I’d imagined.

They weren’t just trying to take my inheritance. They were systematically destroying any chance I had of supporting myself. When my bank balance dropped below $300, I made the painful decision to sell my laptop, my last valuable possession.

The pawnshop owner gave me $400, about a quarter of its worth. That money bought me five more nights in a motel and a few meager meals. On what was to be my last night with a roof over my head, I sat on the edge of the sagging motel bed, contemplating what would happen when I could no longer afford even this dismal shelter…