“How?”
“He assumed he was the beneficiary.”
“But he wasn’t?”
“No.”
“Was he ever?”
Nathaniel hesitated.
“Originally, yes.”
My heart sank.
“Grandma cut him out?”
“Not completely.
She converted his interest into a smaller fixed inheritance.”
“Why?”
Nathaniel slid a photocopy toward me.
It was an email.
From my father to a financial adviser.
My eyes moved over the text.
Then stopped.
Once Mom is gone, we’ll finally have access to the Wexford position.
I’m planning to move a substantial portion to Marisa’s ventures.
Sylvie won’t need much.
She’s always been self-sufficient.
I read it three times.
Sylvie won’t need much.
Self-sufficient.
The word had followed me my entire life.
Sylvie is independent.
Sylvie doesn’t need attention.
Sylvie can handle it.
Sylvie understands.
My competence had become the excuse for neglect.
My sister’s dependence had become the reason she received everything.
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