Marisa picked it up.
She read silently.
Then she looked at Dad.
“You were going to use Grandma’s money for me?”
Dad’s expression shifted.
“That’s not what it says.”
“It literally says my name.”
“For your ventures.”
“I didn’t ask you to steal from Sylvie.”
The room changed.
For the first time in my life, Marisa looked not spoiled, not careless, but horrified.
Mom said:
“Nobody stole anything.”
I looked at her.
“Then why did you ask whether Grandma left me documents?”
She froze.
I continued.
“Why did you lie about my graduation?”
Silence.
“Why did Dad try to stop my thesis?”
More silence.
Then I said:
“Did you know about the trust condition before Grandma died?”
Mom’s eyes flickered.
That was enough.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Marisa turned toward her.
“Mom?”
Mom pushed back from the table.
“This is grotesque.
You walk in here waving financial documents and accusing us like criminals.”
