The Attorney Steps In
A man stepped forward—Dad’s funeral had jogged my memory. He introduced himself as the attorney who handled Mom’s estate. He said he’d been trying for months to get responses about the children’s trust but had only received delays.
Carla hissed, “This is harassment.”
“No,” he replied calmly. “This is documentation.”
The principal then called me to the stage. My legs shook, but I went.
“Tell everyone who made your dress,” he said.
“My brother,” I whispered.
Nobody laughed.
“Noah, come here too,” he added.
Noah joined me, pale but determined.
“This is talent. This is care. This is love,” the principal said.
The room erupted in applause—real, loud applause.
Carla, still recording, shouted, “Everything in that house belongs to me, anyway.”
The attorney cut her off. “No. It does not.”
Carla froze, realizing there was nowhere to hide.
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