The terms were clear: if Uncle Oliver Finch's family proved loving and loyal, mindful of kinship, four of those eight units would go to them. But if they showed themselves to be greedy and heartless, all eight would belong to me—compensation for the years I'd spent caring for Grandpa until the end.
That fifty thousand was their final chance.
If Jarvis had shown even a shred of decency—paid back a few thousand as a gesture of good faith, or simply asked nicely—I would've handed over four units worth millions without a second thought.
But some people's greed knows no bounds.
I dialed Uncle Oliver's number.
The phone rang for a long time before he picked up. His voice came through lazy and irritated.
"Yeah? What is it, calling so late?"
I kept my anger in check.
"Uncle Oliver, it's Hailey. I wanted to talk to you about the money Jarvis borrowed."
"He said he needed it urgently for the wedding. Fifty thousand, promised to pay it back in a month. It's been six."
"I just asked him about it. He says he doesn't have it—but he's posting photos of a gold chain on social media. What do you think we should do about that?"
I expected him to say something reasonable. Or at least pretend to scold his son.