Robert Chen was an old friend of my dad’s. He walked in with a briefcase that probably held the last bombshells my father had left behind. Everyone gathered around the dining table. The air felt heavier than at the funeral. This wasn’t about grief anymore. This was about money, property, and who was about to get screwed over.
Robert started reading. Megan was practically bouncing in her chair like a kid waiting for candy. My mom, Helen, sat stiff as a board, her hands folded so tight I thought she’d snap her fingers off. Then came the words that made Megan’s smile stretch even wider.
To my daughter Megan, I leave the Miami apartment and a minority share in Whitmore Construction.
She nodded like it was just confirmation of what she already knew. Miami, a luxury condo with a view of Biscayne Bay worth millions. The kind of place Megan could post about on Instagram until her followers got nauseous.
Then Robert turned the page.
To my daughter Hannah, I leave the family cabin and the surrounding 200 acres of land in the Adirondacks.
For a second, the room went quiet.
A cabin?
My father had left Megan the penthouse lifestyle and handed me an old shack in the woods.