I looked at him for a long moment.
“You challenged Nana’s will.”
“Because it was wrong.”
“You called her senile.”
He looked away.
“You accused me of manipulating her.”
His jaw tightened.
“You told a judge I was unstable and incompetent.”
“We were trying to protect the family.”
There it was again.
The family.
The word that had always meant everyone except me.
I glanced at Mom.
She was staring at the floor.
Then I looked back at him.
“Dad, you weren’t protecting the family. You were trying to take away a decision Nana made because you didn’t like it.”
His expression hardened.
“That money should have gone to people who appreciated what she built.”
I thought about Nana’s blue mug.
Her carefully maintained house.
Her years of work.
The way she had refused to finance ideas she didn’t believe in.
And the way she’d asked me, again and again, what I was building.
