His attorney, Marty Sorenson, opened a folder in the dining room.
Derek positioned his phone nearby, apparently hoping to share the announcement with his followers.
Marty explained that Grandpa’s house would go to Derek, subject to certain conditions that had to be satisfied within ninety days.
Derek grinned.
Then Marty turned toward me.
“Greta, your grandfather left you the contents of a storage unit in Park Rapids.”
He placed a brass key in my hand.
A paper tag read:
Unit 41 — Headwater Storage.
My mother glanced at it.
Then she laughed.
“Oh, that old storage place! It’s probably full of your grandmother’s canning jars.”
A few people chuckled awkwardly.
Then she added the words I’ll never forget.
“Even your grandfather knew which of you was the disappointment.”
Derek smiled toward his phone.
I looked down at the key.
Nobody defended me.
Not my brother.
Not my father.
