The answers came slowly, each one unraveling a bit more of the tangled web I was caught in. My father was the executor of the trust, a role that granted him significant control over the financial assets supposedly meant for me. “It’s a safety net,” he had said, yet the more I learned, the more it felt like a noose. The lawyer explained the provisions in detail, her words measured and careful. “Your father has the discretion to allocate funds as he sees fit,” she said, her eyes scanning the document. “And what about my discretion?” I asked, trying to keep the frustration from my voice. She paused, choosing her words carefully. “You have access to the funds, but within certain limits,” she replied, her smile tight. It was a dance of semantics, a complex game with rules I was just beginning to understand. I left the office that day with more questions than answers, the truth still elusive, but a resolve growing stronger within me.
