The following day, we sat across from each other at the same kitchen table, the documents sprawled between us like a battlefield map. My brother wore that same calm expression, but I noticed his hands fidgeting with the edge of a paper. “Mom’s account was redirected for her own good,” he began, not meeting my eyes. I frowned, flipping through the statements. “Without telling me? I manage her healthcare. We agreed on transparency,” I countered, my voice barely above a whisper, trying not to let the frustration seep through.
“It was necessary,” he insisted, finally looking up. His gaze was steady, calculated. “The funds are safe, just moved for better management.” The explanation was too neat, too prepared. Yet I didn’t have the evidence to refute him, just a gut feeling that something was amiss.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
