Each page I turned revealed another layer of complexity. The allocations were small, almost insignificant on their own, but together they painted a picture of quiet financial maneuvering. I made a mental note of several line items, planning to cross-reference them later. “And these decisions,” I asked, pointing to a section, “were they made with my parent’s consent?”
Mr. Caldwell paused, choosing his words as carefully as I had. “Your sibling has the power of attorney, which includes financial decisions,” he explained, a rehearsed answer for an uncomfortable truth.
I nodded, suppressing the rising tide of frustration. The legalities were on their side, but the moral question lingered. “I’ll need copies of these,” I stated, trying to maintain my composure.
“Certainly,” he replied, signaling to the assistant for duplicates. As we waited, the silence was filled with unspoken questions. I wondered about the conversations that had taken place without me, the decisions made in boardrooms and over phone calls, all outside my earshot.
The assistant returned with the copies, and I placed them in my folder, the weight of them more than just paper. Mr. Caldwell offered a polite smile, “If you have any more questions, feel free to reach out.”
Back in the car, I sat for a moment, the engine off, the folder on the passenger seat. I knew this was just the beginning of a journey through legal mazes and familial bonds tested. My phone buzzed, a text from my sibling, asking if everything went smoothly. I didn’t respond, not yet ready to confront the implications of what I had discovered.
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