After all, Grandpa's final wish was to see the brothers live in harmony.
But that was conditional—they had to deserve that bond.
Now it was clear: those eight replacement homes? They wouldn't see a single one.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled to a number I'd saved long ago—Tyler Lambert, Notary Attorney.
He was the lawyer Grandpa had entrusted before his death, the one who held the will that would determine the fate of all eight properties.
According to the original arrangement, the will's contents wouldn't be disclosed until the day the redevelopment officially launched.
But now, I wanted to exercise my rights early.
The will contained a supplementary clause: if the heir—meaning me—determined that Oliver's branch of the family had severed familial bonds through their actions, I had the right to file an early petition with the Notary Office. Their gift entitlement would be revoked, and I would inherit everything.
The evidence required? Proof that they had "disregarded family ties."
And that venomous voicemail, Oliver's shameless threats, my father's helpless, broken voice—
All of it. Ironclad proof.
I dialed Tyler's number.
"Hello, Attorney Lambert? I'm sorry to disturb you so late."
"This is Hailey Finch, regarding my grandfather Isaac Finch's will. I'd like to activate the second clause."
"Yes. I want sole ownership of all eight replacement homes."
"I have all the evidence prepared. I'll come to your office tomorrow morning."
The next day, I took the morning off work.
Armed with printed screenshots of every chat log, every transfer record, and last night's call recording, I drove to the law firm.
Tyler was a man in his mid-fifties. He studied the materials I handed over, adjusting his glasses.
"Ms. Finch, are you certain about this?"
"Once you sign this confirmation, the will becomes legally binding."
"That means when the redevelopment agreement comes through, all eight properties will be registered solely under your name. Your uncle's family will have no claim whatsoever."
"This will likely infuriate them completely."
I sat across from him, gazing at the legal document that had been drafted long ago.
"Attorney Lambert, I've thought this through."
"Over the years, my uncle's family borrowing money and never paying it back—that's been the norm."
"I used to tell myself, they're blood relatives, help where you can."
"But this fifty thousand dollars opened my eyes for good. You can't domesticate wolves by feeding them."
"If I don't end this decisively, the moment the redevelopment money comes through, they'll only get worse. They'll bleed us dry."
"I can't let my father spend his final years being tormented by them."
Tyler nodded slowly.
"This was exactly what Old Mr. Finch worried about most."
"He told me his second son had a crooked heart, and the grandson had been spoiled rotten. He was afraid they'd squander the family assets—but more than that, he was afraid they'd bully you and your father, knowing you're both too decent to fight back."
"That's why he set this up."
"Since your mind is made up, sign here."
I picked up the pen and pressed my name firmly at the bottom of the document.
The process moved quickly. The Notary Office issued the updated certification almost immediately, confirming that the old family house and all derivative rights—including redevelopment benefits—belonged to me alone.
With this document in hand, the moment the Redevelopment Office set up operations, I could sign and claim the properties directly.
As I walked out of the law firm, my phone buzzed again.
A WeChat message. From him.
Perhaps fearing I'd actually follow through with the lawsuit, his tone had softened slightly—but it still dripped with that nauseating sense of entitlement.
[Sis, I had too much to drink last night. Said some things I shouldn't have. Don't take it to heart.]
[But you know I really don't have the money right now.]
[How about this—once the old house gets demolished, we'll get a nice chunk of money, right?]
