Chapter 3

The next morning, I went to the law firm where Mr. Zeller used to practice.

He was already semi-retired, but he went back to the firm just to help me retrieve my mother's documents from the secure storage.

At the very top was a mailing receipt, with my father's name signed as the recipient.

"After your mother passed away, I sent out a notice for collection and also contacted your father."

"What did he say?"

"He said you were out of town. He also said he had already forwarded a copy to you and that the transfer of ownership would be handled once you returned."

Mr. Zeller placed the receipt in front of me.

"I shouldn't have just accepted his word back then without confirming it directly with you."

Three years ago, I was indeed out of town organizing reimbursement paperwork for my mother's hospital stay.

By the time I returned, my father told me all her belongings had been neatly packed away and there was nothing left for me to worry about.

I had even thanked him for it back then.

"The old manor is a personal property left to your mother by her mother."

Mr. Zeller turned to another page.

"She completed a notarized will stating that the property would be inherited by you, while granting your father lifelong residency rights in the east wing."

"What about Ivan?"

"She left him her savings. Your father came to inquire about the collection procedures at the time and later told me it had all been settled."

I slowly smoothed out the piece of paper.

As it turned out, my mother did leave something behind; someone had just stepped in to claim my brother's share on his behalf.

"Can I make them move out right away with these documents?"

"You can't treat a family meeting like an administrative office. Documents must be verified, inheritance registrations must be processed, and any disputes must be resolved according to the law."

He pushed another envelope toward me.

"However, no one can sign away your rights on your behalf."

I asked him what would happen if my father insisted that my mother was of unsound mind when the will was made because she was ill.

He pointed out the signing date and the identity records from the notarized archives.

"If there are objections, just file them through the proper channels. You don't need to argue with him at the dinner table until he agrees."

I thought of every family argument over the years. Whenever my father claimed he was doing something for my own good, I would rush to explain that I wasn't being ungrateful or unreasonable.

The documents left by my mother allowed me, for the first time, to confirm my standing without needing to persuade my father.

On the envelope were my mother's handwriting, the final strokes somewhat shaky.

I opened it very slowly, afraid of tearing the paper inside.

"Jack, don't worry about your brother. This letter is written for you."

I already had to stop after reading the first line.

During my mother's final days in the hospital ward, every time I went in, she would ask me if I had eaten.

When I said I had, she wouldn't ask any further. In truth, back then, I often forgot whether I had actually eaten anything.

My mother wrote in the letter that she knew my father always expected me to take care of my brother.

She, too, once thought that since us brothers were only three years apart, if I could be more understanding, it would result in fewer conflicts at home.

"But being understanding doesn't mean you don't feel pain. I only realized that later. Because I made you yield every time, you stopped telling me what you truly wanted."

I pressed my palm against the corner of the letter to keep it from trembling.

"The manor is left to you. Whether you want to live in it or renovate it is entirely up to you. Preserve your dad's living space, but you don't need to ask for his permission regarding everything else.

"You can look after your brother, but you must never sacrifice yourself just to prove you're a good older brother."

The final sentence was very short.

"When you go home in the future, there must be at least one place where you have the final say."

Mr. Zeller poured me a cup of water without rushing me to continue reading.

After a moment, I asked him, "Does my dad know what's written inside the letter?"

"He knows about the housing arrangement. But the letter remained sealed, and he never took it."

"He didn't simply forget to pass it to me."

Mr. Zeller offered no excuses for him.

I refolded the letter and asked Mr. Zeller to help me verify the documents and handle the inheritance procedures.

Before leaving, I sent two photocopied pages to my father.

He called me almost immediately.

"Who gave you permission to dig up these old matters?"

"My mother left them to me."

"You know how sick she was back then. You believe whatever the lawyer tells you?"

"Whatever needs to be verified, I will verify. You can no longer claim none of this exists."

He paused on the phone for a brief moment.

"Go to Alicia's house tonight. Both Mathilda and Ivan will be there. Let's clear things up and stop making a spectacle of ourselves in front of our relatives."

"I can go, but I won't sign anything."

"Just be there."

That afternoon, Aunt Alicia's daughter, my cousin Cindy, sent me a message asking whether I would still be attending the dinner.

After hesitating for a long time, she sent a photo of a piece of paper.

On it were a few sentences drafted by my father, requiring me to read them aloud in front of the relatives and record it as a video.

The first sentence stated that the dispute at the wedding was caused by my temporary loss of composure.

The final sentence stated that I would voluntarily relinquish the family manor to my brother so that he could start a family.

I zoomed in on the photo.

The signature space already neatly bore the name Jack Shore, leaving only the date blank.

Cindy quickly added, "Uncle Tom said you just need to nod along when the time comes."

I saved the photo, put my mother's letter back into the folder, and stepped out.