"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?]

So when the time comes, I'll get a few apartments too. I'll sell them and pay you back that $50,000—principal plus interest. Fair enough?

So he already knew about the redevelopment.

They'd been scheming this all along.

My fingers flew across the screen. No more playing nice.

Jarvis, don't bother waiting for the redevelopment.

Keep the $50,000. Consider it the price of a lesson learned.

And stop calling me "sis." I don't have a brother like you.

Oh, and just so you know—Grandpa's house has nothing to do with your family. Not a single cent.

I hit send, then blocked him.

Then I pulled up Uncle Oliver and Aunt Vivien's numbers and blocked those too.

I drove straight to the office. That $50,000 was a write-off now—bad debt, emotionally and financially. What came next would be the real battle.

The call from reception came barely an hour into the afternoon shift. The receptionist's voice wavered.

"Director Finch, there are some people downstairs claiming to be your relatives. They're causing a scene in the lobby."