He placed a document in front of me.
It was the writing of a small house by the lake.
I recognized the address immediately.
Richard and I had spent there one weekend once.
I had been standing on the porch and I had jokingly said:
“If I could choose any place to get older, I would choose a place exactly like this.”
He remembered it.
The house was mine.
Completely paid.
Then the lawyer turned another page.
There was also a trust, not the enormous fortune that everyone expected me to fight for, but enough for me to never
again have to fear losing my home or choosing between paying rent or buying food.
Rebecca stared at me.
“So you get money anyway?”
The lawyer looked at her.
“His father’s words were very clear.”
