“Told you what?” I asked.
“That you’re the executor. That Dad changed everything. That you’re suddenly in charge of all of us.”
I exhaled. “I didn’t think you’d care so much about something you said ‘didn’t matter.’ You told me it was just a car.”
“This has nothing to do with the car,” she shot back.
“No,” I said evenly. “It’s about control. And you don’t have it anymore.”
Silence followed.
Then, bitterly, “He’s old. He’s not thinking straight.”
“You don’t get to say that just because he didn’t choose you.”
The line went dead.
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