Instead, I walked the property with Frank.
In daylight, Sunset Ridge looked rough but alive.
Curtains moved behind several windows.
Someone had planted herbs in chipped pots outside one room.
A bicycle was chained near the laundry area.
The vending machine hummed loudly enough to be annoying.
Frank pointed out a water heater that needed attention and a section of roof they had patched before Dad went into the hospital.
“Your father always said you’d notice the work before you noticed the money,” Frank said.
I stopped walking.
“He talked about me?”
“All the time.”
I had spent years believing Vanessa was the daughter Dad admired because she had built a life that looked successful from a distance.
Frank shook his head when I said that.
“Your sister visited twice in the years I knew him.
You came whenever something broke.”
That was not an accusation against Vanessa.
It was simply a fact.
And suddenly I understood the strange balance of the will.
Dad had not been ranking his daughters with dollar signs.
He had matched things to people.
Vanessa received the clean assets she understood and valued.
I received the place that required patience.
She had meant it as an insult in the lawyer’s office.
Dad had apparently meant it as trust.
Brian arrived shortly before noon.
I saw his car pull into the lot while I was standing behind the front desk with the folder open beside me.
He came through the office door wearing the same expression he used whenever he expected an argument to end in his favor.
“So this is where you slept.”
I closed the folder.
“Yes.”
He glanced around the lobby.
In daylight, there was no crowd waiting for him, only Frank near the coffee machine and the nurse from the night before coming down the walkway in fresh clothes before another shift.
Brian lowered his voice.
“Emily, we both said things last night.”
“No.
You said things.
I packed.”
His mouth tightened.
“I was angry.”
“You told me my father knew what I was worth.”
He looked away for half a second.
“That came out wrong.”
“It came out exactly the way you meant it.”
He shifted his attention to the folder.
“What’s all this?”
I put my hand over the cover.
“Something Dad was doing here.”
Brian gave the lobby another dismissive glance.
“Whatever he was doing doesn’t change the property.
Emily, you need to be practical.
Sell the place before it drains money.
We can talk to the lawyer, get an appraisal, unload it, and at least salvage something from this mess.”
There it was.
Not an apology.
A plan for the asset he had called worthless less than twelve hours earlier.
Frank turned away from the coffee machine, but I gave him a small shake of my head.
