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She looked up and asked, “Are you my uncle?”
He blinked. “I think so.”
She nodded. “Okay. Do you want the purple crayon?”
He took it. “Thank you.”
It was a trust clause added by our grandfather.
Later, after she went to bed, he sat very still and said, “No one ever handed me a purple crayon before.”
I leaned against the sink. “Welcome to the family.”
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A week later he called and said, “I found something.”
It was a trust clause added by our grandfather.
If both biological heirs appeared together with proof they had been pushed out unfairly for reputation or image management, control of the family foundation and certain legacy assets would transfer away from the parents and to the heirs.
“They knew this could happen?”
I read it three times.
Then I said, “You’re joking.”
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“I had it verified twice.”
“They knew this could happen?”
“I think our grandfather knew exactly who they were.”
We sat with that.
A few days later, we saw an announcement for a private event at their club.
Then I asked, “What do we do?”
Adrian said, “What do you want to do?”
I thought about the rain. The trash bags. My mother’s voice. Elia asleep in the next room.
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“I want it to stop,” I said. “Not just for us. For everyone they treated like props.”
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