PART 1
My grandmother left me $4.7 million.
Not a symbolic gift.
Not a vague promise.
A legally binding inheritance that named me — and only me — as the rightful beneficiary.
Her name was June Ostrander.
She was eighty-eight when she d*ed, and she had spent the last two years of her life doing something my family never noticed, because my family never noticed anything she did unless it involved a check.
The moment my parents learned about the will, they filed a lawsuit.
These were the same parents who had spent years treating me like an afterthought.
The same parents who celebrated every minor achievement of my siblings — Brett’s promotions, Lindsay’s engagement ring — while dismissing mine as coincidence.
