Hand over the company shares, Grandpa, or we’re putting you in that state-run nursing

I set down my water glass. The sound was small, but Marcus heard it. ‘Something to add, Florence Nightingale?’ he sneered. Aunt Lorraine laughed into her napkin. My cousin Tyler filmed it on his phone, already captioning the humiliation. I stood up slowly. ‘Grandpa, do you want to tell them, or should I?’ Grandpa Hollis lifted his head. For the first time all evening, his eyes were clear. ‘You tell them, sweetheart. My voice is tired.’ I pulled a folded envelope from my scrub pocket. Inside was a notarized document, stamped, witnessed, and filed with the county three months ago. ‘On April 12th, Grandpa transferred full power of attorney, medical and financial, to me. Last month, the shares of Hollis Construction were placed into an irrevocable trust. I’m the sole trustee.’ The wine glass froze halfway to Marcus’s mouth. ‘That’s not possible. He’s not competent to—’ ‘Two psychiatric evaluations say otherwise. Both are attached.’ I slid the envelope down the table. Aunt Lorraine lunged for it; I let her. Let them read every page. ‘The state-run nursing home you mentioned? Funny. Grandpa already toured Briarwood Gardens last week. Private suite, garden view. I’m signing him in tomorrow. Paid through the trust.’ Marcus’s face went the color of the tablecloth. ‘You manipulated a sick old man—’ ‘I drove him to appointments you canceled. I refilled prescriptions you forgot existed. I sat with him through the night when he couldn’t breathe and not one of you picked up the phone.’ I turned to Grandpa and offered my arm. He stood, steadier than he’d been in months. ‘Oh, and Marcus? The company car you’ve been driving belongs to the trust. I’ll need the keys by Monday.’ Tyler stopped filming. As we walked out, Grandpa squeezed my hand and whispered, ‘Took them sixty years to show me who they were. Took you six to show me who you are.’ The door clicked shut behind us. Inside, I could already hear them screaming.