After all, Grandpa's final wish was to see the brothers live in harmony.

But that was conditional—they had to deserve that bond.

Now it was clear: those eight replacement homes? They wouldn't see a single one.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled to a number I'd saved long ago—Tyler Lambert, Notary Attorney.

He was the lawyer Grandpa had entrusted before his death, the one who held the will that would determine the fate of all eight properties.

According to the original arrangement, the will's contents wouldn't be disclosed until the day the redevelopment officially launched.

But now, I wanted to exercise my rights early.

The will contained a supplementary clause: if the heir—meaning me—determined that Oliver's branch of the family had severed familial bonds through their actions, I had the right to file an early petition with the Notary Office. Their gift entitlement would be revoked, and I would inherit everything.

The evidence required? Proof that they had "disregarded family ties."

And that venomous voicemail, Oliver's shameless threats, my father's helpless, broken voice—

All of it. Ironclad proof.

I dialed Tyler's number.

"Hello, Attorney Lambert? I'm sorry to disturb you so late."

"This is Hailey Finch, regarding my grandfather Isaac Finch's will. I'd like to activate the second clause."

"Yes. I want sole ownership of all eight replacement homes."

"I have all the evidence prepared. I'll come to your office tomorrow morning."

The next day, I took the morning off work.

Armed with printed screenshots of every chat log, every transfer record, and last night's call recording, I drove to the law firm.

Tyler was a man in his mid-fifties. He studied the materials I handed over, adjusting his glasses.

"Ms. Finch, are you certain about this?"

"Once you sign this confirmation, the will becomes legally binding."

"That means when the redevelopment agreement comes through, all eight properties will be registered solely under your name. Your uncle's family will have no claim whatsoever."

"This will likely infuriate them completely."

I sat across from him, gazing at the legal document that had been drafted long ago.

"Attorney Lambert, I've thought this through."

"Over the years, my uncle's family borrowing money and never paying it back—that's been the norm."

"I used to tell myself, they're blood relatives, help where you can."

"But this fifty thousand dollars opened my eyes for good. You can't domesticate wolves by feeding them."

"If I don't end this decisively, the moment the redevelopment money comes through, they'll only get worse. They'll bleed us dry."

"I can't let my father spend his final years being tormented by them."

Tyler nodded slowly.

"This was exactly what Old Mr. Finch worried about most."

"He told me his second son had a crooked heart, and the grandson had been spoiled rotten. He was afraid they'd squander the family assets—but more than that, he was afraid they'd bully you and your father, knowing you're both too decent to fight back."

"That's why he set this up."

"Since your mind is made up, sign here."

I picked up the pen and pressed my name firmly at the bottom of the document.

The process moved quickly. The Notary Office issued the updated certification almost immediately, confirming that the old family house and all derivative rights—including redevelopment benefits—belonged to me alone.

With this document in hand, the moment the Redevelopment Office set up operations, I could sign and claim the properties directly.

As I walked out of the law firm, my phone buzzed again.

A WeChat message. From him.

Perhaps fearing I'd actually follow through with the lawsuit, his tone had softened slightly—but it still dripped with that nauseating sense of entitlement.

[Sis, I had too much to drink last night. Said some things I shouldn't have. Don't take it to heart.]

[But you know I really don't have the money right now.]

[How about this—once the old house gets demolished, we'll get a nice chunk of money, right?]

So when the time comes, I'll get a few apartments too. I'll sell them and pay you back that $50,000—principal plus interest. Fair enough?

So he already knew about the redevelopment.

They'd been scheming this all along.

My fingers flew across the screen. No more playing nice.

Jarvis, don't bother waiting for the redevelopment.

Keep the $50,000. Consider it the price of a lesson learned.

And stop calling me "sis." I don't have a brother like you.

Oh, and just so you know—Grandpa's house has nothing to do with your family. Not a single cent.

I hit send, then blocked him.

Then I pulled up Uncle Oliver and Aunt Vivien's numbers and blocked those too.

I drove straight to the office. That $50,000 was a write-off now—bad debt, emotionally and financially. What came next would be the real battle.

The call from reception came barely an hour into the afternoon shift. The receptionist's voice wavered.

"Director Finch, there are some people downstairs claiming to be your relatives. They're causing a scene in the lobby."

"Security won't let them up, so they're... they're shouting. Saying you—" She hesitated. "Saying you defrauded your own uncle out of his property."

"There's a crowd gathering. What should I do?"

My grip tightened on the receiver. My gaze went cold.

No need to guess. Oliver's family had seen my messages—or heard through the grapevine. Now they were here to make a scene, destroy my reputation, force my hand.

"Let them."

My voice was ice.

"Don't stop them. Let them scream all they want."

"And call the police. Tell them we have people causing a disturbance and disrupting business operations."

"Oh—and make sure the security footage is saved."

I hung up, straightened my blazer, and headed for the elevator.

You want to hand me your face on a silver platter? Fine. I'll slap it for you.

The elevator doors slid open.

There they were—Oliver, Vivien, and Jarvis—sprawled across the lobby floor, putting on a full theatrical performance.

Vivien slapped her thighs, wailing at the top of her lungs:

"There's no justice in this world! A niece swindling her own uncle out of his home!"

"My poor father-in-law barely cold in the ground, and this ingrate swallows the entire inheritance!"

"Everyone, come look! This is your precious Director Finch! She's a monster in human skin!"

A crowd had formed—colleagues, clients, all of them whispering and pointing.

The moment Jarvis spotted me, he sprang to his feet and jabbed a finger in my face.

"Hailey! Finally decided to show yourself!"

"What gives you the right to hog all eight apartments? Grandpa left those for the family—my dad deserves his share!"

"You're not leaving this building until you explain yourself and hand them over!"

"Let's see how long you keep your fancy director title after this!"

I stood at the edge of the crowd, watching the three of them make absolute fools of themselves.

Then I pulled out my phone, opened the photo I'd prepared, and held it up where they could see.

"Uncle Oliver. Jarvis. You can stop now."

"Black ink on white paper. Official notary seal. Can you read it?"

"Grandpa's will is crystal clear: 'Should the second son's family disregard familial bonds out of greed, all properties shall go solely to the eldest grandchild, Hailey Finch.'"

"You know what triggered that clause? The moment you tried to extort $50,000 from me. The moment you cursed me when I refused."

"These eight apartments? You lost them yourselves."