“There’s more you need to know.”
My mind struggled to reconcile what I was seeing. My father had spent his life as a maintenance supervisor at a modest apartment complex. He never owned anything extravagant. He never even took a real vacation.
“This has to be an error,” I said.
Mr. Collins shook his head and opened a series of documents.
“Years ago, your father inherited a small parcel of land near San Diego Harbor from a distant relative. When a major developer purchased the area to build the HarborView Complex, your father negotiated an uncommon agreement—five percent of the project’s lifetime profits, placed into a trust under your name.”
The HarborView Complex was enormous—luxury hotels, condominiums, commercial towers. It generated millions every quarter.
“Your father never accessed the money,” Collins added. “The trust was sealed with strict conditions. Only you could touch it. No spouse. No power of attorney. No exceptions.”
I felt lightheaded.
Then he opened another file—one that chilled the room.
“Three months ago,” he said carefully, “someone attempted to access the trust using your identity. The attempt failed. It wasn’t you.”
The name slipped out before I could stop myself.
