The manager introduced himself as Simon Vale and placed a thick folder on the desk between us. Harold had maintained a private investment account I never knew existed, opened decades earlier through money from a business partnership he later sold. The balance had continued growing quietly after his death. More importantly, the emergency-access instructions named me as sole beneficiary and authorized account holder once specific identification documents were verified. The current value was just over $3.8 million.

I stared at the number until it stopped looking real. Simon explained that Harold had deliberately kept the account separate because he worried I would spend everything helping family before protecting myself. Inside the folder was a handwritten letter from him. One sentence made me cry: Dorothy, if you are reading this, please choose yourself at least once. There were also records showing the $35,000 we had given Gregory for his home had come from ordinary savings, not this account.