When he came back, he placed a folder on the table.
“What’s that?”
“The trust documents.”
I stiffened.
“You don’t have to read them now,” he said. “But they’re yours.”
I opened the folder.
The first page explained that Claire had established a fund to support housing, education, and medical care for me—without conditions, without repayment, and without requiring me to live in Daniel’s home.
The second page transferred ownership of a small apartment above one of the Margaret House Foundation’s community centers.
I looked up.
“An apartment?”
“Temporary housing.
