She Mocked Me at My Parents’ Funeral — Then My Lawyer Revealed the Brutal Truth…

A Secret Call from Derek

The revelation about Cassandra spreading lies became clearer when Derek called from his car one evening, whispering like he was afraid of being caught. He admitted Cassandra had been planning this for months, ever since Mom and Dad had updated their will six months ago.

She’d hired a lawyer friend to look into inheritance law, specifically about adopted children versus biological ones. She’d been building her case that I was an interloper, someone who’d taken resources meant for the real daughter.

He also revealed something that made my blood run cold. Cassandra had been stealing from our parents for years, taking money from their accounts, using their credit cards, even selling some of Mom’s jewelry and replacing it with fakes.

She’d taken almost $400,000 over five years, but she’d been careful about it. There were small amounts that looked like normal expenses and cash withdrawals that could have been for anything.

Our parents had noticed eventually, Derek said, about a year ago. But they’d never confronted her directly because Cassandra had threatened to tell me about the adoption in the cruelest way possible if they did.

The thought that my parents had endured theft and betrayal to protect me from exactly what was happening now made me feel sick. They’d chosen my emotional well-being over their financial security. And Cassandra had used their love for me as a weapon against them.

A Call from Mr. Thornfield

Three days into my eviction notice, my phone rang at 7:00 in the morning with a call that changed everything. The man identified himself as Mr. Thornfield from Thornfield and Associates, my parents’ attorney for the past 35 years.

His voice was careful, measured, like someone who’d learned to speak in ways that couldn’t be misinterpreted. He informed me that Cassandra had indeed shown him a will, but there were other documents she didn’t know about—documents my parents had specifically instructed him to keep confidential until after their deaths.

He suggested we meet, but not at his office as Cassandra had been calling hourly with threats and had someone watching his building. Instead, he proposed the coffee shop on Maple Street at 2:00.

Before the meeting, I remembered something Derek had said about checking Mom’s jewelry box. I found it in her closet, the painted blue flowers faded from years of handling.

The bottom felt too thick, and when I pressed around the edges, a hidden compartment opened. Inside was a safe deposit key and a note in Mom’s handwriting that simply said “For Alana, the truth matters.”

There was also an old padlock key that looked similar to the one Cassandra had confused for a house key at the locksmith and I realized she must have found one just like it somewhere and assumed it was important.

The Family Explosion

Cassandra’s campaign against me had intensified. She’d convinced cousin Brooke and two others to sign statements claiming they’d witnessed me asking my parents for money repeatedly and that I’d been pressuring them to change their will.

Brooke owed Cassandra $5,000 from a failed business venture, so her loyalty was clearly purchased. The other cousins had their own reasons involving promises Cassandra had made about the estate.

The worst part was when she accidentally sent a text meant for Brooke to the entire family WhatsApp group. It read “Remember if anyone asks Alana has been unstable for years. I’ve already told the lawyers she’s been stealing. Once the house sells you’ll get your money plus extra for helping. Mom always said Alana was a mistake we had to live with and now we can finally fix that mistake.”

The family explosion was immediate. Aunt Dorothy posted screenshots to Facebook with a scathing commentary about greed and disgrace.

Uncle Pete called Cassandra directly and told her she was no longer welcome at family gatherings. Several cousins left the group chat in protest.

Cassandra tried to claim her phone had been hacked, but the damage was done. Her own greed had exposed her.

The Story of Rebecca

At the coffee shop, Mr. Thornfield was waiting in a corner booth with a thick folder. He looked like every old-fashioned lawyer from every movie, complete with wire-rimmed glasses and a suit that had probably been in style when he bought it in 1995.

But his eyes were sharp. And when he started talking, I realized my parents had chosen their protector.

“Well,” he began with a story from 35 years ago.

My father’s younger sister Rebecca had been 17 and pregnant. The father had vanished the moment she told him, and Rebecca herself was sick with a heart condition that made the pregnancy dangerous.

My parents, newly married and trying for their own child, had taken Rebecca in. She lived with them throughout the pregnancy, and they’d promised to raise her baby as their own if anything happened to her.

Rebecca died within hours of giving birth to me. She’d lived just long enough to name me Alana, after our grandmother, and to make my parents promise I’d always know I was loved.

The adoption had been legal and formal, making me their daughter in every way that mattered. But here was the twist that changed everything.