After the funeral, their lawyer called us, my brother and me. He said he needed to read the will. We sat across from him, and I, trembling with grief, listened to every word.

According to the documents, the entire business, the house, and the properties went to my brother, and I was left only with my father’s old, worn-out car — the one he had driven when he was young. Of course, at that moment I was too heartbroken to think about money, but I didn’t understand why my brother got everything and I got nothing.

I said nothing, just nodded, but inside everything tightened. It was painful — as if I had been erased from my parents’ lives.

A few months passed. The grief eased a little, but the thought of the will kept bothering me. One evening, I decided to go into my father’s old garage, where the car was.

The metal door gave way with difficulty, and it smelled of dust and gasoline. I walked closer, ran my hand over the hood, opened the driver’s door, and sat inside.

Everything looked as if my father had been there just yesterday — even his old keychain with the worn key was in place.

But suddenly, something strange caught my attention, leaving me in shock

And suddenly I noticed something strange: a corner of a white envelope was sticking out of the glove compartment. My heart stopped. With trembling hands, I pulled it out, opened it, and read the first lines:

“Daughter, if you are reading this letter, it means I am no longer alive.”

I felt the ground give way beneath my feet. My father wrote that, before he died, my brother had forced him to change the will. He had threatened him, blackmailed him, and arranged all the documents so that all the property would go to him.

And I had been left the car — supposedly “as a joke,” to humiliate me. And it was my brother who had staged the accident that took our parents’ lives.

But my father had understood everything in advance and left evidence in the car. In the envelope were copies of documents, bank statements, and a USB drive with a recording of a conversation in which my brother discussed with someone how to arrange everything.

I didn’t hesitate for a second — I went to the police. A few days later, my brother was arrested.

That’s when I finally understood why my father had left me that old car. It wasn’t just a car — it was his last attempt to protect me and restore justice.

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