Still… it feels like throwing a paper airplane at a locked door.
I glance at my phone—1:13 PM.
Alex said he’d call once he lands. He’s coming back from his work trip today, and I’m so excited I could puke from nervousness. I miss him so much it hurts.
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I set the phone down with a soft thud, just as there’s a knock at my bedroom door.
Tyler pokes his head in, confusion etched across his face.
“There’s someone here to see you,” he says.
My brow furrows. “Alex?” I sign hopefully.
Tyler shakes his head.
“No. A man in a very expensive suit. Says he’s a solicitor.”
“A solicitor?” I sign, confusion tightening in my chest.
“Yeah. Like legal stuff, I guess?” He says with a shrug.
I close my laptop slowly, my pulse suddenly loud in my ears. What would a solicitor want with me?
When I step into the living room, the man stands to greet me. He’s older, maybe in his late forties—balding, but composed, like nothing rattles him. He carries a leather briefcase and offers a polite smile that somehow makes me more anxious.
“Mr. Miller, I presume?” he asks, his tone gentle but firm.
I nod, slowly.
“Yes,” I sign, and Tyler, as usual, voices it for me.
“I’m Daniel Clifford,” he says, stepping forward and offering a firm handshake that I hesitate before accepting. “I’m here on behalf of a client who has asked to remain anonymous. I was asked to deliver and explain the details of a trust fund that has been established in your name.”
“A… trust fund?” Tyler echoes, eyebrows shooting up. “Wait, what?”
I frown, my body already resisting.
“I don’t understand,” I sign. “What do you mean?”
Daniel gives a soft nod.
“That’s understandable. But it’s all quite real. If I may?”
He opens the briefcase and pulls out a folder stuffed with neatly clipped documents, setting it carefully on the coffee table.
“Mr.Miller, what I’m about to explain may feel overwhelming, but I encourage you to take your time and process it at your own pace. This is the official trust agreement. You are the sole beneficiary of a newly established trust fund. The details are here, but I’ll summarize everything for you.”
I nod slowly, tension bunching in my shoulders. My hearing aid whines faintly — too much pressure, too much noise inside my own head.
“This trust fund was established in your name by an anonymous benefactor,” he begins, his voice steady, professional, but not cold. “It is a fully funded irrevocable education trust, which means the assets inside it are locked in for your benefit only; no one can withdraw or redirect them, not even the person who set it up.”
I blink. Slowly.
“This trust will fully cover the tuition fees for any school you choose to attend, up to four years. That includes private institutions.”
Tyler lets out a strangled sound beside me. But I’m too stunned to move.
“In addition,” Daniel continues, “the trust covers full housing support — rent, utilities, and maintenance. A furnished apartment that will be purchased in your name, located near campus. The trust also includes health insurance and medical care, academic supplies, laptops or other required technology.”
