Then Martin called.

Security footage from the previous evening showed my father attempting to return through a service entrance with a locksmith and a man claiming to be an estate appraiser. They had planned to enter the house, photograph valuables, and create an inventory before the court had authorised anything.

My uncle had anticipated this.

His attorney produced medical evaluations, recorded meetings, and years of correspondence proving that Richard had remained fully competent when he prepared the will. He had also included a clause stating that any relative who challenged the estate without credible evidence would lose every smaller gift left to them.

My parents had each been assigned £250,000.

Caleb had been given £100,000.

Their lawsuit placed all of it at risk.

When their attorney reviewed the records, he withdrew the claim within days. But the attempted entry created a separate problem. The locksmith identified my father, and the security footage was delivered to police.

My mother called, crying that they had acted out of grief.

“You threw me out before Uncle Richard died,” I replied. “This was never grief. It was greed.”

They eventually sent an apology written by their lawyer.

I kept the letter but restored none of their access.

My uncle left me £67 million because he trusted me to recognise entitlement disguised as family.

The morning after his funeral, they proved he had chosen correctly.