The Hidden Clause Novel by Judyian _ Novel




The Hidden Clause Chapter 01

After my father passed away, the lawyer Mr. Hastings he had appointed came to our house to read his will.
I sat right at the far end of the row.
From eighteen to now, at forty, I had always sat on the very edge at every family gathering.
No one cared me, no one put their eyes on me.
But suddenly the lawyer paused and flipped to the next page.
Then he glanced at me.
There was something off about that look.
"The will also has an additional clause."
My brother and sister-in-law's smile froze on their face.
Mr. Hastings, was in his early fifties and wore gold-rimmed glasses.
He was appointed by the notary office and had no connection to my family.
But I couldn't shake off that strange glance he'd just given me
It wasn't the look you give a stranger.
That look said it all—he knew me.
I didn't have time to think about it.
My brother, Robert Jenkins, spoke up first.
"Mr. Hastings, what additional clause?"
His voice was calm, but his hand lay on the table, his fingers tapping away.
That was my brother—whenever he felt unsure, his fingers would tap.
He had been like this since we were kids.
Mr. Hastings didn't answer him. He put the will down and said, "Before I read out the additional clause, one prerequisite must be satisfied.
I'll verify it first."
He looked at me.
"Ms. Jenkins, correct?"
"Correct."
"You are Mr. Jenkins's daughter?"
"Yes."
"Do you possess the relevant caregiving records or expense receipts from Mr. Jenkins's hospitalizations?"
The question caught me completely off guard.
All eyes turned to me.
My mother, Mary Peterson, also turned her head.
She was wearing a traditional black mourning dress today, her hair pulled back tightly. There was no grief on her face at all, not like a woman who'd just lost her husband..
Her gaze was clear enough: Don't cause trouble.
"I do."
I said.
I hadn't kept them on purpose.
It was just that there were so many.
Over twenty years, my dad had been hospitalized seventy-three times. I put the receipts from each visit into a plastic bag, and eventually, they filled an entire cardboard box.
It wasn't for bookkeeping.
It was because every time I took them for reimbursement, applied for subsidies at the local social services office, or went to the medical insurance window, I had to dig them out.
So I kept them.
"Good."
Mr. Hastings wrote something on the document, then looked up. "Confirmed.
The requirements to read the additional clause are now fulfilled."
"Wait a minute."
My sister-in-law, Jessica Clark, stood up.
She had short, permed hair and wore a dark green cardigan.
She must have touched up her makeup before leaving the house today; her lip color was even darker than before.
"What do you mean, additional clause?
Why didn't we know about this?"
"The additional clause was drawn up separately by Mr. Jenkins at the city notary office in 2019, and it holds full legal validity as part of the will."
"2019?"
Jessica's voice grew shrill. "By then he was already—"
She didn't finish her sentence.
In 2019, my dad had already been paralyzed for thirteen years.
What Jessica wanted to say was: He was already like that back then, how could he still sign a legal will?
But she didn't dare say it.
Because what comes next is too unpleasant.
In front of so many relatives, she wasn't stupid enough to go that far.
My mother's lips twitched.
She didn't say anything either.
Sitting on that folding chair at the far end, I suddenly realized I had the best seat in the room.
It offered a great view.
I could see everyone's faces.
My brother's fingers were still tapping the table.
The rhythm was twice as fast as before.
Mr. Hastings organized the documents and looked at everyone.
"Before reading the additional clauses, I'll finish going through the main will first."
"Read it."
my brother said.
Mr. Hastings read it.
Real estate—the 120-square-meter house in our hometown, goes to Robert.
Savings—530,000 dollars, goes to Robert.
Insurance payout—80,000 dollars, goes to Robert.
With each asset he read aloud, my sister-in-law's smile grew wider and wider.
By the time he finished reading, she looked utterly at ease.
She gave me a look.
The meaning of that look was crystal clear.
—See that?
There's nothing for you.
I didn't look at her.
I looked at the second page in Mr. Hastings's hand.
An Embossed Notary Seal sat in the bottom right corner of the page.
It was too far away for me to read the words clearly.
But that piece of paper was what my dad left for me.
I had no idea what it said.
But my dad had set it aside for me.
Twenty years.
He left it.

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