I sat there in the mud, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. I looked up at him, this small, cruel man, and I smiled. A red, bloody smile.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Victor.”
He actually scoffed. “Oh? What are you going to do? Sue me with your fancy, second-rate law degree?”
“Maybe,” I said, pushing myself to my feet and grabbing my suitcase. I felt a strange, cold calm settle over me. The 19-year-old girl was gone, and the 30-year-old lawyer was in her place. “Or maybe I’ll just take back what’s mine.”
As I walked away, the cold October wind carried one truth. I wasn’t the broken girl who had fled in tears. I was a woman who knew how to bury people without ever digging a grave.
The Inheritance
I checked into the only motel in town, a sad, flickering-neon place. My cheek was already a deep, ugly purple. My heart was burning hotter than the cheap whiskey I poured from the mini-bar. As I unpacked, I pulled out an envelope I had kept sealed in my document safe for eleven years.
Grandpa Arthur had given it to me the last time I’d seen him, the summer before I left for good. He’d been frail, and Victor had been looming in the doorway, but Arthur had slipped it into my hand. “Don’t open this,” he’d whispered. “Not until you have to. If anything ever happens to me, you’ll know. This is your truth.”
My hands were shaking. I guess this is it, Grandpa.
I tore the seal. His handwriting was shaky, but the words were clear.
My Dearest Chloe,
If you are reading this, I am gone. And if I am gone, it means he won.
Do not trust Victor. Do not trust your mother. She is not herself. He is a thief.
Look under the floorboard in my study. Beneath the globe. You’ll find the truth, and you’ll find your inheritance. It’s all I can do to protect you.
You were always the only one who cared. Don’t let him win.
I love you. – A.
I didn’t sleep. At dawn, I drove my rental car back to the house. The funeral was at 11 AM. I parked down the street and waited. At 10:15, just as I’d predicted, Victor’s black Escalade pulled out of the driveway, followed by my mother’s car. They were going to the church early to “receive” the guests.
I waited five more minutes. Then I broke into my own home.
The back door lock was the same. The kitchen smelled wrong—like lemon polish and air freshener, not like Grandpa’s coffee and pipe tobacco. I walked through the house, my heart pounding. Victor had been busy. He’d replaced all of Grandpa’s beautiful, worn furniture with modern, soulless black leather and glass.
I got to the study. It was the only room he hadn’t touched. It smelled like tobacco, old books, and memories. The globe still stood on the massive oak desk, coated in dust.
I lifted it. It was heavier than I remembered. Beneath it, just as he’d said, was one floorboard that looked slightly newer. I used my car key to pry it open.
Inside was a metal box.
My hands trembled as I lifted the lid. Inside… inside was my salvation.
Deed papers. The original deed to the house, the stables, and the 200 acres of adjoining farmland. Signed by Grandpa Arthur, notarized, and dated fifteen years ago, naming me, Chloe Ann Davis, as the sole legal heir upon his death.
But that wasn’t all. There were receipts. Bank statements from an offshore account. And another letter, this one written more recently, the handwriting almost illegible.
He forged documents. He’s been moving my money. He thinks he’s transferring the property into your mother’s name, then his. He doesn’t know about the original deed. He doesn’t know it supersedes any will. He thinks I’m a senile old fool.
Don’t trust him. Protect what’s yours, child. He is a monster.
My chest tightened. Tears blurred the ink. For eleven years, I had blamed myself for leaving him. But Grandpa… he never blamed me. He knew. He’d been protecting me, even from the grave.
And now I had what Victor didn’t know I had. The weapon. The truth.
