Chapter 3
Twenty years had gone by in the blink of an eye.
In Betrico, I stepped out of the law firm building. I was dressed in a sharp business suit, briefcase in hand.
The sun was shining brightly, warming me up as it hit my skin.
I wasn't that little girl anymore, the one who used to cling to her mother, crying her eyes out.
I had become one of the youngest partners at the firm, specializing in business litigation.
Serena Harper had made a name for herself in Betrico's legal community.
My mother spent her days teaching art to kids at the local community center, enjoying a relaxed and meaningful life.
My father had retired.
He didn't go back to teaching; instead, he opened a little bookstore.
The place wasn't big, but it was always quiet.
Every day, he'd read, drink coffee, and take care of the flowers and plants by the entrance.
We bought a house with a garden by the sea.
On weekends, the whole family would go for walks along the beach.
My father didn't stand as tall as he did twenty years ago.
He was a bit hunched now, and most of his hair had turned white.
But he smiled more than ever before.
We rarely mentioned our relatives back home.
It was as if those memories had been sealed shut forever, along with the door to our old estate.
Life was good for us, so good that I nearly forgot how desperate our escape had once been.
Until today, an international friend request broke the twenty years of calm we enjoyed.
I had gotten back to my office when my phone buzzed with a WhatsApp notification.
It was from an unknown account.
The profile pic showed a young guy I had never seen before.
The greeting message read: [Hi, Serena? It's William Harper.]
William was Richard's son; he was my younger cousin.
I hesitated.
Twenty years had passed.
It was the first time they reached out to us.
Were they showing off? Or was this another round of humiliation?
A knock sounded at my office door.
"Serena, your client's waiting in the conference room," my colleague called.
"Got it, I'll be there in a sec," I answered.
I drew in a deep breath and ignored the information.
I was not letting the ghosts of the past mess up the life I had now.
But all afternoon, I felt restless and couldn't focus on anything.
Images of that old courtyard from twenty years ago kept flashing through my mind.
And my uncle Richard's smug face kept haunting my thoughts.
By the time the meeting wrapped up and I saw the client out, it was already evening.
I slumped back in my chair, exhausted, and picked up my phone again.
The message was still there.
Almost like my hand had a mind of its own, I tapped an emoji.
William replied almost instantly.
A photo popped up on my screen.
It was a shot of an old man lying in a hospital bed.
Skin and bones, he was hooked up to a mess of tubes.
It was Richard.
He looked so old; he was almost unrecognizable.
Below the photo was a message: [Serena, my dad's not going to make it.]
I stared at the words. I felt absolutely nothing.
I even thought it was kind of funny.
He was dying; so what? What did that have to do with us?
I didn't reply.
William sent another message: [We went bankrupt.
[Uncle Charles's company collapsed a few years ago, left us drowning in debt, and he ran off.
[We had to sell our family shop ages ago to pay for my dad's medical bills.
[Now, the bank's about to repossess the old estate.]
I stared at the screen.
It was like I was reading about someone else's life.
This was the family fortune they had fought tooth and nail to snatch away back then.
After everything, it all came to nothing.
How ironic.
I still didn't reply.
The screen went dark, then lit up again.
William sent a third message.
That message froze my blood.
That line—I had never dared tell Dad, even to this day.
He sent: [My Dad says he messed up.
[He says Grandpa left a real will, hidden in the rafters of the old estate.
[The will says the whole estate was meant for you.
[He's begging you to come back for the family's sake and save us.]
All of it was mine?
Mine?
Not Dad's, but mine?
That was impossible.
Grandpa had always favored the boys.
No way would he ever bypass his two sons and leave the whole estate to his granddaughter—me.
This had to be a scam.
They were making up lies to trick us into coming back because they were desperate.
I gave a cold chuckle, about to hit block.
But my finger stopped, hovering over the screen.
Because William sent another photo.
It was an old, yellowed will, written in pen.
Right at the top, it read: [This will is hereby bequeathed to my granddaughter, Serena Harper.]
At the bottom, right next to Grandpa's name and seal, there was another signature and fingerprint.
The handwriting was strong and familiar.
It belonged to my grandmother.