When I saw my brother, Maverick, driving around in a brand-new red convertible, I knew something wasn’t right. He was always broke, barely keeping a job — so how could he afford that car?
The answer hit me like a punch to the chest when I found out through Facebook — not my family — that my beloved Gran had passed away. No calls, no messages. Just a post.Heartbroken, I flew home to visit her grave. That’s when her old friend, Mr. Anderson, dropped a bombshell: Gran had left me $20,000 in her will. I never got it. Suddenly, that flashy car made sense.
I rushed to confront Maverick — only to find the convertible totaled and him on crutches, bruised and defeated. Karma had already handled the first part. He admitted he took the money, claiming he meant to “borrow” it. But Gran had always seen through him.
Later that day, her lawyer called with news that shook me even more: the $20,000 was just a small piece of what Gran left me. Her entire estate — house, savings, investments — was mine. She saw what was coming and protected me, even after death. For the first time, I didn’t feel like the forgotten sibling. I felt loved, seen — and finally, like I mattered.