When my father died, my sister Lara inherited the house. I got an old chessboard. She mocked me for it, but when one of the pieces rattled, I knew there was more. That night, I caught Lara in my room, prying the pieces open. In her hand was a velvet pouch of glittering stones. “The real gift,” she smirked. I told her they were worthless glass beads because I’d already swapped the real contents out the morning after the funeral.
From my coat, I pulled an envelope and laid it on the table. “Deposit confirmation. The real gems are in my bank, under my name.” Lara’s smile faltered. Then I reached into the chessboard’s lining and found what I’d been waiting for: a folded letter, my father’s hidden will.
I read aloud: “Kate you stayed, you cared for me. I left you the chessboard as the map to my real gift. If you’re reading this, the game has played out. If there’s no honesty, everything belongs to Kate.” I looked at Lara. “You failed the test.”
The room went silent. Lara’s face drained of color, her mother’s lips pressed tight. I slid the letter back into my pocket. “Checkmate,” I said, and walked out — the board, the gems, and the last word all mine.