My Greedy Cousin Accused Me Of Stealing My Grandma’s Jewels During The Will Reading. She Had No Idea I Was The One Who Set Up The Hidden Cameras 6 Months Ago. Who’s The Real Thief Now?
The Gathering at the Victorian House
When my cousin Veronica stood up during Grandma’s will reading and pointed at me, saying she doesn’t deserve a penny, I thought I’d lost everything. But then the lawyer pulled out his laptop and said seven words that made everyone in that room turn pale.
“Let me show you who the real thief is.”
My name is Melanie, and I’m about to tell you how my grandmother orchestrated the most brilliant revenge from beyond the grave. She caught a thief none of us suspected while teaching our entire family a lesson we’d never forget.
It was a Tuesday afternoon in September, and we were all gathered in Grandma Die’s Victorian house. It was the one with the wraparound porch and the rose bushes she’d planted 40 years ago.
This was the same house where I’d spent every Sunday for the past 3 years. I helped her with groceries, taught her how to use her iPhone, and listened to her stories about running the most popular bakery in town.
The living room was packed with family members I hadn’t seen since the funeral 3 weeks earlier. My mother Janet sat beside me, her hand occasionally squeezing mine for comfort.
My younger brother Wesley lounged against the wall, his artist’s eye probably already calculating the value of Grandma’s paintings. Uncle Robert had claimed the leather armchair like it was already his, while his wife Priscilla kept checking her phone.
She was probably updating her Instagram followers about being at a family estate meeting. And then there was Veronica, my cousin, sitting directly across from me in her designer suit.
Her perfectly manicured nails tapped against her Louis Vuitton purse. She’d always been the golden child of the family, the successful real estate agent who drove a Tesla and lived in a downtown high-rise.
She looked at me with barely concealed contempt. She was probably thinking about how a simple elementary school teacher like me had somehow wormed my way into Grandma’s heart.
Mr. Theodore Brennan, Grandma’s lawyer for the past 30 years, cleared his throat as he opened the Manila folder containing her will. He was a distinguished man in his 60s with silver hair and kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.
Grandma always said he was the only lawyer in town she trusted, which was saying something since she didn’t trust easily after Grandpa died. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Everyone knew Grandma had money; the house alone was worth over a million. That didn’t include her savings, the antique collection, or the valuable jewelry pieces she’d accumulated over the years.
There was also the jewelry that had mysteriously disappeared in the months before she died. Mr. Brennan adjusted his glasses before speaking.
“Before we begin,” Mr. Brennan said.
“Mrs. Chen wanted me to tell you all that she loved each and every one of you despite your flaws.”
That should have been our first warning that something unusual was about to happen. But we were all too focused on what we might inherit to notice the subtle smile playing at the corner of the lawyer’s mouth.
The smell hit me first when I walked through Grandma Die’s front door that Tuesday afternoon. It was cinnamon rolls, her signature scent that had filled this house for as long as I could remember.
It was impossible, of course, as no one had baked here since she died 3 weeks ago. But somehow the walls themselves had absorbed decades of her baking, releasing that comforting aroma like a final goodbye.
I straightened my teaching dress, the one with tiny daisies that Grandma always said made me look like sunshine. It felt appropriate to wear something she loved, even if Veronica would probably make some snide comment about my quaint fashion choices.
As an elementary school teacher, I didn’t make much money, but Grandma never cared about designer labels or fancy cars. She cared about showing up.
“Melanie honey, you’re here.” My mother Janet said, pulling me into a hug near the grandfather clock in the foyer.
Her eyes were red-rimmed but determined. Mom was the youngest of Grandma’s children, the sensitive one who inherited Grandma’s kindness but not her steel backbone.
“I saved us seats together. Your Uncle Robert’s already trying to claim the best spot like this is some kind of auction.” The living room had been rearranged for the occasion.
Someone, probably Mr. Brennan’s assistant, had brought in extra chairs from the dining room and arranged them in a semicircle facing the fireplace. The September sun filtered through the lace curtains, casting patterns on the hardwood floors I’d helped Grandma polish just a month ago.
“Look who decided to grace us with her presence.” Veronica’s voice cut through the room like a scalpel.
She was examining her reflection in Grandma’s antique mirror, adjusting a pearl necklace that looked suspiciously similar to one from Grandma’s collection. “I thought maybe you’d be too busy with your little kindergarteners to show up.”
