After our father passed away, my sister threw me out of the house, but she was unaware that he had anticipated it.
When Dad died, I thought I’d lost everything—my home, my family, and any hope of a bond with my sister Charlotte, who’d never cared for me. Two weeks after the funeral, the will confirmed it: Charlotte got the house, and I got Dad’s old wristwatch. She smirked, calling it “playing favorites,” then days later kicked me out with nothing but my belongings.
With nowhere to go, I called our lawyer, Matthew. To my shock, he said Dad had planned for this. Seven years earlier, Dad inherited nearly $2 million and split it equally—on one condition: Charlotte could only keep the house if she let me live there. If she refused, she’d get nothing. The watch’s scratched numbers were the code to my share.
Charlotte had the house—and all its debt. I had the money. When she begged me to save her from losing it, I echoed her own words: “If you’d been nicer to me growing up, maybe I’d feel bad.”
I found a small apartment of my own. Weeks later, I passed our old home and saw a SOLD sign. It didn’t hurt. Thanks to Dad, I was still protected—just as he intended.
