When I saw my brother, Maverick, driving a shiny red convertible, I knew something was wrong. He couldn’t afford a car like that. But I had no idea it was tied to a betrayal—one that started long before our Gran passed away.
I’m Juniper, 26, and I left my family four years ago. Growing up, I was always the overlooked sibling. Maverick was the golden child. Gran was the only one who made me feel seen. She’d sneak me treats, call me just to talk, and remind me I mattered.
So when I found out about her death—through a Facebook post—I was devastated. No one told me. Not my parents. Not even Maverick. I flew back home immediately.
At her grave, I ran into Mr. Anderson, Gran’s best friend. That’s when he asked if I got the $20,000 she left me. I hadn’t. Suddenly, Maverick’s new car made sense.
Furious, I went to confront him—only to find the convertible totaled and Maverick on crutches. Karma had already struck.
He admitted to taking the money, claiming he meant to “borrow” it. I didn’t buy it. Gran had given that money to me. The only person who ever truly cared.
Then my phone rang. It was Gran’s lawyer. He told me she had seen this coming. The $20,000 was just part of her plan. She left everything—her house, savings, investments—to me.
Even after death, Gran was still looking out for me. I turned to Maverick and said, “I hope that convertible was worth it.” Then I walked away—for good this time.
For once, I didn’t feel forgotten. Gran had made sure of that.