At my grandfather’s funeral, my cousins received his yacht, his penthouse, and his company worth 27 million dollars. I received a small, old envelope. Laughter broke out as I opened it. Inside there was only a plane ticket to Rome – INFO DESK

Then Harwick turned to me.

I saw it in his eyes before he spoke.

Pity.

“And to my grandson, Nathan Whitmore,” he said slowly, “I leave this.”

He reached into the folder and pulled out a small white envelope.

It looked… tired. Worn at the corners, like it had been slid in and out of a drawer a hundred times. My name was written across the front in my grandfather’s shaky handwriting.

The room went so quiet I could hear the faint hum of the air vents.

Then Preston laughed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, almost choking on the words. “That’s it? An envelope?”

My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my teeth, but my hands stayed steady as I took it.

The paper felt thin. Fragile. Insignificant.

Like me, in that moment.

Inside was a single plane ticket.

Rome. One–way. Departing in forty–eight hours.

Preston snatched it from my hand before I could process the details.

“Let me see,” he said, grinning. “Rome, huh? October fifteenth, 3:00 p.m., Alitalia Flight 61. Let me guess—economy, middle seat, no legroom?”

His laugh bounced off the wood–paneled walls.

“Oh, this is rich,” he said. “The teacher gets a vacation.”

Mallerie lifted her phone, camera aimed straight at my face.

“This is actually hilarious,” she said. “Nathan, your face right now. Don’t worry, maybe he left you some frequent–flyer miles too.”

Vernon stood up slowly, straightening his tie the way he did before stepping to a microphone.

“Roland always said you lacked the killer instinct for business, Nathan,” he said. “At least he gave you something nice. Rome is lovely this time of year.”

“It’s probably his way of saying goodbye,” Beatrice added. Her voice dripped with manufactured sympathy. “A little trip to help you process everything. So thoughtful.”

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