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

My mother, sitting in the corner in the same black dress she’d worn to my father’s funeral, finally spoke.

“Is that everything, Mr. Harwick?” she asked quietly.

“That concludes the distribution of assets,” he said, closing the folder. “There is a personal letter for Nathan, to be opened only upon his arrival in Rome.”

“A letter?” Preston crowed. “What’s he going to say? ‘Sorry you’re poor, enjoy the pizza’?”

“Preston,” Vernon said, though he was smiling. “Enough. Nathan chose his path. He wanted to be a teacher, and Roland respected that enough to give him a parting gift. We should all be grateful for what we’ve received.”

I looked down at the ticket again.

ROME – FIUMICINO (FCO)

OCT 15 – ARRIVAL 3:00 P.M.

ALITALIA FLIGHT 61 – ONE WAY

Why Rome?

In all our years of chess games, Grandfather had told me stories about Shanghai, London, Hamburg—ports and trade, storms and strikes and the complicated ballet of moving goods around the world.

He had never once mentioned Rome.

I slid the ticket back into the envelope and stood up.

“Well,” I said, my voice sounding calmer than I felt, “I guess I’d better pack.”

“You’re actually going?” Mallerie stared at me over her sunglasses. “You’re going to use your sick days to take a random trip to Rome?”

“My grandfather gave me a ticket,” I said, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “The least I can do is use it.”

Vernon shook his head like a man watching a slow–motion car crash.

“Sentimental fool,” he muttered. “Just like your father. Dennis never understood that emotion has no place in business either.”

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