I Pretended to Be Homeless at the Department Store I Owned to Find My Heir – Then Someone Suddenly Grabbed Me from Behind

My name was on the building.

My blood was in the walls.

But I had no heir.

No one I trusted. No one whose heart I believed in.

I didn’t want the fortune going to random lawyers’ choices or some distant cousin waiting like a vulture.

So I decided on something… strange.

I would pretend to be homeless in my own store.

If people thought I was nothing, how would they treat me?

That, I decided, was the truth I needed.

So one cold morning, I opened my old cedar trunk and started creating my disguise.

I found an ancient coat, tore one sleeve, stitched clumsy patches, rubbed it in dirt. I picked shoes with worn soles and a hole in the toe.

I smeared ash on my cheeks, tangled my white hair, and skipped my usual lipstick for the first time in 70 years.

In the mirror, I barely recognized myself.

“Old fool,” I muttered.

“Let’s see what they do when they can’t smell your money.”

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