At seventeen, I vividly recall the day my grandfather, Walter, passed away at 82. My mother, rarely home due to night shifts, gathered my sisters and me to share the news, changing everything. Grandpa, passionate about classic cars, bonded with me over his 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air, teaching me mechanics and shaping my dream to become a mechanical engineer. Saturdays spent fixing the car, grabbing candy from the ashtray, were my happiest memories—moments my sisters, Clara and Ava, never shared.
Devastated by his death, I was shocked when Mom revealed Grandpa left me the Chevrolet, only to decide to sell it for $70,000, splitting the money among family. Furious, I vowed to reclaim it. At 27, after excelling in engineering, I tracked the car to Michael Bennett, who sold it back for $80,000. Driving it home, I found a hidden letter and emerald in the ashtray. Grandpa’s note revealed my mother wasn’t his biologically, but I was like a son to him. The car and gem were his true legacy to me, a secret bond no one could take away, cementing my purpose and his love.