My father used to say, “Life is like a chess game. You don’t win by shouting, but by seeing three moves ahead.” I used to roll my eyes at that, but now I’d do anything to hear him say it again.
When he passed away in the bedroom where we’d played every Sunday, I stayed silent through the condolences and the arrival of my half-sister, Lara. She wasn’t there to mourn; she was there to collect.
As the lawyer read my father’s will, Lara smiled when she was left the house. I was left the chessboard.
“You get a game, I get a house,” she mocked. I picked up the chess set and walked away, ending up at the old park where we’d once played.
Lara found me there, mocking me as we began to play. She moved pieces, dismissing the game as meaningless. But when she knocked the pieces off the table with a dramatic flair, I noticed something strange. One of the pieces made a sound like it had something inside.
I reached down and discovered something hidden in the pieces, something Lara hadn’t noticed. She casually invited me to dinner, pretending everything was normal.
At dinner, she put on a performance, playing the role of a perfect daughter. But as the meal went on, I left a chessboard in view, making my move. Lara noticed but kept up the act. Later, she mocked me about being loyal, but I reminded her that I had stayed when our father needed me most.
That night, I heard the sound of Lara searching the chessboard. She’d found the hidden stash, but I had already anticipated her move. I revealed the truth: the pieces she found were fakes. The real ones were in a safe place, and the real will was hidden, too.
The will confirmed everything—my father had left the game as a test. He knew who would truly protect the whole.
“Checkmate,” I whispered.
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