Rich Parents Stole Millions From Their Daughter's Inheritance, but Karma Teaches Them a Lesson

My parents always treated me as if I were Cinderella, giving me nothing while my half-sister received everything. However, I stumbled upon a shocking truth one day - they had pilfered my inheritance. That revelation sparked the beginning of my plan for retribution. Rest assured, they will undoubtedly face the consequences of their actions.

I woke up on an ordinary Saturday morning, my eyes adjusting to the dim light seeping through the cracks of my pantry. It wasn't much of a bedroom, really, just a small space without even a window to let in the morning sun. Today, like every other day, the air was slightly musty, mixed with the lingering scent of last night's cleaning products.

I'm Sarah, and just a few days ago, I turned 18. Living with my stepfather Simon and my biological mother had taught me one thing - adaptability. For years, I've woken up at 6 AM without an alarm clock, my internal clock fine-tuned to the demands of my family.

But today was different. I overslept. The reason? Alice's party. Alice, my half-sister, knows how to throw a party that rocks the house, literally. The music, the laughter, and the sounds of people having fun went on till the early hours. I lay there in my pantry, trying to drown out the noise with my pillow, but it was futile.

Rubbing my eyes, I sat up, brushing off the thin blanket that barely kept me warm. I looked around at the shelves lined with canned goods and cereal boxes - my unconventional room decor. The pantry, my room, was never meant for someone to sleep in, but here I was, calling it my own.

Getting out of bed, I knew I had to get a start on the day. My mother and Simon were due back from their cruise that evening. They'd expect the house to be spotless. Not if I wanted to avoid their harsh words or worse, their cold indifference.

The rest of the house was in stark contrast to my humble pantry. Stepping out, I was immediately greeted by the aftermath of Alice's party. Empty cups and plates were scattered across the living room. Spilled drinks stained the expensive carpet, and decorations hung limply, their festive cheer long faded.

I began tackling the kitchen, the epicenter of Alice's party chaos from last night. Cups and plates were strewn everywhere, sticky spills on the counters, and a lingering smell of stale snacks filled the air. It was a mess, a stark reminder of the fun I wasn't a part of. Alice's parties were famous in our circles - loud, lively, and always off-limits to me.

Let me tell you about Alice. She's my half-sister, Simon's daughter. In our family, Alice is like the sun - everything revolves around her. She's always been the favorite, the one showered with attention and affection. Alice gets what Alice wants, whether it's the latest designer clothes, a new phone, or throwing extravagant parties like the one last night.

I remember this one time, on her 16th birthday, our parents threw her a lavish party. There was a huge cake, balloons, and even a live band. When I turned 16, it was just another day. No cake, no celebration. It's always been this way - Alice in the spotlight, and me, well, I'm more like the shadow, barely noticed.

As I moved around the kitchen, picking up trash and wiping down surfaces, I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. Everywhere I looked, I saw evidence of the life Alice lived – one filled with laughter, friends, and freedom. A life so different from mine.

I picked up a crumpled napkin and noticed it was from some fancy bakery - the kind my parents would never dream of buying from for me. Alice's parties were always catered with the best. In contrast, my meals were whatever was left over or easy to make. I never complained, though. It was just how things were in our house.

The living room was no better. Streamers hung from the ceiling, half-deflated balloons lay on the floor, and the couches were disheveled. I could almost hear the echoes of music and laughter as I vacuumed, a stark contrast to my usual quiet evenings spent alone in my pantry.

As I cleaned, I reflected on how different our lives were under the same roof. Alice, living like a princess, and me, well, more like the Cinderella of the story - before the fairy godmother part. But unlike Cinderella, there was no magic in sight for me, just the reality of another day spent in the shadows.

"Did you just wake up?" Alice's voice, sharp and accusing, shattered the morning silence as she flung her door open. She stood there, arms crossed, her expression a mix of annoyance and entitlement.

I paused, my hand still on the broom. "Yes, I fell asleep late last night because of the loud music," I responded, trying to keep my voice even. The music from her party had throbbed through the walls of the pantry, making sleep a distant dream.

"Are you blaming me for not letting you sleep?" Alice snapped back, her voice rising. "You must have forgotten that your parents come in the evening and if the house is not cleaned and dirty, you yourself know what will happen to you!" Her words were like daggers, each one reminding me of my place in this house. "Make me breakfast and clean up quickly," she commanded, as if I were nothing more than a servant in her royal court.

Something inside me stirred, a newfound boldness that I didn't know I had. "Go to hell," I shot back, my voice tinged with a mix of surprise and defiance. I couldn't believe the words that had just escaped my lips. I had never dared to speak to Alice like that before, especially not when our parents were home.

Alice's face turned a shade of red I had never seen before. She stepped closer, her hand raised as if to strike me. But this time, I wasn't going to be her punching bag. I pushed her away with a strength born of years of pent-up frustration.

"We're done here, Alice," I declared, my voice shaking but firm. "I'm leaving this house. I'm sick of it all - the way you treat me, the way mom and Simon ignore me. I'm 18 now, and I don't have to stay here and take this anymore. I hate it here, I hate the way you all treat me!"

Alice looked taken aback, her hand still suspended in mid-air. She glared at me, her eyes shooting daggers. "You'll regret this, Sarah," she hissed, her voice low and threatening.

But I was beyond caring. I had reached my breaking point, and there was no turning back now. My decision was made. I was leaving this house, leaving behind the years of neglect and mistreatment. It was time to find my own path, away from the shadow of Alice and the indifference of my mother and Simon.

After my confrontation with Alice, I stormed into my pantry, a small, cramped space that barely felt like mine. I yanked open the closet, its doors creaking in protest, revealing the few belongings I could call my own. My wardrobe was simple - a handful of t-shirts, some worn jeans, and a couple of hoodies. That was it. No fancy dresses, no variety of shoes. Just the basics.

I didn’t own any cosmetics, gadgets, or anything that most girls my age would have. My parents never thought to provide me with such luxuries. Even a mobile phone, a necessity in today's world, was something I could only dream of. My life was starkly different from Alice's, who always flaunted the latest gadgets and fashion. It wasn't just a difference in tastes; it was a chasm between privilege and neglect.

With a heavy heart, I started packing my things into a small bag. It was a sad sight - my entire life fitting into a bag so small. But there was nothing more to take, nothing that held any significant memory or value. It was just stuff, stuff that reminded me of the life I desperately wanted to leave behind.

Next, I knew I had to get my documents. They were always kept in my parents' room, a place I rarely ventured into. Their room was like another world - large, beautifully furnished, and always off-limits. I hesitated at the door, taking a deep breath before stepping inside.

The room was neat and orderly, a stark contrast to the rest of the house post-party. I went straight to their closet, a large, imposing piece of furniture that held more than just clothes. It held secrets, secrets about our family that I was about to uncover.

As I rummaged through the documents, Alice burst in, her face red with anger. "You'll regret this, Sarah!" she screamed, but her words barely registered. I was focused on finding my documents, determined to leave this house and start anew.

And then, amidst the piles of papers, I stumbled upon something unexpected - the will of my grandmother, Amanda. I had never seen it before, and as I read through it, my heart raced. According to this document, I was a millionaire, or at least, I should have been. Four years ago, my grandmother had left me a staggering inheritance of 2 million dollars.

But there was a catch. The will stated that until I turned 18, the inheritance was to be managed by my mother. It was a decision that, in hindsight, seemed painfully naive. After my father's death, my mother's affection for me had turned cold, and I became nothing more than a burden to her. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks - I had been living like Cinderella, unaware of the fortune that was rightfully mine, while my mother and Simon, along with Alice, lived lavishly off my inheritance.

Looking at the will, I couldn't help but think, "Grandma, if only you knew how wrong this went." She had no way of knowing that her gesture of care would turn into my years of neglect. I didn’t resent her, though. She couldn’t have foreseen how things would turn out. But there, in that moment, with the will in my hands, I felt a mix of sadness and anger. Sadness for the love and life I missed out on, and anger for the betrayal of my own family.

As I delved deeper into the secret section of the closet, my fingers stumbled upon something unexpected. Hidden beneath a stack of old papers was an envelope, old and yellowing. Scrawled across it in my grandmother Amanda's handwriting were the words, "Open it when you are alone!" My heart pounded with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. I looked over my shoulder, ensuring no prying eyes were around, before carefully opening the envelope.

Inside was a letter, addressed to me in my grandmother's familiar script. As I unfolded it, a wave of emotions washed over me. She wrote of her concerns about my mother, her doubts about her character, and her fears for my well-being. My eyes widened as I read her words, each sentence unveiling a truth I had long suspected but never confirmed.

Then, tucked within the letter was a notarized copy of my grandmother’s will. My hands trembled as I read it. The document clearly stated that I, Sarah, was the sole legitimate heir to my grandmother's fortune, and that no one, not even as a minor, had the right to touch my inheritance. The realization hit me like a lightning bolt – my mother and Simon had lied. They had forged the will, twisted its words to their benefit, and spent what was rightfully mine.

Anger surged through me, hot and unyielding. I had been deceived, robbed of my inheritance and my rightful life. They had lived in luxury on my dime, parading their wealth as if it were their own. Sitting there on the floor, surrounded by the remnants of their deceit, I felt a fiery resolve take hold.

I would claim everything back – every car, every piece of jewelry, every expensive gadget they had flaunted. The law was on my side, and justice would be served. Simon and my mother would face the prison, and Alice... Alice would finally see what life was like without the cushion of stolen wealth. After years of being the invisible, downtrodden daughter, it was time for retribution. My mind raced with plans of going to the police, exposing their fraud, and reclaiming what was mine. The days of humiliation and neglect were over; it was time for them to pay.

Just as I was absorbing the enormity of my discovery, Alice's voice jolted me back to reality. "What are you holding in your hands?" she demanded, her tone sharp and suspicious. Before I could react, she snatched the envelope from my grasp. I lunged towards her, desperately trying to retrieve the documents, but Alice was quick. She dashed away, disappearing into the bathroom.

Peering through the small gap in the door, my heart sank. I watched in horror as Alice, with a cruel smirk, tore open the envelope and shredded the letter and will into pieces. Then, with one swift motion, she threw the remains into the toilet and flushed. My only proof, my only chance at reclaiming my life, vanished in an instant.

I stood there, frozen, as the reality of what just happened sank in. I had lost everything again. The letter, the will, my grandmother's words—all gone. The feeling of helplessness was overwhelming, and for a moment, I felt like I was going to break down and cry.

Alice emerged from the bathroom, her face twisted in a smug grin. "You can leave our house now," she taunted, her voice dripping with disdain. Her words cut through me, but I knew tears wouldn't change anything. I had to act, and I had to act fast.

I was at a crossroads, with no evidence and no support. But I was determined not to let them win. I decided to seek legal help. Not the lawyer who had always served my family, entangled in their web of lies. I needed someone independent, someone who would look at my case with fresh eyes and, hopefully, help me fight against the injustice I had been living under.

As I left the house, a mix of emotions churned inside me—fear, anger, but above all, a burning desire for justice. I didn't know what the future held, but I knew I couldn't give up. Not now. Not when the truth was finally out there, even if it was just in my heart.

With a heavy heart and a mind swirling with thoughts, I found myself standing in front of the law office. The building was old, its walls holding stories of countless legal battles. I had found the address online, a place that seemed far removed from the world I knew.

Inside, the lawyer's office was a stark, no-nonsense space, lined with bookshelves and legal documents. The lawyer, a middle-aged man with a stern face, listened intently as I poured out my story. My voice trembled as I spoke about the notarized copy of my grandmother’s will, the deceit of my family, and the lost documents.

He listened, his expression unreadable, then he sighed heavily. "Without the original will, it's nearly impossible to prove your claim," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry, but the legal system needs concrete evidence." His apology sounded genuine, but it did nothing to lift the weight off my shoulders. He then mentioned that he had to leave for an urgent matter, but I barely heard him. My mind was already racing with what to do next.

Leaving the office, I felt more lost than ever. The lawyer's words echoed in my mind, a constant reminder of the seemingly insurmountable obstacle ahead. I needed support, someone to talk to, and that's when I thought of Mike.

Mike worked at a local cafe, a place where I had spent many afternoons escaping from the reality of my home life. The cafe was a cozy, welcoming space, filled with the aroma of fresh coffee and the sound of soft music.

As I walked in, I saw Mike behind the counter, his friendly smile a small comfort in my world of chaos. I approached him, and as soon as I started recounting my ordeal, his smile faded, replaced by a look of concern.

He listened attentively, his eyes never leaving mine as I explained everything. When I finished, there was a moment of silence. "Sarah, you should confront your parents," he finally said. "Tell them you know about the forgery. Demand what’s rightfully yours." His words were simple, but they sparked a new determination within me. It was a risky move, but I had nothing left to lose.

Empowered by Mike's support, I made up my mind. I would face my family, reveal that I knew the truth, and demand they rectify their wrongs. It was time to stand up for myself, no matter how daunting the task seemed.

I hesitated at the doorstep of what used to be my home, gathering courage before stepping inside. The familiar sound of laughter and animated conversation greeted me. My parents were in the midst of recounting their cruise adventures to Alice, their faces alight with excitement. The living room was filled with an air of joy, so starkly different from the coldness that usually lingered there.

As soon as they noticed me, the atmosphere shifted. Their expressions changed from joy to irritation. "Sarah, why isn't the house clean? Where's our dinner?" my mother scolded, her voice sharp like a knife.

I stood there, feeling a mixture of anger and resolve. "I don't live here anymore," I declared, my voice stronger than I felt. "And I know about the will. I know how you changed it and deceived me."

The room fell silent for a moment before my stepfather burst into laughter. "Prove it," he scoffed, his eyes gleaming with mockery. "You have nothing, Sarah. No evidence, no claim."

His words stung, but the worst part was knowing he was right. I had no proof, nothing to back my claim. Their laughter and dismissive gestures were like salt in an open wound.

"Get out of this house," my mother said coldly. "And don't come back."

Their words echoed in my ears as I turned to leave. But as I walked away, a fierce determination took root within me. I wouldn't let them get away with this. I would get back what was rightfully mine, no matter the cost.

Their laughter and dismissive attitudes fueled my resolve. They thought they had won, that they could discard me like an unwanted piece of furniture. But they were wrong. I would fight back, reclaim my inheritance, my dignity. I would show them that the quiet, obedient Sarah they knew was gone. In her place stood someone who was ready to stand up for herself and fight for what was rightfully hers.

Back at the cafe, where the aroma of coffee always brought a bit of comfort, I found Mike wiping down the counter. His face lit up when he saw me, but his smile faded as he noticed the look on my face. I sat down at one of the tables, a little corner that had become my refuge over time, and poured out the whole story of my confrontation at home.

Mike listened, his expression turning from surprise to indignation. "I can't believe they did that to you, Sarah," he said, his voice filled with sympathy. I could see the anger in his eyes, anger for the injustice I had faced.

I leaned in closer, lowering my voice. "I want to take everything back from them, Mike. Every single thing they owe me." His eyebrows shot up, and he leaned in too, a mix of curiosity and concern in his eyes.

"How will you do it?" he asked, his voice hushed.

I took a deep breath. "Illegally," I admitted. "The same way they took everything from me." There was a brief silence as the weight of my words hung in the air.

Mike looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding slowly. "What's your plan? And how can I help?"

I outlined my idea of setting up an underground poker club to entrap my stepfather, who had a weakness for gambling. "We'll give him a taste of victory first, and then, we'll take everything," I explained. "But we need to be smart. We can't just rely on luck."

Mike's eyes were wide. "How will we pull that off? I'm not exactly a poker pro."

"We'll use small cameras," I said, my plan becoming clearer as I spoke. "We'll install them in the table, to see the players' cards. You won't need to be good at poker. We'll have actors as players, and I'll be in another room, guiding them and you through an earpiece, based on what I see."

Mike nodded slowly, absorbing every detail. "It's risky, Sarah, but it sounds like you've thought this through."

"I have nothing left to lose, Mike," I said, a determined edge in my voice. "And I promise, if this works, you'll be compensated for your help."

He gave me a long, hard look before extending his hand across the table. "I'm in, Sarah. Let's do this."

And just like that, our plan was set in motion. A plan born out of desperation, but fueled by the need for justice. It was a dangerous game we were about to play, but I was ready. Ready to take back what was mine.

Mike's brows furrowed in concentration as he pondered my plan. "So, how exactly are we going to get Simon into this poker club?" he asked, leaning on the counter, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

I took a deep breath, laying out the next phase of our plan. "We're going to set it up in the basement here, at the cafe," I said, gesturing around us. Mike hesitated, clearly worried about the risks. "Sarah, I don't know... using the cafe..." he began, but I quickly assured him it was the only way.

"Listen, Mike, I need your help with this," I urged, my voice laced with determination. "It's the perfect place. Out of sight, but accessible."

Mike sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, but how do we get Simon to actually come here?"

I could see the gears turning in Mike's head as I laid out the final piece of the plan. "I've got several tens of thousands of dollars in fake bills," I explained. "I need you to 'accidentally' bump into Simon near his favorite store, drop the bag of fake money, and make it look like an accident."

Mike's eyes widened slightly at the mention of the fake money. "That's quite the setup," he said, a hint of admiration in his voice.

"Yeah, and when Simon asks about it, you tell him about this underground poker club where you've 'won' big. Make it sound too good to resist," I added, feeling a sense of excitement mixed with nerves.

Mike nodded slowly, absorbing the plan. "He knows me. He'll believe it if I say I stumbled upon some luck," he agreed, though I could see the apprehension in his eyes.

As I finished explaining, Mike's initial hesitation seemed to melt away, replaced by a newfound enthusiasm. "Sounds cool, Sarah. Let's do it. If we're doing this, we're going all in."

His agreement felt like a small victory in itself. We were both in uncharted waters, but there was no turning back now. Our plan was daring, perhaps even reckless, but it was set in motion. We were going to bring Simon to our game, and I was going to take back what was mine.

Holding the gold pendant my father had given me before his death was like holding a piece of him. It was more than just a piece of jewelry; it was a symbol of his love, a connection to happier times. But as I stood outside the pawn shop, my heart heavy with the weight of my decision, I knew what needed to be done. I had no money, and this pendant was my only ticket to setting things right.

The pawn shop had a musty smell, and the man behind the counter looked at me with a mix of curiosity and indifference. I hesitated for a moment, clutching the pendant tightly, before I finally placed it on the counter. "How much can I get for this?" I asked, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

The man examined the pendant closely, his eyes scrutinizing every detail. "It's a fine piece," he said, finally looking up. "I can give you $2,500 for it."

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. The money was enough to set up our underground poker club in the basement of the cafe where Mike worked. With a heavy heart, I handed over the pendant, saying goodbye to a piece of my past.

As I left the pawn shop, my phone rang. It was Mike. "Sarah, Simon took the bait. He's coming to play poker at the club tomorrow night," he said, excitement evident in his voice.

A surge of mixed emotions washed over me. "Great job, Mike," I managed to say, feeling a combination of relief and anxiety.

Mike's next words brought me back to the task at hand. "I've also found some people willing to act in our plan. They'll play poker against me and Simon. We'll need to pay them, though," he added.

"Of course," I replied quickly. Paying the actors was a small price for what we were about to pull off.

Hanging up the phone, I realized the enormity of what we were about to do. It wasn't just about the money or the revenge anymore; it was about justice, about righting the wrongs that had been done to me. As I walked back, my mind raced with the details of our plan. We were setting a trap, and I was at the center of it. But there was no turning back now. I was ready to face whatever came next.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, I found myself in the basement of the coffee shop where Mike worked, a place that was about to become the stage for our elaborate plan. The basement was dimly lit, with old posters peeling off the walls, and the air was thick with the smell of stale coffee. It was the perfect setting for our underground poker club.

I had rented an expensive poker table, its surface smooth and green, giving the room an air of authenticity. It was a stark contrast to the rest of the room's worn-down appearance. Around the table, I placed chairs, imagining the scene that would unfold here the next night.

Then came the most crucial part of our setup - the small cameras. Mike and I worked meticulously, installing the tiny devices behind each seat. They were so small, no bigger than a drop of water, nearly invisible to the unsuspecting eye. Each camera was positioned perfectly to capture the cards of the players, transmitting the feed to a small monitor in the adjacent room where I would be stationed.

As we worked, Mike occasionally cracked a joke, trying to lighten the mood, but the gravity of what we were doing hung in the air, unspoken but palpable. We both knew the risks, but the need for justice drove us forward.

Once everything was in place, I took a step back and looked around. The basement had transformed from a forgotten storage area into a clandestine poker den. It felt surreal, knowing that this place would soon be the scene of our carefully crafted deception.

As I left the basement that night, a mix of anxiety and determination settled in my chest. I was about to embark on a risky path, one that could change everything. But as I walked away, I knew there was no turning back now. The game was set, and it was time to play our hand.

The next night, the tension in the air was palpable as I sat in the small, cramped room adjacent to our makeshift poker club. Monitors lined the walls, each displaying different angles of the poker table from the tiny cameras we had installed. My heart raced with a mix of anticipation and anxiety as I waited for Simon, my stepfather, to arrive.

Suddenly, the screen showing the entrance lit up. Simon walked in, his gait confident, almost arrogant. He carried a suitcase, which he opened to reveal stacks of money. My eyes widened at the sight; he had brought around a hundred thousand dollars. It was a staggering amount, and as he declared his intention to play big, a cold determination settled over me.

I watched as everyone took their seats around the table, the actors we hired blending in seamlessly. I double-checked the connection with Mike, whispering into the microphone, "Mike, scratch your ear if you can hear me." Moments later, I saw him subtly scratch his ear on the screen. The signal was clear; he could hear me. The game was on.

The first few rounds were simple. I guided the actors through the earpiece, making sure Simon won. We needed him hooked, believing in his luck, his adrenaline surging with each win. "Let him win," I whispered, watching as the fake money changed hands, a sense of hollow victory filling the room.

Simon was beaming, reveling in his winnings. "Today's my day," he boasted, unaware that the money was fake and the game rigged. But I knew the truth. I knew that by the end of the night, he would leave with nothing.

I sat there, orchestrating each move, a puppet master pulling the strings. With every card dealt, every bet placed, I felt a sense of power I had never experienced before. This was more than a game of poker; it was a game of justice. And I was determined to win.

As Simon's pile of winnings grew, so did his confidence. He was on a roll, or so he thought. He leaned back in his chair, a glass of whiskey in hand, his laughter echoing around the dimly lit basement. I watched from my hidden vantage point, waiting for the perfect moment to turn the tables. "Get ready," I whispered into the microphone, "It's time to change the game."

Once the next hand was dealt, I became the unseen guide. "He's got a strong card," I would murmur, and the actors would fold. "His card is weak," I'd say next, and they'd play aggressively. It was a carefully orchestrated dance, and Simon was completely unaware he was not leading it.

Game after game, I watched Simon's initial triumph dissolve into confusion and then desperation. The stack of money in front of him dwindled rapidly. The moment he lost the last of his initial winnings, a flicker of panic crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by determination. We let him win a small hand again, a false glimmer of hope to keep him in the game.

The atmosphere in the room grew tenser with each round. Simon's once-confident demeanor began to crumble as the realization set in - he was losing, and losing big. When he finally ran out of cash, there was a moment of utter disbelief on his face. Then, recklessly, he wagered his watch, a luxurious, expensive piece. And just like his money, it was gone in a matter of minutes.

Next, he offered his car, his voice tinged with desperation. It was clear he couldn't stop; the stakes were too high. He had lost too much already. If my mother found out, his marriage would be over. He clung to the hope of winning back his losses, not realizing that every move, every decision, was being orchestrated by me.

Sitting there, watching the man who had made my life a misery lose everything he held dear, I felt a sense of grim satisfaction. This was more than revenge; it was justice. As Simon's world crumbled around him, I knew that I was taking back control, reclaiming what was rightfully mine. The sense of power was intoxicating. Tonight, Simon would leave with nothing, and I would finally have what I deserved.

Few moments later Simon, with a look of sheer desperation, announced that he needed to go home to get more money. I didn't feel an ounce of sympathy for him. Years of being treated as less than nothing by him had hardened my heart. Mike, standing by the poker table, nodded understandingly and assured Simon they would wait for his return.

As soon as Simon's defeated figure disappeared up the stairs, I stepped out of my surveillance room and into the area where the game was happening. Mike approached me, his face a mix of excitement and concern. "Everything is working out perfectly," he whispered, a slight smile on his face.

"He's going to lose it all," I said, feeling a strange cocktail of satisfaction and bitterness. We briefly discussed the evening's events, recounting Simon's reactions to his losses. "Did you see how he tried to hide his frustration when that big hand fell through?" I asked, recalling one of the many moments when Simon's facade of control cracked.

"Yeah, and when his hand was shaking as he placed his bets... He's unraveling fast," Mike replied, shaking his head in disbelief.

I returned to the room with the monitors, settling back into my chair. The screens displayed the empty poker table, a silent testament to the high-stakes drama unfolding tonight.

About twenty minutes later, Simon reappeared in the basement, dragging a suitcase heavy with cash. My heart raced as he opened it to reveal a staggering $500,000. "This is it," I thought, realizing the magnitude of what was about to happen.

The game resumed, and with each passing moment, Simon's stack of money dwindled. He drank more, his hands shook, and despair clouded his eyes. An hour later, he was down to the last $20,000. I watched, transfixed, as tears started streaming down his face. Despite everything he had put me through, seeing him so broken was unexpectedly unsettling.

But then, memories of years of neglect and emotional abuse resurfaced, steeling my resolve. Simon left the poker club that night penniless, having lost not only the cash but also the expensive jewelry he had bought for my mother with my inheritance. As I watched him leave, a sense of closure washed over me. I had reclaimed what was rightfully mine and left him with nothing, just as he had done to me.

The morning after the poker game, I returned to the house that had once been my home, but now felt like a distant memory. My purpose was simple: to retrieve a forgotten photograph of me and my father, a memento from a time when life was kinder. It was tucked away in the pantry, my makeshift bedroom, a small space that held the remnants of my past life.

As I entered the house, the scene before me was one I hadn't expected. My mother and Alice were in the living room, their faces stained with tears. Curiosity overtook me, and I asked, "What happened?"

Through her sobs, my mother explained that Simon had lost everything - the money, valuables, even the cars - in a poker game the previous night. I feigned ignorance, masking the satisfaction I felt knowing my plan had worked. They were oblivious to my involvement, and I intended to keep it that way.

But then, my mother's next words sent a chill down my spine. Simon had suffered a heart attack and was now in a coma. Doctors had discovered a brain tumor, and his treatment would cost around 200 thousand dollars, money they no longer had.

Despite everything, hearing about Simon's condition and their financial plight stirred something in me. I suggested they sell the house to cover the medical expenses, but my mother revealed they actually had already sold it few days ago and were going to move to bigger one as soon as they rent it, however the money was gone too - lost by Simon in the same poker game.

Standing there, watching their despair, a realization dawned on me. I couldn't become like them, consumed by greed and revenge. I had to be better. Quietly, I slipped away to the pantry, where I took 200 thousand dollars from the bag I'd brought with me. With a heavy heart, I hid the money under a floorboard, a secret gift to a family that had once been my world.

I returned to the living room and casually mentioned that I remembered seeing Simon hide money in the pantry. My mother's eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope. She rushed to the pantry, found the money, and embraced Alice, tears of relief replacing those of despair.

As I walked out of the house, leaving behind the money, I knew it was the last time I would ever step foot in that house. I had reclaimed my dignity and chosen compassion over vengeance. It was time to start a new chapter, one where the shadows of the past no longer lingered over me.

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