The phone call came on a Tuesday afternoon while I was reviewing quarterly reports in my cubicle, an unknown local number. Usually I let it go to voicemail, but something made me answer. Is this Amelia Chin? A gruff voice, carefully professional.
Yes, who’s calling? My name’s Frank DeMarco. I own DeMarco’s Pond and Gold on Riverside. I believe I have something that belongs to you.
A Rolex Submariner? My heart stopped. That’s impossible. I have my father’s watch right.
I opened my desk drawer where I kept it during work hours. Empty. Ma’am? You still there? The watch? I whispered.
It’s gone. I was afraid of that. Look, can you come down to the shop? There’s something you need to see, and I’d rather not discuss it over the phone.
I left work immediately, my hands shaking as I drove. Dad’s watch, the only thing he’d left specifically to me, had been in that drawer yesterday morning. I checked it like I did every day, running my fingers over the inscription on the back.
To my daughter Amelia, may time always be on your side. Love, Dad. He’d worn it every day of my childhood.
Through his construction jobs, Sunday dinners, my school plays. Even during chemo, when his wrist got too thin and we had to adjust the band. On his deathbed, he pulled me close and into my palm.
This is yours, Mia, only yours. That was three years ago, two years before Mom married Richard. Eighteen months before Richard’s son Tyler moved in with his big dreams and bigger appetite for other people’s money.
DeMarco’s pawn shop was wedged between a nail salon and a check cashing place, the kind of strip mall where desperation had a permanent address. Frank DeMarco looked exactly like a pawn shop owner should. Thick neck, suspicious eyes, gold pinky ring.
But his expression when he saw me was unexpectedly kind. You look like him, he said simply. Your dad.
He used to come in here sometimes, back in the day. He did. Construction guys always need tools.
He was one of the good ones, always paid back his loans, never tried to pull anything. Frank disappeared into the back, returning with a familiar leather box. This came in yesterday…
Guy said it was his to sell. But when I opened it up for inspection, he set the box on the counter and opened it. There was Dad’s watch, looking smaller than I remembered, more vulnerable.
Normally, I don’t question sellers too hard if the merchandise looks legitimate, Frank continued. But this watch, I need your dad, knew he’d never let this go. So I did some digging in our system.
And? Your father pawned this watch exactly once, 15 years ago, paid it back with interest within a month. Frank’s eyes met mine. The loan was for $3,000.
Records show it was right around the time you started at that fancy private high school. My throat tightened. I’d gotten into St. Mary’s Academy on academic scholarship, but there were still fees, uniforms, books, activities.
Dad had said he’d gotten overtime work. He’d never mentioned pawning his most precious possession. That’s when I knew something wasn’t right with this sale, Frank said.
But that’s not why I called you. He picked up the watch, turning it over. When I was examining it, checking authenticity, I noticed something.
He pressed something on the side, and the back popped open in a way I’d never seen before. This isn’t standard. Someone modified this watch to create a hidden compartment.
Inside was a thin piece of paper, folded impossibly small. I haven’t read it, Frank said. Figured if your dad hid it that carefully, it was meant for specific eyes.
With trembling fingers, I unfolded the paper. Dad’s handwriting, smaller than usual, but unmistakably his. Mia, if you’re reading this, something’s happened to the watch.
Check the safe deposit box at First National. Box 447. The key is in my toolbox, inside the level.
The watch is yours, but what’s in that box is your future. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Dad, you okay? Frank’s voice seemed far away.
I, I need to buy the watch back. How much? Frank shook his head. The guy who brought it in, tallish, maybe mid-twenties, kept talking about his app startup…
Tyler, of course. He took cash for it. Eight thousand, five hundred dollars.
But here’s the thing, I never filed the paperwork. Technically, this transaction hasn’t happened yet. What do you mean? I mean I’ve been in this business thirty years, I know stolen goods when I see them, even when the thief has a key to the house.
He slid the watch across the counter. Take it. If anyone asks, it was never here.
I can’t just. Your dad helped me once. My kid needed surgery and I was short on rent.
He did a roofing job for me at cost. Let me pay him over six months. Frank’s gruff voice went soft.
Man never mentioned it again. This is me settling up. I left the pawn shop clutching the watch, my mind racing.
Dad’s toolbox was in the garage, mom had wanted to throw it out, but I’d insisted on keeping it. The level he’d mentioned was his favorite, an old Stanley that he’d taught me to use when I was eight. But first, I had questions that needed answering.
I found mom in the kitchen with Richard, both hunched over coffee and what looked like bank statements. They looked up when I walked in, and I saw immediately, the guilt, quick and unmistakable, before mom rearranged her face into confusion. Mia? What are you doing home? I set the watch on the counter between us, looking for this.
The silence stretched like taffy. Where did you, Richard started. Where did I find the watch you stole from my desk drawer? The watch you pawned for Tyler’s ridiculous app idea? The watch that was the only thing my father left me? My voice was steady, calmer than I felt.
Is that what you were going to ask? Now Mia, Richard stood, using his mediator voice. Let’s not be dramatic, Tyler needed capital for his business. His third business, after the food truck that never got off the ground and a cryptocurrency disaster.
This one’s different, mom interjected. He has a partner, a business plan, funded by stealing from me. It’s not stealing, Richard said firmly.
We’re a family, family shares resources. Like Tyler shared his trust fund with me? Oh wait, he spent that on a Mercedes and a trip to Cabo. That’s different.
How? How is it different? Mom stood, her face hardening. Because Tyler has potential, he’s building something. You just, you just sit on valuable things while people with vision need resources…
There it was, the truth she’d been dancing around since marrying Richard. I had a steady job, a boring life, no grand ambitions, therefore, I deserved less. Tyler had dreams, therefore he deserved everything, including things that weren’t his.
I want the money back, I said quietly. Every penny of the eight thousand five hundred dollars. Richard laughed.
We don’t have it. It’s already invested in techno solutions. Then liquidate it.
You can’t just. Watch me, I picked up the Rolex. This was reported stolen this morning.
I have the police report number. Either I get the money back or I press charges. You wouldn’t? Mom gasped.
Tyler could go to jail. Tyler committed a felony. That’s not my fault.
After everything we’ve done for you, mom’s voice went shrill. We let you live here. I pay rent above market rate, actually.
We’re your family. Dad was my family. This watch was his legacy to me.
And you let your husband and his son steal it like it meant nothing. I left them sputtering and went to the garage. Dad’s toolbox sat under his old workbench, covered in dust, but otherwise untouched.
The Stanley level was in its usual spot. I’d helped him use it a hundred times, checking if cabinets were straight, teaching me that close enough wasn’t good enough when you were building something to last inside the levels. Bubble chamber wrapped in plastic was a small key.
First National Bank was downtown. A building dad had helped renovate back in the 90s. The safe deposit box required two keys, mine and the bank’s.
The manager, an older woman who remembered my father, didn’t ask questions. Box 447 was larger than I’d expected. Inside were three things, a manila envelope, a leather journal, and another letter.
I read the letter first. Mia, if you’re reading this, then you found my little insurance policy. Your mother doesn’t know about this box.
Started it when you were born because I knew even then you were going to be special. The envelope has bonds. Bearer bonds from my father, worth about $100,000 now.
Maybe more. The journal has all the details of the contracting business, client lists, contacts, outstanding invoices that were never collected. There’s probably another $50,000 there if you want to pursue it.
But here’s what I really want you to know. I didn’t leave you just to watch. I left you time.
Time to choose your own path without worrying about money. Time to leave if you need to. Time to be yourself without apology.
Your mother’s a good woman, but she sees the world in terms of who deserves what based on who makes the most noise. You were always quiet, like me. That doesn’t make you less deserving.
It makes you observant, smart, careful. Use this wisely. And remember, the watch isn’t just jewelry.
It’s a reminder that time is the only real currency we have. Don’t let anyone steal yours. All my love, dad…
Peace if that boyfriend of yours is still around, the one who borrowed money and never paid it back. Dump him. You deserve better.
I laughed through my tears, even the boyfriend line. Dad had been dead on about Marcus, who I dumped six months after dad passed. The bonds were there, as promised.
The journal was filled with dad’s meticulous records, including several big contractors who still owed him money. One name jumped out, Richardson Construction, which owed $15,000 for a job dad completed a month before his diagnosis. They were still in business, still prominent.
They probably hoped the debt died with him. They were wrong. I spent that evening at a hotel, making plans.
The next morning, I hired a lawyer, Diane Vasquez, who specialized in estate recovery. She looked at dad’s journal and smiled like a shark. Your father kept impeccable records.
This is all actionable. The bonds are clean, and these debts, they don’t just disappear because someone dies. How long to recover it all? The bonds immediately.
The debts? Give me three months. I gave her the retainer and drove back to mom’s house. I couldn’t think of it as home anymore.
They were in the living room with Tyler, who was gesticulating wildly about his app. Revolutionary integration of blockchain and social media. He stopped when he saw me.
Amelia, he said with his practice charm. Look about the watch. Save it.
I turned to mom and Richard. I’m moving out. Today.
Don’t be ridiculous, mom started. Over a watch. Over a betrayal.
Over you choosing them over me, again and again. Over you letting them steal from me because you think I don’t deserve what’s mine. Where will you go? Richard asked, probably calculating if they could rent my room for more.
That’s not your concern anymore. Tyler stood. I’ll pay you back when the app takes off.
No, you’ll pay me back now. $8,500 plus interest. My lawyer will be in touch.
Lawyer? Mom went pale. Mia, you can’t. I can.
I am. They had always said the best time to stand up for yourself is the moment you realize you’re being stood on. I packed my things…
Not much, really. Most of what mattered fit in two suitcases. The watch went back on my wrists where it belonged.
As I loaded my car, mom came out one last time. Your father would be ashamed, she said coldly, turning on family like this. I looked at her, really looked at her.
Saw the woman who’d stood by while her new family dismantled my old one, piece by piece. My father, I said clearly, left me more than you ever knew. And the only thing he’d be ashamed of is that it took me this long to see you for what you are.
I drove away and didn’t look back. The bonds cashed out at $127,000. They’d accrued more interest than dad had calculated.
Diane recovered $43,000 of the outstanding debts within six weeks. Richardson Construction paid in full to avoid a lawsuit that would have exposed their pattern of stiffing contractors. Tyler’s app failed within three months.
He’d blown through the watch money on office space and logo design, never actually building the product. Richard called asking if I could help out with a small loan. I hung up.
Mom tried reaching out through relatives, painting me as the ungrateful daughter who abandoned family over material possessions. I sent them all the same response, a photo of the police report for the stolen watch, with Tyler’s name highlighted. The calls stopped.
I used dad’s money to buy a small house in the where he’d grown up. Nothing fancy, but solid, hooved bones, he would have said. I kept his toolbox in my garage, his level still in its place of honor.
The watch sits on my nightstand at night, ticking steady as a heartbeat. Sometimes I open the secret compartment just to make sure it’s real, that dad really did think ahead, really did protect me even after he was gone. Time’s the only real currency we have.
Dad knew that. He knew that the watch would matter to me not for its value, but for what it represented, all the time we had together, all the time he’d worked to give me a future. He also knew something else, that eventually someone would try to steal it from me.
So he made sure that even if they took the watch, they couldn’t take what really mattered. The time to choose my own life, the time to stand up for myself, the time to realize I’d always been worthy of every second. The watch is mine again, but more importantly, so is my time.
And I’m not wasting another minute of it on people who think they deserve it more.