She left, but not before getting a final shot of the house for her story.
The next morning, Mark and I drove to the county seat to see a lawyer. Better to know where I stood legally before this got any uglier.
The lawyer, a woman about my mother’s age with steel-gray hair and knowing eyes, listened to our story without interrupting. When I finished, she leaned back in her chair.
“The treasure is legally yours,” she said. “You own the house outright, and anything found on the property belongs to the property owner. But family disputes can get nasty. And public. Are you prepared for that?”
“I’m prepared to protect what’s mine,” I said.
“Good. Document everything. Keep records of all communication, and if they escalate to actual harassment, call the police.”
We drove home feeling more confident, but also more anxious. Legal standing was one thing. Family retaliation was another.
I should have trusted that anxiety.
We pulled into the driveway to find the kitchen window forced open; the frame splintered where someone had pried it with a crowbar or screwdriver.
Inside, drawers had been rifled through, papers scattered across the floor. The cabinet where we used to keep important documents had been tipped over, its contents strewn everywhere.
My hands shook as I called 911, but even as I spoke to the dispatcher, I was calculating. The jewelry was safe: we’d hidden it in a spot only Mark and I knew about.
Whoever had done this was looking for the treasure, but they’d come up empty.
“Someone’s been watching us closely,” Mark said, surveying the damage. “They knew we’d gone out.”
The police took a report, dusted for prints that probably wouldn’t lead anywhere, and left us to clean up the mess. But as I swept up broken glass, an idea started forming.
“What if we set a trap?” I asked Mark that evening.
He looked up from the insurance paperwork. “What kind of trap?”
“Aunt June said my great-grandfather might’ve hidden stuff all over the house, right?”
Mark grinned. “So, we’re going to stage finding another treasure?”
“Exactly.”
An hour later, I texted my family group chat:
“Mark and I have decided to make a deal. You guys can divide up the contents of the first box we found among yourselves, but only if you agree that anything else we find will remain my property.”
Tessa was quick to agree, but Ryan took the bait immediately.
“What do you mean, the FIRST box?” he texted. “Did you find something else? We can’t agree without full disclosure.”
I never answered him. I was too busy helping Mark set up cameras throughout the house.
That evening, Mark and I got dressed up and shared a photo of us “going out to celebrate” as a story on my Instagram account. Tessa was one of the first viewers.
We walked out a few minutes later, drove around the block, and then parked down the road from the lake house.
Then we waited.
Flashlight beams sliced across the yard. Two figures moved toward the porch. Mark and I crept to the side window and peered in.
Ryan and Tessa.
They slipped through the back door we’d left unlocked, whispering as they made for the decoy box on the kitchen counter.
“Look, it’s right there! They did find something else,” Ryan muttered.
“Grab it and let’s go,” Tessa hissed.
I stepped onto the porch and flicked on the lights.
“Smile,” I called. “You’re on camera.”
They froze.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Tessa stammered.
“It looks like breaking and entering,” I said. “And that’s exactly what it is.”
Minutes later, the police had them in separate patrol cars, still arguing over whose idea it was.
The house repays the one who keeps it. Not in gold or jewels hidden under floorboards, but in something harder to lose and impossible to split among relatives who’ve forgotten what staying means.
It repays you by being the place where laughter lives, even after the people who laughed there are gone.
It repays you by being a home.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
