The phone call came on a Tuesday afternoon. An unknown local number. Usually, I’d let it go to voicemail, but something made me answer.
“Is this Amelia Chin?” a gruff, professional voice asked.
“Yes. Who’s calling?”
“My name’s Frank DeMarco. I own DeMarco’s Pawn & 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 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 construction jobs, Sunday dinners, and my school plays. Even during chemo, when his wrist got too thin, he pressed it into my palm. “This is yours, Mia. Only yours.” That was three years ago. Two years before Mom married Richard, and 18 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. 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.”
“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. A guy said it was his to sell.” He set the box on the counter and opened it. There was Dad’s watch, looking smaller and more vulnerable than I remembered.
“Normally, I don’t question sellers too hard if the merchandise looks legitimate,” Frank continued. “But this watch… I knew your dad. Knew he’d never let this go. So, I did some digging. 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 in on an academic scholarship, but there were still fees, uniforms, books. Dad had said he got some 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. “When I was examining it, I noticed something.” He pressed a spot 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.
“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, mid-20s, kept talking about his app startup.”
Tyler. Of course.
“He took cash for it. $8,500. 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 30 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. The man never mentioned it again. This is me settling up.”
I left the pawn shop clutching the watch, my mind racing. I had questions that needed answers. I found Mom and Richard in the kitchen, hunched over what looked like bank statements. They looked up, and I saw it immediately: a quick, unmistakable flash of guilt 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. “Where did you—” Mom 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? Is that what you were going to ask?” My voice was steady, calmer than I felt.
“Now, Mia,” Richard stood, using his mediator voice. “Let’s not be dramatic. Tyler needed capital for his business.”
“His third business,” I corrected, “after the failed food truck and the cryptocurrency disaster.”
“This one’s different,” Mom interjected.
“Funded by stealing from me.”
“It’s not stealing,” Richard said firmly. “We’re a family. Family shares resources.”
“Like Tyler shares his trust fund with me? Oh, wait. He spent that on a Mercedes and a trip to Cabo.”
“That’s different.”
“How?” My voice rose. “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. I had a steady job and a boring life, so I deserved less. Tyler had dreams, so he deserved everything, including things that weren’t his.
“I want the money back,” I said quietly. “Every penny of the $8,500.”
Richard laughed. “We don’t have it. It’s already invested.”
“Then liquidate it. 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. The Stanley level was in its usual spot. Inside the level’s bubble chamber, wrapped in plastic, was a small key.
First National Bank was downtown, a building Dad had helped renovate. 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. The envelope has 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. 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 a 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
I laughed through my tears. The bonds were there. The journal was filled with Dad’s meticulous records, including an unpaid invoice for $15,000 from Richardson Construction, a prominent firm still in business. 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.”
I gave her a 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. He stopped when he saw me.
“Amelia,” he said with practiced 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 will 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. Dad always said the best time to stand up for yourself is the moment you realize you’re being stood on.”
I packed my things. 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, and saw the woman who’d stood by while her new family dismantled my old one. “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. Diane recovered $43,000 of the outstanding debts within six weeks. Richardson Construction paid in full to avoid a lawsuit.
Tyler’s app failed within three months, after he blew through the watch money on office space and logo design. Richard called asking if I could “help out” with a loan. I hung up. Mom tried reaching out through relatives, painting me as the ungrateful daughter. 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 neighborhood where he’d grown up. Nothing fancy, but it had solid bones, as he would have said. The watch sits on my nightstand, ticking steady as a heartbeat. Sometimes I open the secret compartment just to make sure it’s real, that Dad really did think ahead, that he really did protect me even after he was gone.
Time is the only real currency we have. Dad knew that. He knew the watch would matter to me, not for its value, but for what it represented. He also knew that eventually, someone would try to steal my time 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, to stand up for myself, and to realize I had 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.