The day began like any other at the city’s most formidable bank. The security guard arrived first, followed by Mr. David, the manager, a man so meticulous his shirt collars seemed to defy the laws of physics. He was a stickler for punctuality, a trait that made him thoroughly disliked by his staff, who saw him as more robot than human. This morning was no different; the guard was half a minute late and received a scolding that was both theatrical and terrifying.
Closer to noon, as the city’s elite prepared for lunch, a young woman approached the building. She was slender, her form obscured by a nun’s habit, but one striking feature was impossible to hide: she was heavily pregnant, her round belly protruding against the dark fabric. The guard’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as she approached.
“Good day,” she greeted, her voice polite but without a smile. “My property is stored in this bank. I would like to retrieve it.”
He led her through the marbled hall, past the astonished faces of his colleagues, to the manager’s office. Mr. David’s surprise was a brief, quickly suppressed flicker. “Please, come in. How may I assist you?” he asked, his voice a smooth, practiced baritone.
“My property is stored here, rightfully inherited,” the nun said, placing a package of documents and a key on his desk.
As Mr. David examined the papers, his composure finally cracked. He looked from the documents to the young woman and back again, his brow furrowed in disbelief. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
He cleared his throat. “I apologize. It’s just… this is a very old vault. Legends circulate about it. I didn’t think anyone would come for its contents in my lifetime.”
The young woman offered a faint smile. “So, you knew my father,” she concluded.
“Everyone knew him,” Mr. David replied, a hint of awe in his voice. “He was a great man.”
His confusion was understandable. Everyone in the city knew of Benjamin Ross. In the 1990s, he was the chief criminal authority, a man whose quiet, melodic voice decided the fate of businesses and the lives of men. He never yelled, but his influence was an absolute monopoly built on a foundation of fear and bloodshed. He introduced the trend of cementing the legs of debtors and throwing them from the central bridge in broad daylight. He was the law.
Benjamin’s only weakness was his second wife, a beautiful pianist named Diana. For her, the murders ceased, and the debts were forgiven. He loved her loudly, openly, and she, in turn, was ready to give her life for him. That’s exactly what happened.
Their daughter, Amanda, was eight at the time, a daddy’s girl who adored her father. Benjamin also had a stepson from his first marriage, Andrew, who was six years older. Andrew idolized his stepfather but was jealous of the affection Benjamin showed his biological daughter.
The tragedy occurred during Amanda’s eighth birthday party. It was a lavish affair at their country house. Suddenly, a black car pulled up to the gates. A man in a suit emerged with a machine gun. Amanda only had time to scream, “Daddy!” before her grandmother shielded her with her body, taking two bullets to the stomach.
Diana was hit next, protecting her husband. Benjamin, though wounded, managed to return fire. The shootout was fatal for almost everyone. Benjamin’s rival, who had come to witness the hit, was killed. Diana and her mother died instantly. Benjamin was conscious when the ambulance arrived. “Is Diana dead?” he asked. When the doctors confirmed she was, he said, “Then I will go to her, too. Don’t save me.” He died on the operating table, just as he wished.
Andrew was unharmed. He inherited most of Benjamin’s property and a thirst for vengeance. Amanda, however, ended up in an orphanage, the psychological trauma of that night leaving deep, invisible scars. Rumors circulated that her inheritance, locked away until she came of age, was far greater than her stepbrother’s. Haunted by her past, she sought solace in the church.
And now, after all these years, she stood in the bank, requesting to open the safety deposit box of the infamous Benjamin Ross.
“Here you go. This is yours,” Mr. David said with a grin as he handed her the box, which was filled with gold and valuable jewelry. There was no trace of greed in her gaze.
“Thank you,” she said meekly.
“Driving around with this could be dangerous,” the manager offered, his eyes gleaming. “Would you like our security guard to escort you?”
Amanda shook her head. “No, thank you. There’s no need.”
“And what do you plan to do with such wealth?” he pressed. “Your father was known for his generosity.”
“Yes,” Amanda smiled. “The money will be spent on repairing the church where I lived. They took me in during a difficult time, and thanks to that, I met the man I love. My husband.”
As soon as Amanda left, Mr. David dialed Andrew Ross’s number. “Mr. Andrew, your sister visited our bank today… Yes, she retrieved the contents… Don’t worry, my man will keep an eye on her… Yes, she mentioned she intends to repair some church… You were right. The girl is clearly not in her right mind.”
Before Amanda and her husband, Darren, could make it back to their village, a black car intercepted them at a gas station. A man in a suit emerged, the same terrifying image from her childhood. He aimed a gun at her pregnant abdomen. “Give me everything. Quickly.”
Darren, who had been inside paying, rushed out to see Amanda handing over the box, choking back tears of panic. “Stay here,” he yelled, jumping into their car. “I’ll get their license plate!”
Amanda screamed for him to stop, that they had a firearm, but he was already gone, peeling out of the gas station in pursuit of the black car. A few minutes later, a truck driver pulled in, talking about a severe accident just down the road. A white car, a crash, and gunshots. Hearing the news, Amanda lost consciousness.
When she woke, she was in the hospital. The police confirmed that her husband had died in the accident. And then, her water broke.
Fourteen days later, Amanda lay in a different hospital room, this time with her babies. The birth had been a traumatic ordeal. She was only seven months along, and the emotional shock had sent her into premature labor. The doctors had rushed her into an emergency caesarean section. The twins, both boys, were born underweight and frail, but they were fighters. They quickly learned to feed on their own, and after two weeks in the intensive care unit, they were discharged.
Amanda didn’t make it to her husband’s funeral. The entire village saw him off, remembering him as a good, honest man.
Three years went by. Amanda stood with her sons at the local clinic. Gareth was healthy, but his twin brother, Horus, was ill. He had been born smaller and was more susceptible to sickness. Now, he needed surgery. It wasn’t terribly expensive, but Amanda had no way to raise the money. She had stopped working at the church, immersing herself in motherhood.
She faced an unpleasant task. She had to visit Andrew. She found him in the same country house where her life had shattered. The iron fence, the manicured lawn—it was all the same. The thought of Horus gave her the strength to enter.
She told him about her son’s illness. He listened, his face a mask of polite concern. “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling a few bills from his pocket. “I don’t have much money right now. It’s a crisis. But this should help.”
As she was leaving, he called out. “You know, there is something I could do. If you agreed to sell me your shares in the company, there would be enough to cover the surgery.”
Amanda hesitated. She had inherited shares in her father’s company, but she had never touched them. It was blood money. “I don’t need anything,” she said. “If you want the shares, I’ll sell them.”
“The shares are worth ten times more,” she said after reading the transfer agreement he’d prepared.
“These are tough times,” Andrew replied smoothly. “I can’t give you more.”
“I don’t need them, even for free,” she said quickly, signing the papers. “Thank you. You’ve helped me.” He could have just lent her the money, but he had needed her shares.
Soon, Horus’s surgery was scheduled. As Amanda waited anxiously in the hospital corridor, she met a man named Austin. His daughter was having the same surgery. He was kind, with a gentle appearance, and he stayed with her throughout the terrifying ordeal, offering a calm strength she desperately needed. He told her he was a single father, his wife having died in childbirth. They talked for the entire night, a bond forming in the sterile quiet of the hospital.
Horus’s surgery was a success. Austin and Amanda exchanged numbers. They lived only fifty kilometers apart. They started calling, and a month later, Austin made a proposition. “Let’s live together. My Sophia needs a mother, and your boys need a father.”
Amanda confessed to her priest that she had been angry with God for taking her husband. The priest blessed her second marriage. They sold their respective homes, pooled their resources, and bought a splendid house on the outskirts of the city. For the first time in her life, Amanda felt a sense of peace. Austin was different from Darren. He was gentle, kind, and never insisted, always respecting her decisions.
One day, Austin came home from his job as an ER doctor, visibly disturbed. “Gunfight in the city center,” he said. “A girl was badly wounded. And one of the shooters… he died in my arms. He confessed, Amanda. He said it was his fault another person died. He’d robbed a pregnant woman, and her husband chased after them and was killed in a crash.”
Amanda went pale.
“He said his brother ordered him to do it,” Austin continued, his brow furrowed. “The son of Benjamin Ross.”
Andrew. The realization hit her like a physical blow. He hadn’t just swindled her out of her shares. He had orchestrated the robbery that killed her husband.
That night, Amanda didn’t sleep. Vengeance, a feeling she thought she’d buried with her father, began to consume her. The next morning, she put on jeans for the first time since she’d met Darren, her long chestnut hair pulled back in a high ponytail. A large cross rested on her chest.
“Where are we headed?” Austin asked, amazed at her transformation.
“To my father’s company,” she declared.
She walked into the office, bypassing the secretary. “I’d like to discuss my return to the company,” she announced to a stunned Andrew. “I’ll transfer ownership of this building to you. In return, you’ll give me just five percent of the shares.”
Andrew, though suspicious, couldn’t refuse. The building, his father’s first office, was sacred to him.
Amanda stepped into the leadership of the company, and it was as if her father’s spirit had awakened within her. She was a natural. She dressed more fashionably, her innate business acumen shining through. In six months, she had gained Andrew’s trust, becoming his business partner. He saw traits of his beloved father in her and opened up all his cards. She saw the real documents and nearly fainted. The business was built on blood, threats, and bribes.
She compiled a massive folder of compromising information on Andrew. Before using it, she visited her parents’ graves. “Wish me luck, Dad,” she whispered, placing two red roses on the massive monument.
The next day, she went to the retired investigator who had tried for years to put her father in prison. “I brought you what you’ve been dreaming of,” she said, handing him the folder.
The investigator, knowing the local police were in Andrew’s pocket, contacted a trusted friend in the capital. A systematic takedown of the entire criminal organization began. Amanda watched the news as her brother was arrested, substantial evidence stacked against him.
She agreed to visit him in prison. He could have easily strangled her in that small, private room, but she wasn’t afraid.
“So, you turned me in because I made you sign over your shares?” he asked.
Amanda smirked. “No. It’s because you killed my husband.”
Andrew was sentenced to fifteen years in a high-security prison. The bank manager who had conspired with him was also convicted, his career effectively over.
Amanda, now the rightful heir, closed her father’s company and sold it off. With the proceeds, she restored the church that had once been her refuge. She built roads and a clinic in the village where she had first found peace. She and Austin and their three children moved back, buying a large house and becoming farmers. Soon, she discovered she was expecting another child. An ultrasound revealed it would be a boy.