The Best Revenge
At nineteen, Alex had learned to master the art of disappearing in plain sight.
Ever since his mom died and his dad remarried Karen—who brought with her two daughters and a mountain of passive aggression—Alex had been treated like a smudge on an otherwise pristine family portrait.
Karen and her girls, Bella and Chloe, floated around the house in their matching designer outfits, all sleek smiles and condescension. Alex, with his thrift store jeans and untamed ponytail, was barely tolerated.
“Alex, dear,” Karen would chirp with sugary venom, “you might be more comfortable eating in the kitchen.”
Translation: You’re ruining my aesthetic.
Dad, spineless as ever, would just stare blankly at his asparagus.
His cousins weren’t much better—six perfectly coiffed, hyper-competitive parasites who turned every family gathering into a networking event. Alex usually found sanctuary in the kitchen with the staff. At least Maria, the cook, treated him like a person.
“Those people out there?” she’d whisper, handing him a slab of chocolate cake. “They don’t know gold when they see it.”
But Grandpa—Grandpa saw him.
A self-made man who built his empire from nothing, Grandpa never let wealth rot his soul. While the rest of the family scrambled for status, Grandpa and Alex spent quiet afternoons on the porch sipping lemonade, talking about roses, constellations, and life’s cruel jokes.
“When life kicks you in the teeth,” he’d say, “kick it back—or better yet, make it laugh.”
But then, Grandpa got sick. Fast.
His vision failed. He was bedridden within months. And like vultures catching the scent of decay, the family came swarming—Karen with her crocodile tears, Dad suddenly attentive, the cousins all fawning over a man they’d ignored for years.
Alex visited daily. No agenda, no expectations—just books, company, and love. They read The Count of Monte Cristo together. Grandpa kept asking him to reread the part where Edmond Dantès finds the treasure.
Maybe that should’ve been a clue.
Then came the voice message:
“Family meeting. Everyone to the house. Now.”
The family arrived in record time, barely concealing their greed. Alex lingered in the hallway, watching them buzz like flies. That’s when he noticed the wall safe in Grandpa’s bedroom—ajar.
That safe had never been left open.
The cousins noticed too. Whispering. Pointing. Eyes gleaming.
“I’m sorry I can’t see any of you anymore,” Grandpa rasped. “The doctors say it won’t be long now. I’ve decided to donate my entire fortune to charity.”
The silence that followed was so thick it choked the air.
Ethan, the smarmiest of the cousins, gasped and glanced straight at the safe. Everyone followed. Calculating. Opportunistic.
“And now,” Grandpa continued, “I’d like to speak with each of you privately.”
What followed was pure chaos—shoving, yelling, every ego in the room clawing to get in first.
“I’m the eldest!” barked Uncle Richard. “I go first.”
One by one, they filed in. One by one, they emerged smug, self-satisfied, and a little too quiet.
Alex knew exactly what had happened.
By the time he was finally allowed in, the safe was empty. He didn’t even look at it. He just sat beside Grandpa, his eyes full.
“I’m not ready for you to go,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Remember when we’d stargaze? You taught me every constellation. I still see Orion before I sleep.”
Grandpa squeezed his hand. “You remembered my roses too.”
Alex blinked. “Of course I did.”
“And that,” Grandpa said, his voice suddenly clear, “is why this next part is only for you.”
Then he reached up and took off his sunglasses.
His eyes were sharp. Clear.
“You… you can see?” Alex stammered.
“Oh, I’ve seen everything,” Grandpa grinned. “Every grubby hand sneaking into that safe. Every whisper. Every fake goodbye.”
Alex stared. “So the money…?”
“Fake bills,” Grandpa said proudly. “Ten million dollars of top-quality Monopoly money. And they took every last one.”
He pointed toward the safe with a satisfied smirk.
“The real fortune’s in a private vault downtown. And it’s yours, Alex.”
Alex couldn’t speak. His chest burned, his throat clenched.
“You’re the only one who never asked for anything,” Grandpa said. “That’s how I knew you were the only one I could trust. Now, take the money. Use it well. And if you want to get out of this toxic hellhole of a family, don’t look back. I never did.”
A week later, with a new treatment and zero stress, Grandpa's health started improving. The doctors were baffled. Alex wasn’t.
You can’t keep a good trickster down.
Alex booked two first-class tickets to Bali. Grandpa insisted they start fresh in style.
The family exploded when they found out. Karen threatened legal action. Dad found his spine—but only to demand “his share.” The cousins unleashed a symphony of outrage.
Too bad for them. The will was airtight, the evidence gone, and all they had were armfuls of useless paper and bruised egos.
Now Alex is writing this from a beach chair in Bali.
Grandpa is teaching local kids how to build the perfect sandcastle. His laugh rolls over the beach like a song. The sun turns the sky gold as Alex brings him a fresh coconut drink.
“Was it worth it?” he asks. “All the pretending?”
Grandpa sips, then grins. “Kiddo, you’re smiling. You’re free. And those vultures? Still probably arguing over fake money. Tell me that’s not the perfect punchline.”
Alex laughs and leans back, watching the horizon blaze with sunset.
Now, this—this is what revenge looks like when done right.
Living well. And laughing last.