I said it was impossible, but doubt gnawed at me all the same.
What if Dad leaving me the estate was just a front?
What if those sealed envelopes contained some underhanded trick to siphon my luck away?
I kept telling myself it was just a coincidence.
But what happened next only deepened the unease.
In the second year, I rose to the upper ranks of the company and began managing operations as the one calling the shots.
The veteran employees had always been loyal to my father—and by extension, to my sister. My sudden arrival at the top didn't sit well with any of them.
Right around that time, Monica told me she'd opened the second envelope.
"Sis, Dad wants me to start a company. What kind of business do you think I should go into?"
A bad feeling settled in my gut.
Sure enough, her company materialized almost overnight.
With fifty million dollars in startup capital, she launched a metals and materials firm—the exact same industry as our family business.
Then the exodus began. Employees left in droves. Several of my core executives jumped ship.
Severance negotiations fell apart, and a handful of disgruntled workers stormed the office. I went down to defuse the situation and caught a hard object to the head. Concussion. Hospitalized.
Meanwhile, Monica's new company was thriving.
It wasn't until I dug into it that I discovered every single person who'd left my company had gone straight to hers.
They even said they only recognized Ms. Swanson as the true Swanson heir.
I nearly coughed up blood in my hospital bed. The only thing keeping me together was Walter at my side.
He rubbed my back, trying to calm me down, but every other sentence circled back to those envelopes.
"I think there's something wrong with those envelopes. What if your dad left instructions inside—taught Monica exactly how to poach every last veteran from the company?"
I clenched my jaw so hard my molars nearly cracked.
It had to be those three envelopes. It had to be.
Finally, the third year arrived—the year my mourning period ended, the year Dad had said I was allowed to marry.
But at the wedding, Monica opened the third envelope.
Written on it, plain as day: "Stop your sister's marriage to Walter Simmons."
My sister had always been obedient. She didn't hesitate. She torpedoed my wedding without a second thought.
I went to Walter to figure out what to do next.
He paused for a moment, then said, "Have you ever considered that your dad lied to you? That the real gifts went to Monica all along?"
My mind went blank.
I'd always believed Dad gave me the estate out of guilt.
But if Walter was right, then every comforting thing I'd ever told myself was a joke.
"That can't be true." I forced a casual tone. "After all, I'm the one who actually inherited everything."
But Walter's frown only deepened.
"Did you, though? Right now, the money's in your sister's hands. Your best people work for her. And our wedding just got blown to pieces."
"Think about it—your dad made you the shield. Everyone knows you got the inheritance, so all the trouble lands on you. But your sister? She's been standing behind you this whole time, untouched."
Walter's words sent ice through my veins.
And the worst part was, I couldn't argue with him.
On the surface, Dad had left me the company and the properties. In reality, he'd left me the target on my back.
Monica only got three envelopes—but maybe those envelopes held what his heart truly meant to give.
The old bitterness from childhood crashed over me again, dragging me under.
"No. I need to see those envelopes for myself."
Monica had told me what was inside them, but I didn't believe a word of it.
I needed to see with my own eyes whether this was Dad playing favorites the way he always had—or whether Monica had been lying to me all along.
The moment the thought crystallized, I was already out the door, heading straight for Monica's company.
