The Stolen Legacy

The sky wept as if mourning with her

Rain slid down the polished mahogany coffin-like silent tears smudging the golden lettering: Robert Williams.

The casket sank slowly into the damp ground, swallowed by a hole that felt too small to be held by a man with such magnitude.

Emily stood at the edge, unmoving her black coat soaked through, clinging to her skin like grief itself.

The Cemetery was nearly empty.

No comforting arms, no weeping relatives, no whispered condolences.

Just the droning voice of the priest, reading the rehearsed eulogy and the occasional shuffle of a funeral worker.

A few feet away, a stranger in a black coat. Tall, slicked-haired unfamiliar, watched with a curious detachment, like someone taking notes at a tragedy.

Emily's eyes didn't leave the casket.

Her Father, no! Her whole world was in that box.

The man who rescued her from the chaos of the foster system at five, who gave her everything a broken little girl could ever dream of; a home, a name, a chance.

Robert Williams had called her his "golden girl".

She had lived up to it in every way.

Graduated with honours, ran part of his business, and carried his name with pride. But now, the golden life is no more.

Not because he died, but because in death, he had taken everything with him.

The letter from the lawyer was still folded neatly in her purse as if putting it there could change what it said. She had read it three times already, and yet the words had not changed.

"To Emily Williams, my adopted daughter, I leave my blessings and gratitude".

All assets and estates are to be transferred to my long-lost daughter "Chloe Williams".

She didn't even know who Chloe was.

Though she recalled that he always told her she reminded him of someone special.

Robert had never mentioned a daughter, not once, and yet the papers were legitimate. Signed, witnessed, notarized.

It made no sense.

No one contested it, no one questioned it. The lawyer, Mr. Cabrera, had only offered a polite shrug when she asked about the wills sudden change.

"Mr Williams amended it six weeks before his passing", he said, not even meeting her eyes. "It's within his rights."

He added.

Six weeks ago while she was away on a work trip he had personally arranged.

Had someone manipulated him? Had he been coerced?

The different thoughts that kept running through Emily's mind.

She asked, begging for clarity but there were no answers. Only a cold firm legal wall and a stranger claiming her Inheritance.

Emily clenched her fists inside the pocket of her coat, knuckles white. She didn't even have an umbrella. The rain beat against her scalp, her cheeks, and her lashes as if trying to erase her.

"Miss Williams"? A voice called behind her softly.

She turned. Mr Cabrera stood under an ack umbrella, dry and detached as always. The kind of man who knew how to deliver bad news without it touching his conscience.

He glanced at his watch.

" We should finalize Your departure from the estate this evening."

Her breath hitched. Departure. As though she was a tenant being evicted.

" You mean... you are kicking me out?"

She asked, voice trembling

"Technically the estate now belongs to Miss Chloe", he said carefully.

She's arriving tomorrow, "She's asked for full privacy".

"Am I supposed to vanish?"

" So my father had a daughter all these while and she's coming to take all that was supposed to be mine"?

Emily asked, broken, with her eyes wavering in tears.

" You are been given a relocation allowance", he added not minding what she thought.

Reaching into his pocket and bringing a brown envelope.

"Enough to help you get back on your feet."

Emily stared at the envelope like it was a curse. She took it slowly, her fingers damp and shaking. It was heavier than she expected, but it felt like blood money.

She didn't say thank you.

That evening she returned to the mansion in Acacia Hill one last time.

The home was cold without her father's warmth, His wife had already relocated back to America a few hours after the burial.

Empty despite its chandeliers and gold-plated door handles. Each room echoed with the ghost of laughter piano music, birthday dinners, and the quiet father-daughter mornings reading the newspaper together.

She packed slowly, methodically. She filled a single suitcase with essential clothes, toiletries, a framed photo of Robert, and her graduation certificate.

Everything else designer heels, diamond earrings, and branded handbags felt ridiculous at this point. Out of place.

She stood at the doorway of her old bedroom one last time. It had always felt like a princess's suite, with creamed-coloured walls, silk curtains, and a four-poster bed.

Now it was a tomb of memories.

Her gaze fell on the grand piano in the hallway, Roberts's pride and joy. They had played duets there every Sunday morning. She walked over trailing her fingers across the keys.

She pressed one, no sound.

She pressed again, but still nothing.

The keys were locked, she didn't cry.

Not when she left the house. Not when the gates closed behind her, not when the taxi took her away from everything she had ever known all her life.

The city lights blurred through the rain-streaked window as the taxi sped downtown The streets were alive, with the chaos jeepneys swerving, vendors shouting, and neon signs flickering in puddles, but it all looked different now. Distant, unreachable.

She checked into a cheap hotel with flickering lights and mould in the corners

The concierge didn't recognise her. A year ago, she would have been greeted with sir or ma'am and wine on arrival.

Now she was just a new face, another stranger with nowhere to go.

She stared at the reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror, her makeup had smudged. Her hair clung around her neck. She looked tired. Old.

"Who am I now?".

She opened the brown envelope and counted the money, it was enough to live on for a few months, If she was smart, if she didn't make any mistakes.

She folded the envelope and placed it inside the drawer, right next to the photo of Robert.

Then she opened her laptop, Job Sites. Freelance pages. Anything that doesn't require a pedigree or connections. She submitted her resume to five places that night, none of which responded the next day.

She applied for more and more.

And when the rejection email started rolling in, she swallowed her pride and searched for something she never thought she'd type: temporary night jobs, no degree required, urgent hiring.

By the end of the week, she stood outside a neon-light club in Makati. Her heels clicked on the wet pavement as she hesitated at the entrance.

A man in a leather jacket greeted her.

"You Alexsa?"

"Welcome to the Velvet Room," he said, holding the door open. "Here we don't ask questions. Just smile and survive.

She stepped inside.

And Emily Williams died.

Alexa Cortez was born.