When my grandfather died, I didn’t expect much. I was always the “disappointment” of the family — I didn’t attend a prestigious school, didn’t marry someone wealthy, and didn’t have a successful career to brag about at Thanksgiving dinners.

So when the time came to read the will, it was honestly pretty painful to sit there.
My cousin got investment accounts. My uncle got gold coins and antique jewelry. My older sister — who hadn’t spoken to him in years — got stocks and a Rolex.

Me?
I got a deed to a property.
A dilapidated farm, lost in the middle of nowhere, that hadn’t been lived in for years.
No plumbing. No electricity. Half the roof was collapsed. And, apparently, I now had debts to pay for back taxes.

The entire room went silent for a moment after the lawyer read this, and then someone — I think it was my aunt — actually laughed.
They joked that I’d spend more on demolition than the property was worth. Someone even said it would make a perfect set for a horror movie.

But, whatever. If Grandpa left it to me, at least I could take care of it. I didn’t care if it was about to fall down — I wasn’t going to let it rot. He must have had a reason, even if no one else could see it. So, I decided to clean it up out of respect. Maybe I could fix what I could. For him.

A week later, I went there with gloves, trash bags, and a cheap rake from Walmart.
I started picking up the trash and cleaning the bushes when I heard the sound of tires on gravel. I looked up and saw a black SUV stopping right outside the gate. Tinted windows. Shiny. Too clean for a place like this.

Then, a man in a suit, with a folder in hand, stepped out and approached me.

He seemed like the kind of man who only dirtied his shoes if absolutely necessary. His footsteps echoed sharply on the leaf-covered path, and his gaze was fixed on me, as if he knew exactly who I was and what I was doing there.

“Are you… the owner of this land?” he asked, in a low but firm voice.

I nodded. I had no reason to deny it.
“Yes. I inherited it from my grandfather. Why?”

He opened the folder and pulled out a few sheets of paper.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’d like to discuss a purchase offer.”

I felt my heart beat faster. I hadn’t even finished cleaning up the yard, and already someone wanted to buy it? Something was off.

“You know, it’s not exactly a luxury property…” I said, trying to gauge his intentions.

The man smiled briefly, without humor.
“It’s not about what it looks like now. It’s about what’s underneath.”

A chill ran down my spine. I vaguely remembered my grandfather’s stories about an old spring hidden somewhere on the land and how precious stones had once been found in the area. But I never believed they were true.

“Listen… if you don’t want to sell, that’s no problem,” he said, closing the folder and turning toward the SUV.
“But I warn you: others will come asking. And not all of them will be as polite,” he added, before walking away without saying another word.

He left without saying anything else. I stood in the middle of the yard, my hands trembling slightly, realizing that my grandfather’s legacy was much more than an abandoned farm.

In the days that followed, I kept cleaning, but my eyes were always on the road, waiting for the next car. And it came sooner than I expected.

This time, it wasn’t a black SUV, but an old van, with two solid figures stepping out of it. They weren’t in suits, but their looks said enough: they knew something I didn’t.

That’s when I understood why my grandfather never sold the place. It was a secret he kept, and now it was mine. And no matter what happened, I was going to protect it.

I grabbed a cup of coffee, sat on the steps of the farm, and looked out over the fields. Deep in the earth, something was waiting to be discovered. And I was determined to find out what.

For Grandpa. For me. And for the truth my family had never suspected.