My Relatives Thought They Had Robbed Our Rich Blind Grandfather, but He Turned Out to Be Much Smarter

I was always the family outcast—my father’s remarriage to Sharon left me with two stepsisters and a house that felt more suffocating each day. They’d all give me these pitying or dismissive looks, like I was barely worth noticing. Only Grandpa ever treated me like a real human being. He’d built our family fortune from nothing, yet he was the one person who stayed humble and genuine.

But then Grandpa got sick. He lost his sight and took to his bed, and suddenly our swarm of relatives descended like vultures, eyes gleaming at the thought of his massive fortune locked away in that imposing wall safe. They’d hover around, pretending concern, though all they really cared about was the inheritance.

Unlike them, I visited Grandpa daily just to keep him company. I’d read him his favorite books, watch him doze off, and try not to cry as I saw him grow weaker. One day, his voice came over the phone, summoning all of us to a “family meeting.” He was too frail to see us, he said, but he wanted to settle his affairs.

When we arrived, I noticed Grandpa’s safe was ajar. Something about it felt off, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Every cousin, aunt, and step-sibling was eyeing that crack in the safe door, practically salivating at the possibility of sneaking out a stash of money. Then Grandpa cleared his throat and announced that he’d decided to donate his entire fortune to charity. The room went dead silent. The disappointment on everyone’s faces was as obvious as a neon sign.

He also said he wanted to speak to each of us privately, one by one. Immediately, my relatives jostled for position, desperate to be first, likely planning to “liberate” something from that safe while Grandpa was none the wiser. I had to wait my turn, listening to them whisper smugly about their supposed windfalls. My heart sank, knowing Grandpa was too frail—and blind, apparently—to catch them.

At last, I entered the room. Grandpa lay in bed, dark glasses hiding his eyes. The safe door yawned open, revealing an empty interior. My relatives had cleaned it out. I sat beside him, tears threatening. “I’m not ready to lose you,” I murmured, remembering how he’d taught me to fish, or how we’d spent nights on the porch identifying constellations. Then he did the unthinkable—he slid off those glasses and looked straight at me. He could see perfectly.

Grandpa grinned, telling me he’d watched every greedy hand slip into the safe, taking what they thought was his fortune. But the cash inside had been counterfeit all along. The real fortune was secure elsewhere. And it was all mine. “You’re the only one I trust, Ellie,” he said quietly. “And if you decide to walk away from these vultures, don’t look back.”

Amazingly, Grandpa’s health started improving soon after. Doctors were baffled by his sudden revival, but his mischievous streak seemed more powerful than any ailment. So we packed our bags and left, ignoring the furious, betrayed rants from my father, stepmother, and cousins once they realized they’d stolen worthless bills. Grandpa and I hopped on a plane and flew to Bali, determined to start fresh.

Now I’m sitting on a warm beach, watching him happily teach local kids to build extravagant sandcastles. The sky is streaked with vivid sunset colors I’ve never witnessed back home, and for the first time I understand exactly what Grandpa meant when he said, “Living well is the best revenge.” He was right about practical jokes, too. After all, no one does payback quite like a clever old trickster armed with a few million dollars—and a granddaughter who finally belongs somewhere.

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