Behind me, I heard Aunt Nancy hiss, “One dollar. That’s it? He was loaded, and all we get is one damn dollar?”

Uncle Vic let out a bitter chuckle. “He did it on purpose. Spiteful old man.”

“Typical Dad,” Mom muttered, crossing her arms. “He always had his favorites. And Dahlia was his little pet. Bet she got something we don’t know about.”

I stiffened as Aunt Nancy’s sharp eyes bore into me. “What did he leave you, Dahlia? Anything? Don’t pretend you didn’t get something.”

“I didn’t,” I replied flatly. “I got the same as all of you.”

Mom’s grip tightened on my shoulder. “Are you sure? You were always with him. Maybe he told you something.”

Her words stirred up memories—Grandpa’s goofy tales of hidden treasure, the butterscotch candies he kept in his pocket. He’d always wink and say, “One day, kiddo, I’m leaving you a real treasure.”

But it was just a game, a joke between us. Or so I thought.