The lawyer’s words echoed in my ears as I drove toward my uncle’s estate: “You are expected at Viktor Nikolaevich’s estate on Saturday at ten in the morning.” It sounded so casual, as though I were about to attend a business meeting, not step into a world that could potentially alter my entire life. But there it was — the inheritance that might finally fill the emptiness I had been feeling for years.
Viktor Nikolaevich, my uncle, was a man of mystery. He had been eccentric, a lover of fine wines, music, and stories. He was known to have a sharp intellect and a quiet, solitary life outside the hustle and bustle of the city. I grew up visiting him, captivated by his endless tales and the beauty of his grand piano. But over time, the visits became fewer. The letters became shorter. And then, almost nothing at all. I hadn’t heard from him in years.
I never questioned it. After all, I was the closest family he had. He had no children, no wife, and his circle of friends was small. My mother often mentioned how “strange” he was, but there was a quiet affection in her voice when she spoke of him. I was his only relative, and now, it seemed, I was about to inherit his fortune.
The drive to his mansion felt long, though the car sped quickly through the countryside. A few clouds rolled over the sky as I arrived, the towering fir trees and the sprawling estate standing just as I had imagined it. The old mansion loomed in the distance, a monument to a life once lived.
I stepped out of the car and walked toward the gate, carrying nothing but my suitcase and a heart full of expectations. As I reached the front door, the porch greeted me with its moss-covered stone slabs and an old doorbell above the entrance. I stood there, hesitant, before pressing the bell. A moment later, the door opened, and there stood a man.
“Hi. I’m Artyom,” he said, with a slight smile. He looked calm, unbothered, and perfectly at ease, holding a cup of tea in one hand.
“Sorry… who?” I asked, my confusion evident.
“Viktor Nikolaevich’s son,” he answered without hesitation.
I blinked in disbelief. “Whose?”
The man leaned against the doorframe, his posture casual, as though this was a normal, everyday conversation. His simple jacket and lack of any formal airs gave nothing away. He wasn’t trying to impress me or play any part. Just a regular man standing in front of the mansion.
“Unofficial,” he added after a pause. “We never made our relationship public. He helped my mother when I was born, but he never legally registered paternity.”
I froze. A wave of emotions hit me all at once. Confusion, anger, and something deeper — an aching betrayal. How could this be? Why had I never known about this? Why wasn’t I told?
“But you… are you sure?” My voice trembled, and my pulse quickened as I tried to process what he had just revealed.
Artyom’s eyes met mine, and for a moment, I could see a flicker of something — perhaps sadness, perhaps regret. He stood there, not moving an inch, as if he had no intention of making this confrontation any harder than it already was. He just nodded slowly.
“It’s true,” he said quietly. “I know this might come as a shock, but Viktor Nikolaevich never intended to make it public. He wanted to keep me out of the family drama.”
I felt my stomach churn. A hundred thoughts swirled in my mind. Why now? Why did I only find out about this now, after Viktor Nikolaevich’s death? The will, the inheritance, the mansion — everything suddenly seemed so much more complicated than I could have ever imagined.
I stood there for a long moment, unable to speak, my hands trembling as I gripped the strap of my suitcase. The mansion, which had once seemed like the perfect escape, now felt like an impenetrable fortress — full of secrets, lies, and shadows of the past that I hadn’t been prepared to face.
Artyom stepped aside, gesturing for me to come in. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” he said, his tone softening. “But the estate is complicated. It’s not just about the house or the inheritance… It’s about what Viktor Nikolaevich wanted in the end.”
“Wanted?” I repeated, feeling a lump form in my throat. “What do you mean?”
Artyom didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked back toward the hallway, leaving me standing there in the doorway of the grand mansion. The door shut quietly behind him, and I followed him inside, my heart heavy with the knowledge that this was only the beginning of a much bigger story — a story I had never expected to be part of.