After four years in prison for a crime I didn’t commit, I finally came home. But my key didn’t work. The woman who opened the door was a frail, terrified stranger. It turned out my fiancée had sold my house to her scumbag son, who then used it to dump his own mother after stealing her fortune. We were two abandoned souls, and we became a family. Then, on her deathbed, she gave me one final, mysterious mission…

“You’ve taken everything,” Agnes whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “My pension, my funeral savings… there’s nothing left.”

“Maybe you have something stashed away,” he pressed, his voice getting nasty. “Some jewelry hidden somewhere?”

I saw red. I’d met plenty of scumbags in prison, but this man, who would bleed his own dying mother dry, was a special kind of garbage. I grabbed him by the collar of his cheap suit, lifted him off his feet, and threw him out the door.

“Get out,” I snarled. “And if you ever show your pathetic face here again, you’ll be leaving in an ambulance.” He scrambled into his car and sped off, shouting threats about calling the police.

Agnes was shaken. That night, she called me to her bedside. “Anton,” she said, her voice a faint whisper. “There is one last thing I need you to do for me.”