When my father died, my sister Lara inherited the house. I got an old chessboard.

She mocked me for it, but when one of the pieces rattled, I knew there was more.

That night, I caught Lara in my room, prying the pieces open.

In her hand was a velvet pouch of glittering stones.

“The real gift,” she smirked.

I told her they were worthless glass beads because I’d already swapped the real contents out the morning after the funeral.

From my coat, I pulled an envelope and laid it on the table.

“Deposit confirmation.

The real gems are in my bank, under my name.”

Lara’s smile faltered.

Then I reached into the chessboard’s lining and found what I’d been waiting for: a folded letter, my father’s hidden will.

I read aloud: “Kate you stayed, you cared for me. I left you the chessboard as the map to my real gift.

If you’re reading this, the game has played out. If there’s no honesty,

everything belongs to Kate.” I looked at Lara. “You failed the test.”

The room went silent. Lara’s face drained of color, her mother’s lips pressed tight.

I slid the letter back into my pocket. “Checkmate,”

I said, and walked out — the board, the gems, and the last word all mine.