It started with a call on a quiet Tuesday afternoon.
The number was local but unfamiliar. Normally, I’d let it go to voicemail, but something urged me to pick up.
“Is this Amelia Chin?” came a deep, professional voice.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“My name’s Frank DeMarco. I run DeMarco’s Pawn & Gold on Riverside. I believe I have something that belongs to you. A Rolex Submariner.”
My stomach dropped. “That can’t be. I have my father’s watch right—” I opened my desk drawer. It was gone.
“Ma’am?”
“The watch,” I said, almost breathless. “It’s missing.”
“I figured as much. I’d rather explain in person. Can you come down to the shop?”
I left work immediately, hands trembling. That watch was the only thing Dad left to me specifically.
I checked it daily, always tracing the back engraving: To my daughter Amelia, may time always be on your side. Love, Dad.
He wore it everywhere—work sites, dinner, even during chemo.
When it no longer fit his thinning wrist, he gave it to me with solemn eyes. “It’s yours, Mia. Only yours.”
That was three years ago. Two years before Mom remarried Richard, and shortly before his son, Tyler, moved in with slick business pitches and a talent for draining money from anyone nearby.
DeMarco’s shop sat between a nail salon and a payday lender. Frank looked the part—stout build, skeptical eyes, gold pinky ring. But his expression softened when he saw me.
“You look like your dad,” he said. “He used to stop by for tools. Always paid back loans. Solid guy.”
He disappeared into the back and returned with a worn leather box. Inside was the watch. Smaller than I remembered, more fragile.
“A man brought this in yesterday,” Frank said. “Said it was his to sell. I had doubts.
Your dad pawned it once—15 years ago. Paid it back fast. The loan was for three grand. My records show that was around the time you started private school.”
I felt a lump in my throat.
I’d gotten a scholarship, but expenses still stacked up. Dad had said he picked up extra shifts. He never mentioned pawning his most treasured possession.
Frank leaned forward. “But that’s not why I called.” He pressed a side button on the watch, revealing a hidden compartment I’d never noticed. Inside was a tiny, folded slip of paper.
“I didn’t read it,” Frank said. “Figured it was private.”
With shaking hands, I opened it. Dad’s handwriting, small but clear:
Mia, if you’re reading this, something’s happened to the watch. Go to First National. Safe deposit box 447. The key’s in my toolbox, inside the level. The watch is yours. But what’s in that box is your future.
Frank waited. “You okay?”
“I need to buy it back. How much?”
He sighed. “The guy who sold it—mid-20s, talked nonstop about his app. Took $8,500 cash. But I didn’t file the sale.”
“Wait… so?”
“I’ve been in this business a long time. I know when something smells off—even if the thief has a key. Your dad helped me once when I was broke and my kid was sick.
Did roofing work for nearly nothing. Never brought it up again. Take the watch. We’ll call it even.”
I thanked him, overwhelmed, and left with the watch pressed to my chest. I drove straight home, where I found Mom and Richard poring over paperwork. Their faces froze when they saw me.
“I’m looking for this,” I said, placing the watch on the table.
Mom blinked. “Where did—”
“You mean, where did I find the watch stolen from my desk? The one pawned for Tyler’s startup? The only thing Dad left to me?”
Richard stood. “Let’s stay calm. Tyler needed funding.”
“For his third failed venture?” I said. “After the food truck and crypto crash?”
“It’s not stealing,” Richard said. “We’re family. We share.”
“Like Tyler shares his trust fund with me?” I shot back. “Oh, wait, that went to a Mercedes and Cabo.”
“Tyler has potential,” Mom said coldly. “You just sit on things while he’s building something.”
There it was. They thought I didn’t deserve what I had.
“I want my money back. Every penny.”
“We don’t have it,” Richard said. “It’s invested.”
“Then liquidate it.” I picked up the watch. “It was reported stolen this morning. Either I get reimbursed, or I press charges.”
“You wouldn’t,” Mom gasped.
“Tyler committed a felony. Not my problem.”
“We let you live here!”
“I pay rent. Above market.”
“You’re family!”
“Dad was my family. You let them steal from me like it meant nothing.”
I left and went straight to the garage. Inside Dad’s toolbox, on the level, I found a tiny key.
At First National Bank, the manager remembered Dad. No questions asked. The box held a manila envelope, a journal, and a letter:
Mia, if you’re here, then you’ve found my backup plan. The envelope contains bearer bonds—worth about $100,000 now. The journal details my contracting business—clients, debts owed.
Likely another $50,000 if you go after it. I wanted you to have time. Time to leave, time to choose. You’ve always been quiet, but that doesn’t mean you deserve less. It means you’re strong. Use this well. And never let anyone steal your time.
All my love,
Dad
Tears blurred my vision. The bonds were real. The journal listed unpaid debts—one from a major firm still in business.
That night, I stayed at a hotel.
The next morning, I hired a lawyer. Within weeks, she recovered $43,000. The construction company settled immediately.
Tyler’s startup folded within three months. Richard called for a loan. I hung up. Mom tried to guilt me through relatives. I sent them a copy of the police report. Silence followed.
I used the money to buy a modest home in Dad’s old neighborhood. The watch stays by my bed, ticking steadily.
Sometimes I open the compartment to remind myself: he believed in me.
Time really is the only currency that matters. The watch is mine again—but more importantly, so is my time. And I won’t let anyone steal it again.
