The Granddaughter
Katie drifted off to sleep just before dawn. When she opened her eyes, sunlight flooded the room, and Victor stood beside the bed, smiling.
*”I waited all night for you. Where were you?”*
*”Little one, you can see I’m fine. Get ready—we’ll go out for breakfast,”* Victor said.
Outside, the air was warm with summer.
*”Fancy an ice cream?”* Without waiting for an answer, Victor walked to the kiosk and bought her favourite vanilla scoop in a waffle cone.
*”You’re in a good mood. Did you win at cards?”* Katie asked, licking the top of the cone.
*”Wrong guess. I’ve got an idea. And I’ll need your help to pull it off.”*
*”But you never take me along. What do I have to do?”*
*”Nothing. Just be there. But if you don’t want to, I can manage alone.”*
*”No, I’ll go with you,”* Katie agreed quickly.
*”I knew you would. Pick out a white dress,”* Victor said, indulgent in his good mood.
*”Really? Are you proposing?”* Katie’s face lit up, and she forgot the ice cream in her hand.
Victor had never let any woman so much as whisper about marriage. But Katie was different. She was his lucky charm. A year ago, he’d rescued her from three thugs in a back alley.
Katie had lived with her mum in a small town. After her father left, her mother turned to drink. Things got worse when a man moved in, eyeing Katie with unsettling interest. One night, he cornered her—she barely escaped, boarding the next train to London with nothing but the clothes on her back.
No money. No family. Nowhere to go. Lost and frightened, she caught the attention of a gang loitering at the station, always on the lookout for easy prey. It would’ve ended badly if Victor hadn’t heard her scream, stepping in with a grin and a sharp word before sending them scattering.
Katie had fallen for him instantly. Tall, well-built, sharply dressed—he radiated charm and confidence. Safe, despite the fact he dabbled in shady dealings. But he never dragged her into them.
They sat on a bench by the river. In the sun, her ice cream melted quickly, the cone turning soggy, sticky syrup dripping onto her hand and staining her dress.
*”Damn it!”* Katie jumped up, holding the cone away to avoid more mess.
*”Just bin it,”* Victor drawled lazily, squinting in the sunlight like a contented cat.
She tossed the dripping cone into the bin, licking her fingers clean. *”Still such a child,”* Victor thought fondly.
*”This job’s a sure thing if we play it right. No mistakes. A man with a fiancée gets trusted faster than a man alone.”*
*”A fiancée?”* Katie asked, sitting back down.
*”You’re the fiancée.”* Victor draped an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him.
*”Yesterday, I heard about this batty old woman. No family. Husband died years ago, and her only son was killed in Afghanistan. She forgets—still sets a place for him at dinner. Wears this ring, never takes it off. Bet she’s got a stash. The husband wasn’t exactly a saint.”*
*”You want to steal her jewellery?”* Katie guessed.
*”Nah. No need to steal. She’ll hand it over. We show up as her long-lost grandson and his bride-to-be. Get it? Your job’s to charm her into gifting you the lot.”*
Victor had his own code. But Katie felt a pang of guilt. Swindling corrupt officials was one thing—this was different.
*”Get a modest dress, the kind an old lady would like,”* Victor said, oblivious to her hesitation.
*”What if she realises? What if you don’t look like her son?”*
*”Her memory’s shot. Doubt she’d remember anyway.”*
Two days later, they stood outside a weathered brick flat on the third floor. Victor gave Katie a once-over—plain dress, no makeup—and nodded in approval. He, as always, looked impeccable.
*”Keep quiet, yeah?”*
Katie nodded.
Victor rang the bell. Shuffling footsteps, then the door creaked open. Katie expected a frail old woman, but before her stood a petite lady in a vintage dress, lace collar pinned neatly at the throat. Silver hair coiled into a bun, secured with a black-ribboned clip.
*”Can I help you?”* she asked, peering shortsightedly.
*”If you’re Margaret Edith Wainwright. This might sound strange, but I’m your grandson,”* Victor said solemnly.
*”I don’t…”* The woman blinked in confusion. *”My son never—you must be mistaken.”*
*”May we come in?”* Victor flashed his most disarming smile—the one that never failed.
*”Oh—yes, of course.”* Margaret stepped aside.
*”Just as I pictured you,”* Victor said, entering and pausing before a framed photo on the wall—a young man in military dress. *”Mum has a different one, from when he was still at Sandhurst.”* He turned back to her.
*”I still don’t understand…”* Her voice wavered.
*”I’m from Bath. Your son trained there, didn’t he? Mum met him months before he shipped out. When he left, she found out she was pregnant. No calls, no letters—she thought he’d abandoned her. Only recently did she tell me. I tracked you down. Found out he died a hero…”*
Margaret gasped, sinking into a chair, tears welling. *”My Jonathan…”*
*”Mum named me after him.”*
Katie watched, wide-eyed. Victor spun the lie so convincingly, even she nearly believed it. Margaret, too, was under his spell—she brought out an old album, flipping through photos of her son from boyhood.
Katie’s throat tightened. What if she’d had a father like that? A grandmother like this? Her mother might never have reached for the bottle or let strange men into their home. She noticed Victor barely glanced at the pictures—of course. This wasn’t his father. He wasn’t here to reminisce.
Suddenly, she didn’t want any part of this. It felt wrong.
Margaret bustled off to make tea.
*”Don’t pity her,”* Victor whispered harshly. *”It’s just work. That ring on her finger? Your job’s to get her to show you the rest. Understood?”*
Katie nodded.
Over tea, Margaret spoke of losing her son. Victor—now “Jonathan”—spun half-truths, weaving a life that never was.
*”You were a teacher?”* Katie asked suddenly.
*”Yes. Forty years at St. Mary’s—English and literature,”* Margaret brightened.
*”You remind me of mine. She always wore an emerald ring. And sometimes this brooch—round, with a sapphire in the centre, little diamonds around it. I used to stare at it in class.”*
*”My husband gave me the ring. The brooch… Oh, I forget the stone. Hardly wear it now—”* She disappeared into another room.
*”Brilliant,”* Victor mouthed.
Margaret returned with the brooch. *”This one?”*
Victor’s eyes gleamed.
*”May I?”* His fingers trembled slightly as he took it.
*”Too heavy for everyday wear. But this is for you.”* Margaret handed Katie a ring. *”Should fit. It’s a diamond. A wedding gift.”*
*”I couldn’t—”* Katie flustered.
*”Take it,”* Margaret insisted. Victor’s glare could have cut glass.
Katie slid it on. A perfect fit.
*”Thank you. I’ll never take it off.”* Her voice cracked.
*”See? Just the start,”* Victor’s smirk said.
Later, while Margaret cooked, Victor “went for a walk.” Katie stayed behind.
Margaret brought out a jewellery box. Katie’s breath caught at the glittering array.
*”Husband’s gifts. No use to me now. Take them.”*
*”No, please—”* Katie backed away.
*”When I’m gone, strangers will take them. Keep them in the family. Just don’t tell Jonathan.”*
Katie hid the jewels in a shoebox under the bed, guilt gnawing at her.
That night, as Margaret snored softly, Victor grinned.
*”Clever girl. We’ll slip out now. That brooch alone’s worth a fortune.”*
Katie’s stomach twisted. She couldn’t do this.
As they crept down the hall, a voice froze them.
*”Leaving in the middle of the night”Margaret stood in the doorway, her eyes sharp with sorrow but unshaken, and whispered, ‘You’ll never take her from me again,’ as she pulled a gun from her robe—just as Victor lunged.”
