When my grandmother died, her house instantly turned into a war zone.
Relatives I hadn’t seen in years suddenly appeared, tearing through rooms, drawers, and cupboards, all hunting for one thing: her will.
I was the only one who didn’t search for papers or valuables.
Instead, I took her dog home.
At the time, I didn’t realize that Berta carried more than grief and loyalty.
She carried a secret no one else thought to look for.
If there was one thing capable of gathering my family under one roof, it was either money or death.
That day, unfortunately, they got both.
Continue on the next page:
