My name is Jade Parker, and I recently celebrated my twenty sixth birthday under circumstances that nobody in my social circle would ever believe. My entire family gathered in a cold, mahogany-paneled office to hear the final wishes of my grandfather, Samuel Fletcher.
While my cousins were busy checking their watches and whispering about the sports cars they intended to buy, I sat quietly in the back row. Our lawyer, a stern man named Mr. Kensington, adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat before he began reading the distribution of the Fletcher estate.
“To my grandson Luke, I leave the sum of five million dollars and the vineyard estate in Northern California,” Mr. Kensington announced with a flat tone. Luke pumped his fist in the air and looked over at me with a look of pure triumph that made my stomach turn.
“To my granddaughter Skylar, I leave the penthouse in Miami and three million dollars in liquid assets,” the lawyer continued while Skylar let out a high pitched squeal of delight. She immediately began typing on her phone, likely searching for interior designers to renovate a home she had done nothing to earn.
My parents, Robert and Sarah Parker, sat in the front row and waited for their share of the millions while they completely ignored my presence. They had always made it clear that they viewed me as the family workhorse rather than a child to be cherished or rewarded.
“And finally, to my granddaughter Jade Parker, I leave a first class plane ticket to the Riviera of San Maro and a handwritten note,” Mr. Kensington said while the room suddenly went silent. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks as the silence was broken by a sharp, mocking laugh coming from my cousin Luke.
“Looks like Grandpa finally figured out who the real disappointment of the family was,” Luke sneered while he pointed a finger at me in front of everyone. Even my own mother didn’t try to hide her smirk as she leaned over to whisper something derogatory into my father’s ear.
Twenty six years of working long hours at the family firm and managing every crisis they threw at me had apparently resulted in nothing more than a vacation voucher. I stood up with as much dignity as I could muster and took the envelope from Mr. Kensington while my relatives continued to snicker behind my back.
“Trust the journey, Jade,” the note inside the envelope read in my grandfather’s familiar, steady handwriting. I walked out of that office without saying a single word because I knew that showing them my hurt would only give them more satisfaction.
I packed my bags that night in my small apartment in Cincinnati and wondered if I was being a fool for following the instructions of a dead man. I had exactly four hundred dollars in my savings account and no job to return to since I had quit in a moment of frustrated clarity.
The flight to the Riviera of San Maro took nearly twelve hours, and I spent most of that time staring out the window at the endless blue of the Atlantic Ocean. The flight attendant kept offering me expensive champagne, but I could barely swallow a sip because my nerves were coiled like tight springs.
When the plane finally touched down in San Maro, the view from the window was like something out of a dream. The Mediterranean water was an impossibly bright shade of turquoise, and the white yachts in the harbor looked like floating palaces under the golden sun.
I took a taxi to the Grand Azure Hotel, which was the destination listed on my reservation confirmation. The building was a masterpiece of marble and gold that made me feel entirely out of place in my simple travel clothes.
“Welcome, Miss Parker, we have been expecting you for quite some time,” the concierge said with a deep bow that caught me completely off guard. He didn’t ask for a credit card for incidental charges, but instead he handed me a heavy gold key and gestured for a porter to take my single suitcase.
I was led to the Royal Penthouse, a suite so large that it could have easily housed my entire apartment building back in Ohio. There was a bottle of chilled wine waiting on the table along with a card that simply said, “For courage, Love Grandpa.”
I stood on the balcony and watched the sunset paint the sky in shades of violet and orange while my phone buzzed with notifications. My cousin Skylar had posted a photo of her new diamond watch with a caption that made a cruel joke about people who go on cheap vacations.
I turned off my phone and decided that I would not let their bitterness ruin the only thing my grandfather had left for me. The next morning, I dressed in my best navy blue professional suit and took a car to the Sovereign Palace as the note had instructed.
The palace was a fortress of history and wealth that stood high on a cliff overlooking the sea. I walked up to the guards at the main gate and presented the letter while my heart hammered against my ribs so hard that I thought it might burst.
The guard spoke into his radio in rapid French before he gestured for me to follow him through a private side entrance. We walked through corridors lined with ancient tapestries and portraits of kings until we reached a pair of massive oak doors.
A tall, elegant man with silver hair and an impeccable suit stepped forward to greet me with a warm smile. “I am Xavier, the personal attache to the Prince, and your grandfather spoke of your arrival with great anticipation,” he said while he held the door open for me.
I stepped into a sun-drenched office where a man in his late forties was sitting behind a desk that looked like a museum piece. He stood up as I approached, and I realized with a shock that I was standing in the presence of Prince Leopold himself.
“Please, Miss Parker, there is no need for such formality in this room,” the Prince said while he gestured for me to sit in a velvet armchair. He looked at me with eyes that were kind but also very sharp, as if he were trying to see exactly what kind of person I was.
