The Inheritance Contract

The little bell above the door jingled happily, letting Sera Bellrose know someone had stepped inside Bellrose Books. She peeked down from her perch atop a ladder, where she was fixing a wobbly shelf of old books. It was only Mrs. Goldstein, walking her sausage-shaped dog, Winston.

“Hey there, Mrs. G! Winston acting up, is he?” Sera called down, her voice bouncing around the tall shelves crammed with books.

“Oh, he’s a good boy, mostly,” Mrs. Goldstein chuckled, her glasses making her eyes look extra big. “Just popped in for my Agatha Christie. The library’s fresh out, and I can’t stand waiting.”

Sera laughed, already picturing Mrs. Goldstein yelling at the characters in a mystery novel. “Don’t you worry, I saved the newest Poirot just for you. A real head-scratcher, this one.”

Climbing down, Sera weaved through the maze of bookshelves, her fingers skimming across the spines. Every book held a whole different world inside, a chance to escape, have adventures, or find comfort. For Sera, who spent her days surrounded by books, they were like best friends, always there for her.

Bellrose Books wasn’t just a shop; it was Sera’s special place. Tucked away on a quiet street in Brooklyn, it felt like a cozy hideaway from the noisy city outside. The air smelled like old paper and worn leather, calming Sera’s worries every time she stepped inside.

But lately, those worries had been getting bigger, scarier. The stack of bills on her desk seemed to grow taller every day. And then there was her mom...

“Sera, sweetie, that you?” Her mom’s voice, usually strong and cheerful, was now quiet and raspy.

“Just helping Mrs. Goldstein, Mum! Be right with you.” Sera rang up the book, chatting about the latest mystery plots with Mrs. Goldstein. When they left, Winston waddling behind, Sera’s smile faded. She grabbed a copy of Pride and Prejudice – her mom’s favorite – and headed to the back room.

It was a small space, but cozy, with a big, comfy bed taking up most of the room. Sunlight spilled through the window, shining on her mom, who looked tiny and frail propped up on the pillows. Even sick, Eleanor Bellrose was beautiful, her silver hair framing a delicate face, her blue eyes, so much like Sera’s, still shining with life.

“My dear girl,” her mom said, her smile a bit too wide, trying to hide how tired she was. “Was that Millie Goldstein? You know, she reminds me of a little bird – tiny, but with a loud chirp.”

Sera sat on the edge of the bed, taking her mother's hand. “She's upset with the state of mysteries these days. Says the detectives aren't clever anymore."

Her mom chuckled, a quiet, shaky sound that made Sera's chest ache. "Those made-up detectives are nothing like the real deal. Speaking of which, dear, heard anything about that fancy party at the museum?"

The gala. Sera knew it was coming.

“Mum, you know I don’t follow those fancy things," she said gently, trying to steer the conversation away from a world that felt as far away as the moon.

“But sweetie, that Julian Thorne is going to be there! Owns half of New York City, that one. And they say he’s just as charming as his grandfather, God rest his soul. Now there was a man who knew how to handle money…”

Sera blocked out her mom's chatter, her eyes landing on a magazine on the bedside table. Thorne Industries CEO, Julian Thorne, Donates Millions to City Arts. The picture showed a man who looked like he was made of stone – all sharp edges, serious eyes, and a jawline you could cut yourself on. He looked totally uncomfortable surrounded by all the smiling rich people, like he'd rather be anywhere else.

But Sera couldn’t deny it - the man practically oozed power and confidence. He was everything she wasn’t – rich, powerful, untouchable. He probably didn’t even know what it felt like to worry about paying rent, let alone imagine losing the person he loved most in the world.

"Mum," Sera interrupted gently, "Mr. Thorne and his fancy friends are a million miles away from us. We've got more important things to worry about."

Her mom's smile slipped, replaced with the same worried look Sera felt inside. “Sweetheart, I know you're doing everything you can. But those medical bills..."

Sera squeezed her mom's hand, a wave of sadness washing over her. "Don't you worry about any of that, Mum. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

But even as she said it, a tiny seed of doubt bloomed in her heart. The truth was, they were running out of options. And Sera was starting to fear that even escaping into her beloved books wouldn't be enough to save them this time.

A heavy silence fell, punctuated by the rhythmic tick-tock of the vintage clock on the wall, a constant reminder of time’s relentless march. Sera knew what her mother was thinking, even if it remained unspoken. The experimental treatments, the ones offering a glimmer of hope where conventional medicine had failed, were expensive, far beyond their means.

Eleanor, as if reading her daughter's thoughts, reached out and brushed a stray curl away from Sera's cheek. “I know, love,” she murmured, her voice soft but firm. “No more talk of impossible bills and even more impossible men. Come now, read to me. Let’s lose ourselves in a world where Mr. Darcy always saves the day.”

Sera smiled, a familiar warmth spreading through her as she picked up the worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. The book fell open to a dog-eared page, a testament to their shared history, to countless evenings spent escaping into Jane Austen's world of witty banter and yearning hearts. As Sera began to read, her voice finding its rhythm amidst the familiar words, she felt a sense of calm settle over her.

But fate, it seemed, had a flair for dramatic interruptions.

A sudden, insistent buzzing emanated from Sera’s bag, effectively shattering the tranquility of their literary bubble. With a sigh, Sera set the book aside, digging through a jumble of receipts, dog-eared bookmarks, and stray tea bags until she unearthed her phone. An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen.

“Sorry, Mum, probably just another telemarketer trying to sell me life insurance or double glazing,” Sera said, her finger hovering over the decline button.

“Maybe it’s Mr. Darcy, finally come to sweep you off your feet,” her mother quipped, a playful glint in her eye.

Sera chuckled, shaking her head at her mother’s incurable romanticism. “If Mr. Darcy were real, Mum, he’d be too busy managing his estate and brooding over his social standing to even notice a simple bookseller like me.”

The phone buzzed again, more insistent this time. With a sigh, Sera pressed the answer button, raising her voice in a tone that was a touch too bright. “Hello, Bellrose Books, how can I help you?”

Silence.

Just as Sera was about to hang up, a deep, resonant voice, tinged with an air of authority that sent an unexpected shiver down her spine, filled the line.

“Miss Bellrose? I apologize for the intrusion, but I believe we have something that belongs to you.”

“I’m sorry, you must have the wrong number,” Sera began, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“I assure you, Miss Bellrose, I have the correct number,” the voice interrupted, a hint of amusement creeping into its edges. “It’s about your mother’s medical bills.”

Sera’s head shot up, her pulse quickening. “Who is this? How do you know about that?”

The voice, however, offered no further explanation. “Meet me. Tonight. Eight o’clock. The Oak Room at The Plaza Hotel. Come alone, Miss Bellrose. And bring the book.”

The line went dead.

Sera stared at the phone in her hand, her mind a jumble of questions and apprehension. The Oak Room at The Plaza? It was a world away from her quiet life in Brooklyn, a world of power and privilege she’d only ever glimpsed through the pages of her beloved novels. And who was this mysterious caller, and how did they know about her mother’s medical bills?

As if in a daze, she met her mother’s worried gaze. “Mum… I think I might just have a date with destiny.”