None of them really understand what I do. Derek once asked me at Christmas if I was still doing that little jewelry thing. My dad was the only one who got it. He was a carpenter, worked with his hands his whole life, and he respected craftsmanship in any form.
Lily, my girlfriend, could tell I was dreading it. She’s met Derek exactly twice, and that was enough for her to form a pretty complete picture. “Notice anything new? ” she asked, sliding her phone toward me.
“Do you know what one of these costs? ” she added, holding her phone like she was about to take a picture, which she usually was. I didn’t say that I’d already clocked three things about that watch in the first two seconds. The crown guards were slightly off, and the lume on the hour markers had that specific greenish tint you only see on replicas that use cheap super Luminova knockoffs.
My mom asked me twice if I was still happy at the shop, which is her version of asking when I’m going to get a real job. I’d asked about it maybe twice since then, and both times Derek gave me some vague answer about storage and timing and how we shouldn’t rush into selling anything. I never pushed it. I should have.
I sat with that for a while. Then I went inside to help clean up. A picture I’d taken two years ago of my dad’s handwritten inventory list. I zoomed in on the list.
14 watches, a 1967 Omega Seamaster, a Tudor Black Bay, a couple of Seikos, and two that I’d never had the chance to examine in person because Derek had moved everything before I could. I stared at that list for a long time. Back at the party, I pulled Derek aside. “The Casio thing is kind of your brand at this point,” I said, keeping my voice light.
Then I asked about one specific watch, my dad’s Rolex Daytona. Derek’s jaw did that automatic defensive laugh people do when they’re not sure if they just got hit. “That’s not a Rolex,” he said. “It’s a cheap knockoff.
Probably cost two, maybe $250. ”
“It should be two and a half times that,” I said. “Because the case is gold-plated stainless steel, not solid gold. ”
But I knew better.
That watch was real. I could tell from the way the lume glowed on the dial, the weight of the case, the feel of the bracelet against my wrist. He’d been lying to me for three years, and I’d let him. And here’s the thing that people need to understand.
Derek walked into that shop and sold nearly all of my dad’s watches without telling me, without asking me, and without having any legal right to sell my half. I owned half of that collection. He took it, and he sold it. Then he stood there, at my dad’s birthday dinner, looking at me with that fake smile and asking if I was still doing that little jewelry thing.
I wanted to do something in that moment. I wanted to scream at him, to grab him by the collar and demand to know where the rest of my inheritance went. But I couldn’t do that. Not at my dad’s birthday, not in front of my mom, not in front of Lily and Carl, who had no idea what was happening.
So I excused myself to the bathroom, locked the door, and stood there with my hands gripping the sink, staring at my reflection. Then I called Frank. Frank is a guy I’ve known since I was a kid. He runs a small watch shop across town and moves a lot of vintage pieces.
He respected my dad. He respects craftsmanship. And he knows watches. “Hey, Frank, it’s Connor,” I said when he picked up.
“What do you need, kid? ”
“I need to know if you bought any of my dad’s collection. ”
There was a pause on the line. Then Frank said, “Your dad’s other son.
”
“Derek. ”
“Yeah. All 14 pieces. ”
My stomach bottomed out.
“What did you pay? ”
“$14,500 for a collection that included a 1967 Omega Seamaster worth at least $8,000 on its own. ”
I had to sit down. “Frank, do you still have the watches?
”
“Most of them. ”
“Including the Daytona? ”
“Yeah, including that Daytona. ”
“Good.
I need to see them. Can I come by tomorrow? ”
“Sure. But bring a copy of the inventory list and the will.
”
“I’ll do that. ”
“And Connor? ”
“Yeah? ”
“I’m sorry.
”
I didn’t say anything else. I just hung up and stared at the wall. That evening, after most people had gone to bed, I sat down at the kitchen table with a box I’d brought from home. Lily came in and sat across from me.
She didn’t say anything, just stood there, which was exactly what I needed. I pulled out a folder. It contained the will, the inventory list, and a receipt from the shop where my dad had bought the Daytona.
I spread them out in front of me.
