My 80-Year-Old Grandma Was the True Heiress

The convoy came to a smooth halt. Twelve men in black stepped out in perfect formation and opened the doors in unison.

An elderly man with silver hair, dressed in a tailcoat, stepped out of the lead car.

In the cramped, filthy alley of the slum, he dropped to one knee without hesitation, the fabric of his trousers pressing straight into the dirty snow.

"Her Highness, the esteemed Grand Princess of the Hawthorne family," he said in a clear, resonant voice, every word heavy with unquestionable respect. "I have arrived late. You have suffered."

His words hit like a thunderclap.

Victor and Denise looked as though they had been struck by lightning.

Their mouths hung open. Whatever Denise had been holding clattered to the ground in a messy spill.

The disgust, contempt, and impatience they had worn on their faces for years twisted within a single second into ridiculous shock, then melted into something even more nauseating—groveling flattery.

"Oh my goodness!" Denise shrieked and scrambled into the snow, nearly tripping over herself. "I always said Elizabeth was extraordinary! What are you all standing there for? Help her up!"

She barked orders at the bodyguards while reaching out, eager to support Elizabeth herself.

"Get out of the way!" Victor shoved her aside, sending her stumbling. "You were the one who insisted on pushing Mom out just now!"

His face flushed red as he forced a smile at Elizabeth.

"Mom, I'm sorry I was late. That shrew disturbed you."

I watched the performance coldly, nausea rising in my throat.

"Have you no shame?" Denise snapped, losing all composure in front of the bodyguards. "Who was it that stole Elizabeth's money to gamble last month? Now you're pretending to be the devoted son? Too late!"

"Shut up!" Victor's face turned ashen as he raised his hand, ready to strike.

I stood to the side, a faint, mocking smile curving my lips.

This was what they called family. In the face of poverty, they were wolves.

In the presence of power, they were dogs wagging their tails.

Elizabeth coughed softly.

With Alfred Wexley, the butler, and two bodyguards supporting her, she slowly rose to her feet, trembling slightly as though overwhelmed by the spectacle before her.

Alfred bowed slightly. "Her Highness, the car is ready. Please."

Elizabeth did not move at once. Instead, she turned her gaze toward Victor and Denise.

They fell silent instantly, terrified that a single word from her would banish them.

"Let them come with us."

Elizabeth's voice sounded frail yet gentle, as though age had softened her mind. "After all… it was thanks to their 'care' these past years that we didn't end up dead on the streets."

At her words, Victor and Denise nearly burst with joy.

"Thank you, Mom! You're a saint!"

"I knew you loved us the most!"

They trembled with excitement, scrambling toward the extended Rolls-Royce as if afraid the opportunity might vanish.

Supporting Elizabeth, I helped her into the car and climbed in after her.