Arthur had worked for the family for nearly thirty-five years, starting back when the estate belonged to Jared—a kind, dignified man who treated him like a friend, not hired help. They gardened together, talked about life, and shared quiet afternoons among the roses. When Jared passed away, everything went to his son Stuart, a man who had grown up resenting Arthur and now wore his cruelty openly. Bitter from yet another breakup and drunk on entitlement, Stuart finally exploded, insulting Arthur and firing him on the spot. “This is your last day here!” he shouted. Arthur didn’t argue. He simply removed his uniform and walked to the far corner of the garden—the place Jared loved most, the place they once worked side by side.

As Arthur sat there for the first time since Jared’s death, memories flooding back, something caught his eye. The soil beneath the old oak looked recently disturbed. With nothing left to lose and curiosity tugging at him, Arthur knelt and began digging with his bare hands. Minutes later, his fingers struck wood. Inside the small buried box was a letter in Jared’s familiar handwriting and a neatly folded set of documents—proof that long before his death, Jared had arranged for Arthur to receive the garden and a portion of the estate, knowing one day his loyal friend might need protection from the son he could never change.