The midday sun beat down on Wilshire Boulevard as Claudia's Prius pulled up to the new deli. Hank adjusted his shirt collar, trying to shake off the lingering haze from another restless night in the mansion. The place had a clean, modern look: exposed brick walls, chalkboard menus promising artisanal sandwiches, and the rich aroma of fresh bread and roasted meats drifting out onto the sidewalk.
Inside, the lunch crowd hummed with quiet conversation and the clink of glasses. David Cole spotted them immediately from a corner booth. A sharp-dressed man in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a warm, professional smile, he stood and waved them over.
"Hank! We finally meet in person."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Cole."
They shook hands firmly. Claudia introduced herself with her usual bright energy, and the three settled into the booth.
"Your uncle left his portfolio in excellent hands," David began, sliding a slim folder across the table. "I've been managing the specific holdings he entrusted to me for years. He had two other advisors, but this one was mine to watch over. Solid, long-term growth—exactly the kind of thoughtful planning Roy was known for."
"Great," Hank said. "I have to ask: what made this stock so significant to him? Why hold onto it for so long?"
David leaned forward, eyes lighting up with respect. "Your uncle had a real eye for the market. He saw potential early, bought in at the right moments, and sold strategically when needed. That kind of loyalty between client and advisor is rare these days."
Hank nodded, but his mind was already drifting. Claudia took the lead naturally, steering the conversation toward the practical side.
"We're mainly focused on how this ties into the property taxes and long-term maintenance," she said smoothly. "Roy set things up so payments stay stable even after his passing, unless the estate is sold. We want to keep that momentum."
David pulled out additional documents, and the two of them dove in—discussing tax strategies, property valuations, and investment rollovers. Their voices blended into a low, professional rhythm.
Hank tried to follow, but the words blurred. The scent of grilled steak and garlic from the kitchen suddenly hit him too strongly. It mixed with something else: her perfume, light and floral, the way it always lingered in the car. He could almost feel the rain starting outside the deli windows, just like that night. Pine air freshener. Her laugh. The wipers struggling against sheets of water. The blinding headlights of the truck—
"Hank?"
He snapped back. Claudia was watching him with open concern. David had stepped away to the restroom.
"Sorry… what happened?"
"You zoned out pretty hard. David's in the restroom. Are you okay?"
"Yeah… just didn't sleep well." The lie tasted bitter. The mansion's whispers had kept him up again, that soft voice threading through his dreams.
Claudia frowned but didn't push too hard. "Try to eat something when the food comes. Or at least sip on a soda. It might help ground you."
Their sandwiches arrived just as David returned—thick, piled-high creations on fresh sourdough. David's eyes lit up. "Ah, perfect timing! These are fantastic here."
Hank took a bite of his pastrami melt. The flavors were bold and comforting. "This is really good," he admitted, managing a small smile.
David nodded enthusiastically. "They know what they're doing. Best new spot in the area."
As they ate, the conversation drifted from business into lighter territory. David shared how he was engaged and excitedly planning a fall wedding. Claudia talked animatedly about her work at the law firm; how every case felt like a new puzzle she couldn't wait to solve. Hank listened more than he spoke, offering quiet comments about the strange but beautiful changes to the mansion and the weight of suddenly owning such a place.
"It isn't every day someone inherits a full mansion," Hank said, half to himself. "Especially one that feels… alive like this one does."
David chuckled warmly. "Roy always said that house was his second chance. Keep me posted on how you're settling in over the next thirty days. If you decide to stay, we can look at improvements, tax optimizations, rolling more of the investments—whatever you need."
"I will. There are paintings, artifacts, and other items from the attic I still need to appraise. Some look valuable."
"I know a good appraiser who specializes in Asian antiques and estate pieces. I'll send you his contact."
"That would be perfect," Claudia said with a smile. "Thank you."
The bill arrived, and after they settled it, the three stood outside exchanging final handshakes under the California sun.
"Take care, Hank," David said. "Your uncle would be proud of you stepping up like this."
Hank forced a nod. As Claudia started the car, the familiar chill returned: the same one from the hallway the night before. He glanced back at the deli, but the voice stayed silent for now.
For how long, he wasn't sure.
The car rolled through the grand gates of the estate, past the stone guardian lions that now felt almost familiar. Hank thanked Claudia for the ride and stepped out into the afternoon sun. The lotus pond glittered peacefully, and the scent of jasmine and freshly turned earth filled the air. For a moment, the mansion looked like a sanctuary rather than a burden.
Then he spotted the gardener working near the moon gate, trimming a row of flowering shrubs with careful, practiced hands. The man was in his late fifties, brown-skinned with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. His clothes were simple and practical, stained with soil from a long day's work.
Hank walked over, hands in his pockets. "Hello, Javier. How's the work going today?"
"Pretty well, sir," Javier replied with a warm, genuine smile. "Making sure everything stays as beautiful as your uncle wanted it."
"It's been a long time," Hank said softly.
"Too long, Hank." The older man set down his pruning shears and pulled him into a firm, fatherly hug. "You look good. Healthier. The weight loss suits you."
"Yeah… just eating better here and there," Hank said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Javier's eyes flicked up to Hank's dark green hair. "And this?"
"Just… sentiment."
The gardener shook his head with a quiet chuckle. "No puedes soltarlo… You can't let it go, huh?"
"I have already let go," Hank insisted, though the words felt hollow even to him.
Javier's expression softened with understanding. "You say that now, but I can see it. You're still hurting after that loss. It's okay to admit it."
Hank looked down at the perfectly manicured path. "It's difficult to be honest sometimes."
"Yo sé," Javier said gently. "I know. I lost my wife and our unborn child many years ago. Fifteen years I carried that grief like a stone in my chest. I thought happiness was behind me forever. Then one day… I realized part of her would always want me to live. I finally let myself remarry. It wasn't forgetting—it was honoring what we had by choosing to keep going."
The words landed heavily. Hank felt his throat tighten. In the distance, a gentle breeze rustled the silk lanterns hanging from the red pillars.
"I hope my dreams get easier to handle," Hank admitted. "The accident keeps coming back at night. And this house… it stirs everything up."
"One day at a time, Hank. This home helped your uncle find peace after he lost your aunt. Maybe it can do the same for you." Javier wiped his hands on a rag and glanced toward the main house. "How are you settling in with the household? Everything feeling manageable yet?"
"It's getting there. I'm starting to get the hang of it. We discovered something interesting in the basement earlier—a ritual room, or shrine, with statues and a big circle on the floor. Claudia's researching it now. I'm helping where I can."
Javier's eyebrows rose. "¿Cómo? A ritual room?"
"I think Uncle Roy used it for private prayer or cleansing—something to help him process the loss. Mr. Fong had never seen it before either. We're being careful."
The older man nodded slowly, his face growing serious. "Just be careful, Hank. Some things in old houses carry more weight than we expect. Your uncle found light here… but light casts shadows too."
Hank absorbed the warning. "I will. Thanks, Javier. For everything."
The gardener gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Anytime. The garden is here if you ever want to walk and clear your head. It helped your uncle many mornings."
Hank left him to his work and headed back inside the mansion. The moment he crossed the threshold, the cool, incense-scented air wrapped around him. The house felt watchful again—too still, too attentive.
He paused in the hallway, listening.
Nothing.
But as he walked toward the study, he could have sworn he heard the faintest echo of his name drifting down from the upper floor.
"…Hank…"
He stopped, heart picking up speed, then shook his head and kept moving. Maybe Javier was right. Maybe this place could help him heal.
Or maybe it was only going to make the ghosts louder.
Back inside the mansion, Hank settled into the study and set up his laptop for a conference call. He needed to reach out to his cousins—not just about the attic finds, but to get a clearer picture of Uncle Roy's final years. So far, everything he knew had come filtered through Huili and Mr. Fong. He wanted the unvarnished truth, if they were willing to give it.
The screen lit up one by one.
First, a man around Hank's age appeared—black hair, sharp brown eyes, wearing a black polo. He looked like he was in a sleek home office. Next came a woman slightly older than Hank, blonde hair pulled back, green eyes cool and assessing, standing near a scenic lakeside view. Finally, an older man with black hair streaked by noticeable white at the temples and a thick mustache filled the third window, lounging in what looked like a spacious living room.
"Morning," Hank said.
"Ah, Hank. Surprised you actually got all of us together," the first cousin replied.
The woman leaned closer to her camera. "I'm wondering what you've been up to out there in California."
"Let's get to the point," the older man cut in.
Hank cleared his throat, keeping his tone even. "I went through the attic yesterday. Found a lot of clothes, jewelry, photos, and other keepsakes. I thought you all might want some of them. I'm also planning to donate whatever's left to charity. It's one way to make sure you have something meaningful from your dad."
The first cousin nodded. "You'd ship them to our homes, I assume?"
"Yes. But you'll probably want to look at the full list and decide—"
"Just send us the list," the woman interrupted, her voice clipped.
"Okay, but you'll need to coordinate with each other on who keeps what."
"Yeah, yeah," the older man muttered. "By the way, what about the mansion? Are you selling it?"
Hank hesitated. "I haven't decided for sure yet… but I'm thinking I might keep it."
The reactions were immediate and telling. The first cousin smiled faintly. The woman looked openly scandalized. The older man frowned deeply.
"Glad to hear it," the first cousin said. "Planning to remodel it back to normal?"
Hank shook his head. "I actually like the Chinese aesthetics. It feels… peaceful."
The woman scoffed. "Let me guess. You're keeping it because of that woman."
Hank met her gaze steadily. "Her name is Huili. She isn't harming anyone. She's been kind to me, and she genuinely loved Uncle Roy. I don't understand why you hate her so much."
The older man let out a bitter laugh. "Maybe because she's a gold digger who swooped in the second our mother was gone."
Hank rolled his eyes before he could stop himself.
"Don't give me that look, Hank," the woman snapped.
"It's true—you jump straight to the worst conclusions. You just want another property to add to the three you already own. Is that it?"
The older man stayed silent, but his jaw was clenched tight, seething.
Hank exhaled slowly. "I'll send the full inventory list tomorrow. Take your time deciding. I just wanted to check in on all of you… see how you're doing."
"Yeah, yeah. See ya," the older man said, ending the call abruptly. The woman followed without another word.
The first cousin lingered. "Thanks for the info, Hank."
"No problem." Hank studied him. "You… don't seem to have an issue with Huili."
The man chuckled softly. "I moved on from that anger a while ago. If Dad was happy with her, and she treated him well, who am I to stand in the way of that? Life's too short."
"Thanks," Hank said, genuine relief in his voice. "That means a lot."
"Yeah. I'll be in touch if anything comes up."
The call ended. Hank closed the laptop and slumped back in the chair with a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples. The tension from the conversation still clung to him like static.
A soft voice came from the doorway. "Did it go well?"
He turned to see Huili standing there, looking elegant in a simple silk blouse. Her expression was hopeful but braced for bad news.
Hank offered her a sad smile. "I did my best."
She sighed, stepping further into the room. "I know they hate me very much."
"One of them doesn't," Hank said gently.
Her face lit up. "Fuyoh! That is amazing. Thank you, Hank!" She crossed the room and pulled him into a warm, grateful hug. He hugged her back, surprised by how much the small gesture meant to her.
When she stepped away, she studied his face. "How was your day otherwise?"
"Productive," he said, though the word felt thin. "How about yours?"
She smiled sadly. "I went through some of the things from the attic. I kept a few small items that remind me of him—nothing too much. I just want something to hold onto when I pray for him."
"I'm sure he would like that," Hank replied softly.
"Yes." She tilted her head, concern flickering across her features. "For now, you should eat something. You look a little pale."
"Sorry. It's just… there was this weird noise last night. Heavy footsteps in the hallway. I checked, but nothing was there. And a few small things seemed moved around this morning."
Huili's brow furrowed as she tried to recall. "I didn't hear anything. Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I already asked Mr. Fong, but he hadn't noticed either."
"Maybe you could set up a camera or two? Just to see."
Hank nodded, a small smile breaking through. "That's a good idea. Thanks for the suggestion."
"No problem at all." She gave his arm a gentle squeeze before heading toward the door. "Rest, Hank. This house has many memories. Some of them are loud."
Alone again, Hank stared out the window toward the lotus pond. The afternoon light shimmered on the water, beautiful and serene. But the mansion no longer felt entirely peaceful.
Heavy footsteps. Moved objects. The whispering voice calling his name.
He opened a browser tab and started searching for affordable security cameras with night vision.
Whatever was happening here, he wanted to see it for himself.
End of Chapter