My name is Imani Washington, and 24 hours ago, I buried my husband—Ethan Brooks—the only man who ever loved me without conditions.
When I walked through the front door of our craftsman-style home in Silverwood, Oregon, I expected silence. Grief. Maybe the faint scent of Ethan’s cedar cologne. Instead, I heard voices. Male voices. Rough. Rushed. Cabinet doors slamming. Furniture scraping the floor.
I stepped into the living room.
And froze.
Ethan’s father, Joseph Brooks, stood by the fireplace, pointing at Ethan’s guitar like it was a piece of trash that needed to be hauled out. Next to him was Ethan’s older brother, Marcus, shoving books, photo frames, and Ethan’s childhood memorabilia into black garbage bags.
My lungs shut down.
“What are… what are you doing?” I whispered.
Joseph turned around slowly, his face tightening into something between disgust and amusement.
“Oh look,” he said. “The widow finally decided to come home.”
I swallowed. “This is my home too.”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “It isn’t. It never was.”
Marcus didn’t even look at me as he kept packing. “Dad, just let her grab her clothes and go.”
Joseph folded his arms.
“You have one hour, Imani. Pack your bags. Get out.”
My brain couldn’t process the cruelty.
“I just buried my husband,” I choked.
“And we paid for the funeral,” Joseph snapped. “So don’t act like you’re doing us a favor.”
I felt something inside me shift—grief mixing with a cold, familiar burn.
I’d felt this before.
Nine years ago.
The day my big sister, Danielle Washington, stole my millionaire fiancé.
NINE YEARS EARLIER
I was twenty-five and stupidly in love with Adam Halston, son of a real estate developer who owned half of San Diego’s waterfront. Adam wasn’t just wealthy—he was charming, attentive, the kind of man who could make you feel like you were the only woman in the world.
Until Danielle showed up.
Danielle—beautiful, ruthless, golden-child Danielle—walked into my engagement dinner wearing a red silk dress that clung to her like a warning sign. She congratulated me, hugged me, smiled… and two weeks later, she was carrying Adam’s child.
He left me with a one-sentence note:
“I’m sorry, but I can’t fight this connection.”
Connection.
Sure.
She hunted him like a trophy and mounted him on her wall.
That betrayal crushed me.
But it also forged me.
I put myself through law school, built a career, built a life far from both of them.
Then I met Ethan. Sweet, genuine, loyal Ethan.
He loved me for my scars, not despite them.
And losing him now hurt more than losing Adam ever did.
But one thing was the same:
People always assumed I was weak.
A doormat.
A woman they could steal from, push around, or discard.
They always forgot one thing.
I wasn’t the same girl they broke.
BACK TO THE PRESENT
Joseph snapped his fingers.
“One hour, Imani. I’m not going to repeat myself.”
I stared at them—these two men who had just lost the same person I did—but somehow felt entitled to tear apart his memory.
“But… Ethan would never—”
“Ethan’s gone,” Marcus said flatly.
“And the house belongs to the Brooks family. You? You’re nothing here.”
Nothing.
That word again.
I lifted my chin.
“Where am I supposed to go?”
Joseph shrugged.
“Like I said—whatever you brought into this house, take it. The rest stays.”
I almost laughed.
Because they truly had no idea.
I wasn’t the penniless widow they thought I was.
Not even close.
But I didn’t argue.
Not yet.
I simply walked upstairs, closed our bedroom door, and allowed myself exactly sixty seconds to cry.
Then I wiped my face, grabbed my laptop, my safe deposit folder, and the velvet jewelry box Ethan gave me on our second anniversary.
Before I stepped out, I paused at the doorway.
This was the last room he ever slept in.
The last place he kissed me.
The last place he said he loved me.
“Goodbye,” I whispered.
Then I walked downstairs.
Joseph and Marcus were blocking the front door, arms crossed.
“Time’s up,” Joseph said.
I didn’t respond.
Just walked out.
Silent.
Calm.
It unnerved them—my calmness.
I could feel it.
Because Joseph muttered,
“She’s hiding something.”
He had no idea how right he was.
THE SECRET THEY DIDN’T KNOW
Two months before he died, Ethan came home pale and shaken.
He sat me down at the kitchen table and said:
“Imani… something’s wrong with the company. Dad and Marcus are hiding money. A lot of money. And they’re using my name.”
As CFO of the Brooks family lumber business, Ethan had uncovered fraud, tax evasion, and offshore accounts. He documented everything. And because he trusted me, and because I was an attorney, he placed every file, every password, every recorded conversation… into a private trust.
A trust with my name as executor.
If Ethan died, ownership—and legal control—of the company automatically passed to the trust.
Meaning:
I now owned 51% of the Brooks family empire.
Joseph and Marcus didn’t know yet.
But they were about to.
THE CONFRONTATION
I rented a room in a motel for the night. Grieved. Slept poorly.
Then the next morning, I put on a charcoal suit, tied my curls back, and walked into the Brooks Lumber headquarters.
The receptionist, a woman named Kimberly, gasped.
“Mrs. Brooks—I’m so sorry for your loss. How can I help?”
“I need access to Ethan’s office,” I said calmly.
She buzzed me in immediately.
When I stepped inside, Joseph and Marcus were already there.
Joseph was behind the desk like he owned it.
He glared at me.
“What are you doing here?”
“Collecting what belongs to me,” I said.
Marcus scoffed.
“What could possibly belong to you here?”
I set my folder on the desk.
Then I slid the trust document toward them.
Joseph picked it up, skimmed the first page, and paled.
“No,” he whispered.
“This… this must be a mistake.”
Marcus snatched the papers.
“What the hell is this?”
I leaned back.
“Ethan knew what you were doing.
He knew you were stealing from the company.
From your own employees.
From the government.”
Marcus’s face turned red.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m a lawyer,” I said softly.
“I don’t lie. Not about this.”
Joseph slammed his hands on the desk.
“You think you can steal from us?”
I smiled faintly.
“No. I can’t steal from you.”
Then I pointed at the trust.
“Because Ethan already gave it to me.”
Silence.
“Effective immediately,” I continued,
“I am majority owner of Brooks Lumber.
And Joseph—your position as CEO is terminated.
Marcus—same for you.”
“You can’t!” Marcus shouted.
“I just did,” I replied.
“And if either of you attempt to threaten, harass, or interfere with me…
I will turn every shred of evidence over to the FBI.”
Joseph sank into the chair like the air had been punched out of him.
“You… you planned this.”
“No,” I said.
“Ethan did.”
And that was the truth.
EPILOGUE: THE WOMAN THEY UNDERESTIMATED
Two weeks later, the headlines read:
“BROOKS LUMBER UNDER NEW LEADERSHIP AFTER FRAUD INVESTIGATION.”
Joseph and Marcus tried to fight it.
They hired attorneys.
They spread lies.
They even attempted to claim Ethan “wasn’t in his right mind” when he created the trust.
But Ethan had video evidence.
He had recorded himself explaining everything, timestamped, with legal counsel present.
Case closed.
As for me?
I kept the house.
I sold the company.
And with the settlement checks and liquidation proceeds, I bought a home near the coast—quiet, calm, peaceful.
Last week, I received a wedding invitation in the mail.
From my sister, Danielle.
She was marrying her millionaire husband—Adam Halston—for the third time.
I placed the envelope in the shredder.
And smiled.
Because for the first time in nine years…
Everything that was rightfully mine
was finally in my hands.
