Seven months after our divorce, I rushed into St. Jude’s Children’s and Women’s Hospital, still angry at my ex-wife, only to learn that she had just given birth to twin boys, and both of them were mine. Before the night was over, a nurse would place a brass key in my hand and tell me to use it before my own family arrived. And what was waiting for me beyond that was even more shocking.

Sylvia took a soft breath before she spoke.

“Your grandfather’s old estate address on Laurel Street,” she revealed.

I stood completely still, staring at her in shock.

The grand old estate on Laurel Street had stayed empty and shuttered ever since my grandfather died.

My father had tried to sell the property several times, but complicated legal disputes over the estate had held up the listing.

I hadn’t set foot on those grounds in years.

“What about that old estate?” I asked, confused.