The stepson listened patiently to the will – the deceased’s wife and lover were writhing with laughter, having discovered that the inheritance for him was limited to a simple greeting card.

A cold November day froze the atmosphere in the notary’s office. Sergei Vorontsov sat, clenching his jaw with barely restrained rage, and his fingers involuntarily dug into the armrests of the chair.

Three days ago, an icy wind ruffled his hair at the grave of Viktor Paleev – the man he called his father, although there was no blood relationship between them. Six months ago, the Nepalese mountains took Viktor, and three days ago he was officially recognized as “prematurely de.ceased” after the search and all legal formalities were completed.

Across from him sat Marina, dressed in a mourning but elegant dress. Her slender fingers barely touched the knee of Arseniy Dubrovsky, an “old friend of the family,” whose meaningful glances she secretly caught.

“To my wife Marina Paleeva, I leave our country house, bank accounts, and seventy percent of the shares of the PaleevStroy company,” the notary read.

Marina covered her mouth with her hand, feigning grief, but Sergei noticed the cold glint in her eyes.

“To my stepson Sergei Vorontsov, I leave a greeting card, which is in the envelope enclosed with this will.”

Sergei’s breathing was ragged. He had devoted fifteen years to his stepfather’s company, working his way up from an intern to a financial director. He had given up his own career in architecture when Viktor had a heart attack. And now — a card?

Arseniy raised an eyebrow slightly. Marina gave him a warning glance, but the corners of her lips twitched treacherously. She was silently choking with laughter, exchanging expressive glances with her companion, who was also having a hard time containing his emotions.

“It’s a pity, Sergei, that you never became a real part of the family,” Marina said with false sympathy. “Now you’re free to build your own life.”

The door swung open without a knock. Arseniy, accompanied by two guards, entered Sergei’s office, where he was sitting looking at a strange postcard with a picture of a lighthouse.

“Vacate the premises, Sergei. As of today, you no longer work here.”

“On what grounds? I have a contract…”

“The contract has been terminated. The order was signed an hour ago… by the new CEO.” Arseniy showed a gold ring, an exact copy of the one Victor was wearing. “The company needs fresh bl.ood. And to you… good luck with your postcard.

As the guards escorted him to the exit, Arseniy leaned towards his ear:

– Victor was never able to make you his true heir. There must have been reasons.

In the rented apartment, Sergei began to study the postcard again. Inside was an inscription in Victor’s handwriting: “Remember our conversation about treasures, son. The lighthouse will show the way. P.S. The key to your childhood is waiting where we hid your drawings.”

Sergei remembered their last conversation before his stepfather’s expedition to Nepal.

– Why isn’t Marina going with you? – Sergei asked then.

Victor looked at him with concern:

– Keep your eyes peeled, son. Sometimes the truth is hidden where we were happy.

Now, looking at the postcard, he remembered other strange hints from Victor. How his stepfather said on his thirtieth birthday: “Fate gives us children not by blood, but by spiritual kinship. Your real father would be proud of you.” And that day at the seaside, when Victor suddenly noticed: “You are so similar to your mother. The same eyes… as if they look into the soul.”

He never attached any importance to these words – Victor almost never mentioned his mother Elena, who passed away when Sergei was only a year old.

A phone call interrupted his thoughts. It was Kristina, his fiancée.

– You didn’t even warn me that you were fired! I found out from Marina! What will happen to us now?

– Chris, – Sergei quietly interrupted, – do you love me or my position?

A long pause became the answer.

– Don’t be naive, Sergei. I waited three years for you to choose us, and not Victor. I’m tired of dreaming about the life we ​​could have had – about travel, about the future. And you give it all to him, like an errand boy.

Sergei hung up and looked at the postcard again. The lighthouse. “Solnechnaya Bay, 1990.” He remembered this place – a seaside town where he went with Victor.

This was the only trace. And he had to check it up.

In the morning, Sergey received two blows: a notice of account freezing “by decision of the board of directors in connection with the audit”, prepared by Arseny the day before and signed by him in the morning, and a call from Kristina with the final break.

Sergey got the money by selling the car. In Solnechnaya Bay, he headed to the lighthouse, where he was met by a young woman.

“Alisa Beregovaya,” she introduced herself.

Something in her gaze made him freeze.

When he explained that he was looking for information about Viktor Paleev, Alice’s face instantly became cold.

“Why do you need this?” there was wariness in her voice.

“He was my stepfather. Recently… he died. Left me a clue that led me here.

“Paleev…” she said the name bitterly. “The museum is closed now. Come tomorrow.”

When Sergey was leaving, he noticed how Alice took out her phone and quickly wrote to someone.

At the local hotel, the owner told him:

“The Paleevs?” Viktor Paleev and his partners started a business here in the early 90s. They built a fish factory, then a hotel.

“Partners? There were several of them?”

“Four young entrepreneurs: Viktor, Arseniy… and two more – Mikhail Beregovoy and Andrey Samarin. But then a tragedy happened.”

She told how Mikhail Beregovoy disappeared during a storm. And the second disappeared a year later – they said that he went abroad with his young wife.

— After that, Victor and Arseniy also left the Bay. They sold everything here and started a business in Moscow. And Mikhail’s daughter, little Alice, stayed with her grandmother.

— Alice? Is that Alisa who works at the lighthouse?

— That’s it. She studied to be a lawyer and then came back here. She says the sea won’t let her go.

The next day, returning to the lighthouse, Sergey noticed an old slab with barely visible scratches on the floor. He remembered how in childhood, when he came here with Victor, they hid his drawings under it — “messages for the future,” as his stepfather called them. The slab didn’t give in right away, but there really was a hiding place under it — and in it was a key, wrapped in a yellowed piece of paper with a child’s drawing of the sea and the sun.

Returning to the hotel in the evening, Sergey felt that he was being followed. Suddenly, two people attacked from the darkness.

“Give me back what you took from the lighthouse!” one of the attackers croaked. “We were told you were digging in the past!”

Sergey managed to fight them off and ran through the yards. Climbing over the fence, he fell into the yard of a small house. Alisa was on the veranda.

“Arseny’s people tried to… get rid of me,” Sergey exhaled, pressing his hand to his bleeding eyebrow.

“They’re afraid you’ll find out the truth,” Alice said, treating his wound.

“What truth?”

Alisa looked at Sergey, her voice trembling:

“Victor helped us after my father disappeared. He anonymously paid for my education, but asked my grandmother to keep quiet. Three months before his expedition, he called me and said that it was time to fix the past, for your sake and the memory of our fathers.

— Arseny was afraid for years that Victor hid evidence in the lighthouse, — she added. — They saw you fiddling with the stove. The lighthouse is constantly watched by his people. Anyone who approaches it is interrogated or searched. I have to be careful.

She brought a photo album. The picture showed four young men at the lighthouse. Victor and Arseny looked very young. But Sergey’s attention was drawn to one of them — especially his familiar features.

— Is this… my father? — Sergey asked quietly.

— No, — Alice answered softly. — This is my father, Mikhail. And this one is Andrey Samarin. Your… real father.

Sergey recoiled.

“What? But how…”

“Your real mother is Elena Samarina, Andrey’s wife,” Alice said. “And you… Andrey Samarin Jr.. Victor took you when you weren’t even a year old.”

She showed a photograph of a young woman with a baby. The woman’s green eyes were exactly like Sergey’s.

“But… why?” he whispered.

“The key you found,” Alice held out her hand. “It’s for the safe in the lighthouse. Victor asked me to open it only with you.”

Inside the lighthouse, Alice pulled back a cabinet to reveal a safe. The key fit perfectly. Inside were documents, an old videotape, and an envelope labeled “For Andrey.”

“I digitized the recording when Victor contacted me,” Alice explained. “I wanted to make sure it would be preserved. This is your father’s voice, Sergey.”

— I wrote to Ignatiev then, — she admitted, noticing the question in Sergei’s eyes. — Victor asked me to let you know if you showed up at the lighthouse. I needed to make sure you were who you said you were.

The envelope contained an agreement on the creation of a company by four partners and a letter from Victor.

“Son, if you’re reading this, it means I’m gone, and you’ve found the lighthouse. Your real father, Andrei Samarin, was my friend and partner. Mikhail wasn’t just gone — he was eliminated. When Andrei began collecting evidence against Arseniy, he, too, found himself in danger. Your parents were victims of a road accident orchestrated by Arseniy. I only managed to save you. I passed you off as the son of my late wife. My entire fortune belongs to you and Alisa — in equal shares. The real will is with Ignatiev’s lawyer. Forgive me, Victor.”

Alisa turned on the recording, where a young man who looked like Sergei was saying:

“If something happens to me, know this: it was Arseniy Dubrovsky’s doing. He sent Mikhail to the other world, and now he’s threatening my family. Victor, protect my son Andrei…”

Marina and Arseniy were talking on the phone:

“He found the safe,” Arseniy said. “Beregovoy’s girl is helping him.”

“They have to disappear,” Marina answered. “But without unnecessary noise.”

She ended the conversation and went to the fireplace. There was a photograph on the shelf: she, Victor, and Arseniy on a yacht. Her gaze lingered on her husband’s face. Now she saw in his eyes an alienation she hadn’t noticed before.

“You never really loved me,” she whispered. “You used me while you were collecting evidence.

She knew that Victor suspected her of collusion with Arseny even before his trip to Nepal. If Sergey revealed the truth, her reputation and share in the company would be at risk – Arseny had repeatedly reminded her that their old machinations with the sale of assets in the Bay could surface.

She threw the frame into the fireplace. The glass broke, the flames engulfed the photo.

On the way to Moscow, driving a rented car, Alisa said:

– Victor admitted that he was diagnosed with an incurable disease before the expedition. So he decided to restore justice. A month before the trip to Nepal, he met with me, told the whole story and gave copies of the documents for the lawyer Ignatiev in case something happened to him.

– And if I had never found the lighthouse? – asked Sergey.

– Ignatiev was supposed to find you three months after Victor was officially declared dead, if you didn’t contact me yourself. They had… a backup plan.

Suddenly, a black SUV caught up with them. The headlights blinded them through the rearview mirror. The pursuers’ car rammed them from behind. After the third blow, their car went off the road and flipped over.

Sergey woke up from the smell of gasoline. Alisa was lying next to him, her arm twisted unnaturally.

Two men pulled them out of the wrecked car. One was holding a gun aimed at Alisa.

“Give me everything you took from the lighthouse,” he demanded. “The boss ordered you to take any things and documents.”

Sergey rushed at the armed bandit. The gun fell out in the fight. Alisa grabbed the weapon with her healthy hand and wounded the second attacker. They disappeared into the forest.

In the nearest village, Sergey called the number Viktor left in the letter. Ignatyev picked up.

“Thank God you’re alive,” the lawyer’s voice trembled with relief. “I’ve already contacted investigator Romanov. He had long suspected that the case of Mikhail Beregovoy’s disappearance had been closed too hastily.

“They tried to k-ill us,” said Sergei. “We have evidence, but Arseny’s people will be looking for us.”

“Stay where you are. Romanov and his team will be there in three hours.”

Investigator Romanov, a tall man with an attentive gaze, carefully studied the video recording and documents.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for thirty years,” he said quietly. “The Mikhail Beregovoy case was my first serious investigation. I was suspended when I started digging too deep. For years I had been collecting evidence against Arseny, but the last link was missing. The mercenaries face life in prison for double attempted murder and many other incidents.

“How did you get them to talk?” asked Sergei.

“Fear does its job,” answered Romanov. “When they found out that the evidence against them was irrefutable and they were facing the maximum sentence, the choice became obvious.

He looked at the recording and nodded:

“This is exactly what we need. I have handed over the evidence to the prosecutor’s office. The warrant has been signed. Arseniy will not leave this time.”

Two days later. The conference room of PaleevStroy. Arseniy and Marina were sitting next to each other at the table. The members of the board of directors were waiting for the meeting to begin.

“I am opening the meeting,” Arseniy said. “The first question…”

The doors swung open. Sergey entered, accompanied by Alisa with a bandaged arm and an elderly man. They were followed by plainclothes police officers.

“This is the genuine will of Viktor Paleev,” Ignatyev said, putting the folder on the table. “According to the document, all property goes to Andrei Samarin Jr. and Alisa Beregovaya in equal shares.”

Marina turned pale, but remained outwardly calm:

“This is a fake. I will go to court.

— We have evidence that the first will was made under pressure, — Ignatyev answered. — And also evidence of Mr. Dubrovsky’s involvement in old crimes.

Investigator Romanov stepped forward:

— Arseny Dubrovsky, Marina Paleeva, you are under arrest on charges of organizing an attempt to eliminate, as well as involvement in the elimination of other persons.

Arseny rushed to the exit, but the police blocked his path:

— My lawyers will tear you apart! This is tyranny! You don’t even understand who you’re dealing with!

— Your lawyers are already late, — Romanov responded calmly. — All the necessary court sanctions have been obtained.

Marina lost her composure:

— I didn’t know anything! It was all Arseny’s fault!

But Romanov was already reading them their rights. When the police led Arseny to the exit, he turned to Sergei:

— Victor never loved you! You were just a way to stifle his conscience!

“Perhaps,” Sergei replied. “But he gave me a chance to learn the truth and correct his mistakes. And that’s worth more than any inheritance.”

Six months later. Sergei — now officially Andrei Samarin — stood with Alisa at the lighthouse.

The sun was slowly setting below the horizon, painting the sea in golden tones. A new sign appeared at the entrance to the lighthouse: “Museum of the History of Solnechnaya Bay named after Mikhail Beregovoy and Andrei Samarin Sr.”

The coastline was transformed — construction of an educational center for children began. It was the first project of the charitable foundation created with funds from the PaleevStroy company.

“Do you think they could have imagined how it would all end?” Alisa asked.

“That we would find each other? Unlikely,” he smiled. “But I want to believe that they would have approved.”

He pulled that same postcard with the lighthouse image out of his pocket.

“You know, a true legacy can’t be measured in money,” he said. “Sometimes it’s an opportunity to find out who you really are.”

“And to find those who help you remember that,” Alisa added, squeezing his hand.

They walked up the steps to the lighthouse, the light of which began to flicker over the sea. Sergey pulled Alice close, their eyes meeting in the soft light – they read not only the trials they had endured, but also the joy of finding each other.

“I found something more than the truth about the past,” he said quietly. “I found the future.”

Alisa smiled and pressed herself closer to him. A whole life awaited them, which they would build together, on a foundation of truth and a connection that arose from the ashes of the past.