The Royalty Trap: How I Beat My Killer Brother

My brother, Derek, stood smirking by our dying father' s bed, demanding the records.

He thought he was outsmarting me, believing they held the map to the fortune I' d made in my first life.

I just shrugged, letting him snatch what he believed was the jackpot, while I "foolishly" accepted our dilapidated, lien-ridden house.

He gloated, flashing his new sports car, convinced he was a millionaire. Meanwhile, debt collectors were banging on my door, threatening to seize the property Derek thought was worthless anyway.

He laughed in my face, bragging about the fake demo tapes he'd dug up and sold for a fortune.

I knew he was about to crash and burn, just like last time. But the injustice still burned. In my first life, his greed and jealousy didn' t just ruin him; they led him to murder me in cold blood.

I remembered every detail, every agonizing second of his betrayal.

But this time, I wasn't the naive fool. This time, I' d come prepared.

Because when I opened my eyes again, waking up right here, at Dad's bedside, I knew exactly what was coming – and exactly what I needed to do.

My brother, Derek, chose the records.

He stood there, a smirk on his face, looking at our dying father. The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and regret. The only sound was the beep of the heart monitor, slow and steady.

"I'll take the records, Dad," Derek said, his voice loud. "Liam can have the house."

He thought he was being smart. He thought he knew the secret.

I saw the flicker in his eyes. It was the same flicker I' d seen in the mirror every day for the last year of my first life. The flicker of knowing the future.

He was reborn, just like me.

I played my part. I let my shoulders slump. I looked at the dusty stack of vinyl records in the corner, then at the deed to our small, run-down house.

"Okay, Derek," I said, my voice quiet. "If that's what you want."

He sneered, convinced he' d just won the lottery. He thought the records held the map to a buried treasure, the one that made me a millionaire in our first life.

He was wrong.

In that first life, I chose the records out of love for our father. I found the map hidden in a blues album sleeve. It led me to a set of unreleased demo tapes from a legendary musician. I became rich overnight.

Derek took the house. He was supposed to get a million-dollar buyout from a corporation. But the deal got stuck. A payday loan company put a lien on the house, something our father had forgotten. Derek, furious and broke, sold it for almost nothing. He gambled the money away, got sick, and his jealousy ate him alive.

One night, he came to my apartment. He said he was sorry. He said he just wanted to talk.

Then he killed me.

He hid my body so well they didn't find it for months. He was caught, tried, and executed.

Now, we were back at the beginning.

Our father' s breathing became shallow. He reached out a weak hand, trying to grab both of ours.

"Boys," he whispered, his voice a dry rattle. "Stick together. Family... is all you have."

Derek grabbed his hand, then mine, forcing them together over our father's chest.

"We will, Dad," Derek said, his voice full of fake emotion. "I'll look after Liam."

A moment later, the heart monitor flatlined. A long, continuous tone filled the room.

Our father was gone.

Derek dropped my hand immediately. He walked over to the corner and picked up the box of records, holding it like a trophy.

"Well, the house is all yours," he said, not even looking at me. "I' m heading out. Got things to do."

He walked out of the room without a backward glance. The gleam in his eyes told me everything. He was already thinking about the money, the fame, the life he thought I had stolen from him.

I stood there for a long moment, just listening to the silence.

I looked at the deed in my hand. He thought it was worthless because of the lien. He thought I was a fool.

But I knew the truth. The demo tapes were a decoy. The real treasure was something else entirely. And the house... the house was my first move.

This time, I wouldn't just get rich. I would live.

The funeral was a small affair, mostly factory workers and old neighbors. Our Aunt Karen showed up, dressed in black but with eyes that were scanning for opportunities.

After the service, she cornered me by the cheap catering table.

"Liam, honey," she started, her voice syrupy. "I heard Derek took those dusty old records. That was very generous of you to let him have them. But that house... a young man like you shouldn't have to deal with all that paperwork. Why don't you let me handle the sale? I'll make sure you get a fair price."

In my first life, I let her walk all over me. I was too grieving and stressed to fight. This time was different.

"Aunt Karen," I said, my voice calm and firm. "In the last five years, how many times did you visit Dad?"

She blinked, caught off guard. "Well, I was very busy..."

"Zero times," I said, cutting her off. "You didn't call, either. But now that he's gone, you're here to 'help' with his assets. Dad's house is my responsibility now. I don't need your help."

Her face turned red. A few of Dad' s old friends were watching. She forced a tight smile.

"I was just trying to help," she muttered, then walked away in a huff.

Derek watched the whole thing from across the room, a smirk on his face. He probably thought I was being an idiot, fighting with our aunt over a worthless house. He came over, holding a cheap beer.

"What's with you, little brother?" he asked. "You've changed. Getting a backbone all of a sudden?"

"Maybe," I said, looking him straight in the eye. "Maybe I'm just tired of people taking what's mine."

His smirk faltered for a second. He saw something different in me. Suspicion flickered in his eyes.

"Whatever," he said, trying to sound casual. "Good luck with the house. You're going to need it."

He walked off to brag to some cousins about his 'valuable' inheritance.

I left the funeral and checked into a nice hotel downtown. In my first life, the stress of the discovery, the money, and Derek' s jealousy wrecked my health. I ended up with a chronic illness that left me weak and in constant pain.

This time, my health came first. I ordered room service, took a long hot shower, and slept for ten hours. I was going to beat him, but I was going to do it well-rested.

The next morning, I got a call. An unknown number.

"Is this Liam?" a gruff voice asked.

"Who is this?"

"The name's Marco. I'm calling about the lien on your father's property. You owe my employer sixty thousand dollars. Payment is due immediately."

It was happening just like before. The loan shark.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," I said, keeping my voice even.

"Don't play dumb with me, kid," he growled. "Your old man took out a loan. We have the contract. We'll be in touch."

He hung up.

I wasn' t worried. I was prepared. I spent the rest of the day at the public library, researching property law and forensics. I knew the contract was a fake. I just had to prove it.

That evening, I got a video call from Derek. He answered from the middle of a muddy field, a shovel in his hand. Behind him, a small crew was digging.

"Hey, little brother!" he yelled over the wind. "Just wanted to give you an update. Remember Dad's old stories about burying things? Well, guess what I found?"

He turned the camera to show an old, metal lockbox he' d just pulled from the ground. He pried it open. Inside, nestled in dirty cloth, were several reel-to-reel tapes.

The demo tapes.

"Looks like I made the right choice, huh?" he gloated. "This is going to be worth millions. How's that worthless house treating you?"

"Congratulations, Derek," I said, my voice flat. "You deserve it."

He laughed, a triumphant, ugly sound. "Yeah, I do."

He ended the call. I leaned back in my chair. He was fast, I'll give him that. But he was playing the old game. I was playing a new one.