The forged will

The summer heat clung to Kaisariani like a sweaty shirt. Myrto Zervou sat on her balcony, fanning herself with an old newspaper, her sharp eyes scanning the street below. Her son, Aris, was hammering away in his workshop downstairs, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud blending with the cicadas’ buzz.

Then, the shouting started.

"Thief! Liar! You think you can steal from your own blood?"

Myrto’s ears perked up. She knew that voice, Stavros, the butcher from down the road, a man whose temper was as thick as his pork chops. She shuffled to the railing just in time to see him shove his younger brother, Nikos, a meek accountant who looked like he’d faint if a napkin blew his way.

"Aris!" Myrto bellowed. "Come! We have drama!"

Aris wiped sawdust from his hands and jogged up the stairs. "What now, Ma?"

"The Papadakis brothers are at it again," she said, nodding toward the street. "And this time, it smells like money."

*    *    * *    *    *

Myrto marched downstairs, Aris trailing behind. The brothers were now nose-to-nose, Nikos clutching a folded paper like a shield.

"Stavros! Nikos!" Myrto clapped her hands. "What’s this? A street brawl at your age? Shame!"

Stavros whirled, his face red. "Aunt Myrto, this worm forged our father’s will! Suddenly, he gets the shop, and I get nothing!"

Nikos sputtered. "It’s real! Papa signed it before he..."

"Lies!" Stavros roared.

Myrto snatched the paper from Nikos’ trembling hands. She unfolded it, squinting at the shaky signature. "Hmm."

Aris leaned in. "What do you think?"

"I think," Myrto said slowly, "this ink is too fresh for a dead man."

*    *    * *    *    *

That evening, Myrto and Aris visited the notary who’d witnessed the will, an elderly man named Mr. Kostas, who smelled of mothballs and ouzo.

"Of course it’s authentic," Kostas insisted, adjusting his glasses. "I saw Mr. Papadakis sign it myself."

"At midnight?" Myrto asked sweetly. "Because that’s the time written here."

Kostas paled. "Well… he was… insistent."

Aris crossed his arms. "Or maybe someone paid you to say that."

The notary’s silence was answer enough.

*    *    * *    *    *

The next morning, Myrto cornered Nikos at his office. "Tell me, child, how much did you pay Kostas?"

Nikos’ glasses fogged with sweat. "I... I don’t know what you..."

"Stop." Myrto slapped a hand on his desk. "A dead man’s hand doesn’t shake like a drunk’s. That signature is a fake. And if I can see it, so will a judge."

Nikos crumpled. "Stavros would’ve ruined the shop! He’d sell it for gambling money!"

"Maybe," Myrto said. "But stealing is stealing."

*    *    * *    *    *

By sundown, Nikos confessed. The will was nullified, the notary disgraced, and Stavros, though no saint, got his share.

Back on her balcony, Myrto sipped her coffee, satisfied.

"You always get them, Ma," Aris chuckled.

"Of course," she said. "A snake may shed its skin, but it’s still a snake."

And with that, Kaisariani’s black-clad guardian settled back into her chair, ready for the next mystery.

THE END