I was halfway through a roofing estimate when my phone buzzed. Unknown number. I almost ignored it, but something in my gut said answer it.
“Hello?”
“Is this Cameron Martin?” The voice was gravelly, low.
“Yeah. Who’s asking?”
“This is Frank. DeMarco’s Pawn and Gold, over in Glendale. I believe I have something that belongs to you.”
I frowned. “What is it?”
“A Rolex Submariner. Stainless steel, black dial. Inscription on the back: To Cam, love always, Dad.”
The floor dropped out from under me. My hand yanked open the bottom drawer of my desk where I always kept the watch—wrapped in microfiber, hidden behind a stack of invoices. Empty.
My chest tightened. My throat burned. “Where did you get it?”
“A kid came in yesterday. Claimed it was his.”
I already knew. Tanner.
“This isn’t something we should discuss on the phone,” Frank said. “You need to come down here.”
I didn’t ask for directions. Just grabbed my keys and left. My coworkers called after me, but I couldn’t hear over the pounding in my ears. That watch wasn’t just a Rolex. It was the only thing my father left me when he died. No house, no insurance, nothing—just the watch he wore every single day of his life.
I still remember the moment he gave it to me. He was gaunt, hollowed out by chemo, but his eyes were sharp. He slid the watch off his wrist, pressed it into my palm with a trembling hand. “This is yours, Cam. Don’t let anyone take it from you.”
And I hadn’t. Until now.
DeMarco’s Pawn was wedged between a payday loan place and a dead vape shop, its windows barred, its sign half-lit. Inside smelled of dust and desperation.
“You Cam?” asked the man behind the counter, thick-necked, leathery-skinned.
“Yeah.”
“You look like your old man,” he said. “Same jawline.”
My throat tightened.
He bent down, produced a blue leather case, and flipped it open. There it was—Dad’s Rolex. Same nick on the bezel from that remodel job in Flagstaff.
“Who brought it in?” I asked.
“Kid named Tanner. Blonde, twenties. Claimed it was his dad’s.”
My fists clenched.
“He didn’t know the first thing about that watch,” Frank went on. “Couldn’t even pronounce Submariner. That’s when I checked records.” He pulled out a yellowed folder. “Your dad ever mention pawning it?”
“Never.”
“Well, he did. Sixteen years ago. Borrowed $3,500 against it. Paid it back in twenty-nine days, cash.”
He slid me the photocopy. My dad’s name—Russ Martin—clear as day. A secret he’d never shared.
“This watch is yours,” Frank said, sliding the box across the counter. “No question.”
My hands shook as I strapped it back onto my wrist. The familiar weight grounded me. Then Frank said, “One more thing.”
He pressed a fingernail into a nearly invisible groove on the clasp. A latch popped. Inside was a folded scrap of yellowed paper.
My heart hammered as I opened it. My father’s handwriting leapt off the page—sharp, slanted, all-caps.
CAM, IF YOU’RE READING THIS, GO TO SAFE DEPOSIT BOX 313 AT UNION FIRST. KEY’S IN MY SOCKET SET, BEHIND THE 5/8S.
I swallowed hard.
Frank chuckled. “Most guys hide weed in a watch. Your old man hid instructions.”
I left with the watch and the note. One thing was clear—Tanner hadn’t just stolen a Rolex. He’d cracked open a door my father had meant only for me.
At my mom’s place in Sun City, I found her and Gary at the table, bank statements scattered everywhere. Tanner’s name scribbled on a legal pad.
I dropped the Rolex onto the table. Thunk. “Lose something?”
My mom froze. Gary blustered. “Where’d you get that?”
“Pawn shop. They called me when Tanner tried to sell it.”
“Cam, it’s not what you think,” Mom stammered.
“You pawned it—for him. For his half-baked app scheme.”
“He just needed seed money!”
“That watch is the only thing Dad left me!” My voice cracked with fury. “You knew that!”
“He’s trying to build a future!” she shouted. “Tanner has vision. He’s not stuck putting up gutters his whole life!”
I laughed bitterly. “So I’m worthless because I work with my hands?”
“You’ve always been small-time,” Gary sneered. “Tanner’s different.”
“Different? He’s a thief. And you backed him.”
“You’ll ruin his life,” Mom pleaded. “He just made a mistake.”
“No,” I said, pulling a police report from my pocket. “I’ve got the footage, the receipt, the pawn slip. It’s his mess now.”
Her eyes went wide. “You’d really throw away your family over this?”
I paused in the doorway. “Didn’t you already do that for me?”
Dad’s shed was still standing, the smell of oil and sawdust thick inside. I found his rolling toolbox, ran a hand along the sockets until I hit the 5/8s. Taped behind it: a small brass key.
Union First was an old brick bank downtown. Ten minutes later, I was alone in a private room with a metal box. Inside: a black ledger and an envelope marked “CAM.”
I opened the letter. Dad’s voice spilled out in ink.
Cam, if you’re reading this, I’m gone. Inside are bearer bonds—over $100K. The ledger lists jobs I finished but never got paid for. Some people took advantage while I was sick. This isn’t just money. It’s time. Time to build your own thing. You don’t owe anyone your future, son. Just one promise: make it yours. Love, Dad.
Tears blurred my vision. Bearer bonds—clean, untraceable. And at the top of the unpaid jobs list: Reynolds and Bloom Construction, $18,500.
My dad hadn’t just left me a watch. He’d left me unfinished business.
I hired a lawyer, Carla Ramirez, tough as nails. She flipped through the ledger, grinning. “This is airtight. They thought the debt died with him. They’re wrong. Give me sixty days.”
She moved fast. Cashed the bonds. Filed liens. Reynolds and Bloom folded in four days, wiring $18,500. More checks followed.
Meanwhile, Tanner’s app fizzled. The Rolex money gone, wasted on office space and branding. Gary called, begging for a loan. I hung up. My mom emailed, blaming me for “dividing the family.” I forwarded the police report with Tanner’s name circled. Never heard back.
The first thing I bought was a house. Small, solid, two bedrooms, a garage big enough for Dad’s toolbox.
The Rolex stays on my nightstand. Some nights, I open the hidden panel, read his note again. You don’t owe anyone your future.
Now I fix things around the neighborhood—drywall, toilets, fans. Honest work. My work.
Sometimes someone spots the Rolex and whistles. “Nice watch.”
I just smile. “Old family thing.”
Because Dad didn’t just leave me a watch. He left me time. Time to stand up, walk away, and finally build something that was mine.