“You need more cash! For the water!” A younger guy standing behind the man grabbed him by the shoulder and yelled into his ears, causing him to recoil.

Brandon noticed everything. He was tempted to step in, but he didn’t want to attract the shoppers’ ire. Meanwhile, the elderly man explained he didn’t have enough cash, asking if he could get a smaller bottle of water as he needed to take his pills.

“If you can’t afford to pay, you’ll have to go!” shouted the cashier.

“I can go?” He smiled and turned to leave, but the cashier lunged across the counter and snatched the water bottle from his hand. “Just get out, old man!” she hissed. “You’re way too much trouble!”

“Yeah, get lost, old fart!” A woman standing in the middle of the queue yelled.

The elderly man requested that he needed to take his pills, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.

Brandon had had enough. He marched to the cashier and offered to pay for the old guy.

“Have a heart, lady,” he said and emptied his cup on the counter. The woman looked at him in distaste before she counted the money.

“That’ll cover it,” she said, taking all the money, including his last $2. “Now step aside. You’re holding the line.”

Brandon abandoned his can of beans on the counter as he offered the water to the older man.

“Here you go, sir. I got you water,” he spoke slowly and clearly, ensuring the man could see his face if he needed to lip-read. And the man thanked him. They left the store together, and Brandon headed to his tent on the bare patch of ground adjacent to the station, but the man stopped him.

“Wait!”

Brandon turned around.

“Why did you help me when you obviously needed the money?” asked the older man, noticing Brandon’s tent where Brandon’s eldest daughter was helping her two siblings wash up in a bucket.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being homeless, sir,” said Brandon, “it’s that the world works when people are kind to each other. Sadly, nobody was going to help you at the store.”

“But what are your kids going to eat? I saw you leave the beans on the counter.”

“We have the last of yesterday’s bread, and there’s a good chance I’ll find some scraps at that fast food joint across the street,” Brandon replied. “We’ll get by.”

The man walked away but with a frown. Brandon noticed he got in a gleaming SUV and wondered why a man like him couldn’t afford a bottle of water.

The next day, while Brandon was dividing cold fries among his three kids, a silver sedan pulled up near his tent. A man in a fancy suit got out and approached him.

“Morning, sir. Mr. Grives’s last wish was for me to deliver this to you,” he said, extending an envelope.

Brandon wiped his hands and took it. There was a letter inside.

“Dear sir,

Yesterday, you proved yourself to be a man of good character when you spent your last few dollars on a bottle of water for me. Your kindness and belief in doing good for others have inspired me to repay your goodness with the greatest gift I can give you: my business.

My time in this world is coming to an end. I have recently become apprehensive about leaving my company to my son, as I’ve come to see that he is a selfish, entitled man with a heart of stone. It would greatly ease my conscience if you inherited the company instead. All I ask is that you ensure my son is taken care of and can continue to live a safe, comfortable life.

However, I must warn you that my son will not readily accept my decision. In fact, he will probably do everything in his power to take control of the business. You will have to be on your guard.”

“Is this some kind of joke?” Brandon looked up at the man.

The man produced a stack of printed papers and a pen. “Mr. Grives was quite serious. And the moment you sign these papers, it’ll be official. You’ll inherit his company as well as other personal assets.”

“But I just met the guy yesterday. And now he’s dead and leaving me everything?” Brandon asked as he studied the documents. He was no stranger to legalese and had managed several small businesses before he fell on hard times.

“I understand your concerns, sir, but these papers were drawn by the finest lawyers. Mr. Grives was quite clear in his intent. All we need to do is fill in your name, and the lawyers will proceed with the rest.”

This was his chance to provide his kids with a better life, so Brandon signed the documents. Then, the man drove him and the children to their new home.

As they arrived, Brandon stared up at the massive, colonial-style mansion at the top of the driveway.

“Can we put up a tent under that tree with pink flowers?” little Derrick asked.

“We’re going to live inside that house, silly! Right, Dad?” Kelly asked.

Brandon nodded, although he could barely believe it himself. But the moment he pushed the double doors open, he sensed something was wrong. The house was a mess—a table lay on its side in the hallway, a painting was impaled on the banister, and a closet had been toppled over.

Brandon dumped the luggage on the top step, ran after the car, and told the driver to call 911. A few hours later, he stood among slashed sofas and broken furniture, speaking to the cops.

“We’ve examined the entire perimeter of the house and found no sign of forced entry, sir,” the officer said. “This, combined with the fact that the security system appears to have been overridden using the correct code, suggests that whoever vandalized this place had a legitimate means of gaining entry.”

“Like a key? You’re telling me the person who did this just walked in here?”

“I’d suggest you change the locks, sir,” the officer nodded. “Whoever did this was looking for something and got very angry when they didn’t find it.”

As the cops left, Brandon suspected the elderly man’s son was behind everything.