They were poisoned by their own child for a billions-worth inheritance, but the innocent grandchild ruined the plan.
“Grandfather, Tonight My Parents Are Going to Take Your Wealth!”
Inside a vast and quiet mansion on the outskirts of New Delhi, an old man sat silently in his wheelchair. Mr. Arvind Malhotra, now eighty years old, had a frail body but a razor-sharp mind. He was once the owner of one of the largest logistics and trucking empires in North India before retiring.
Living with him were his only son Rohit, Rohit’s wife Meera, and his beloved grandson Ayaan. To the neighbors, Mr. Malhotra seemed blessed—his family was always around, caring for him. But behind the mansion’s ornate gates, the atmosphere was cold, fake, and suffocating.
Rohit and Meera were deeply addicted to luxury and gambling. Crushed by massive casino debts, they had long been waiting for the old man to die so they could inherit his billions. But Mr. Malhotra remained strong and alert, and their patience was running out. Loan sharks were already threatening them.
Their young son Ayaan was often neglected. Instead, it was his grandfather who raised him—teaching him how to read, feeding him, telling him stories every night. To Ayaan, his grandfather was more than family; he was his safe place.
One afternoon, while playing hide-and-seek, Ayaan hid behind a large sofa in the study. Unknowingly, Rohit and Meera entered the room and began talking.
“We can’t wait any longer,” Meera hissed. “The moneylender called again. If we don’t pay by tomorrow, we’re dead. We must get your father’s vault tonight.”
“I already have a plan,” Rohit replied coldly. “At dinner, I’ll mix strong sleeping pills into Dad’s soup. A heavy dose. He’ll be unconscious till morning… or maybe never wake up. While he’s out, we’ll use his fingerprint to open the vault and force his signature on the donation papers. Then everything is ours.”
Ayaan’s eyes widened in horror. He covered his mouth to stop himself from crying.
The moment his parents left, Ayaan ran straight to his grandfather’s room. Mr. Malhotra was calmly reading the newspaper.
“Grandpa…” Ayaan whispered, trembling, hugging his legs.
“What’s wrong, my boy?” the old man asked gently.
“Grandpa… please hide,” Ayaan sobbed softly. “I heard Mama and Papa. They’re angry. Papa said he’ll put medicine in your food tonight so you’ll sleep. Then they’ll take your money from the vault. He said… you might not wake up.”
Mr. Malhotra felt as if boiling water had been poured over him. His own son—the child he raised and spoiled—was planning to kill him.
He looked into Ayaan’s tear-filled eyes and knew the child was telling the truth.
“Shh… it’s okay,” Mr. Malhotra said calmly. “Thank you for telling me. Be brave, alright? Don’t let them know you heard anything.”
That afternoon, Mr. Malhotra secretly made phone calls using a private phone. He contacted his trusted lawyer Advocate Sharma and his longtime friend Commissioner Singh, the local police chief.
“Come tonight,” he said quietly. “We have rats to catch.”
At dinner, Meera happily served Mr. Malhotra a bowl of hot soup.
“Papa, finish it all,” she said sweetly. “I made it especially for you.”
Rohit watched nervously. Ayaan sat silent, barely touching his food.
Mr. Malhotra lifted his spoon and looked at his son.
“Rohit, do you remember when you were a child? Whenever you were sick, I cooked soup for you myself. I stayed awake all night watching over you.”
Rohit swallowed hard. “Y-Yes, Papa…”
Instead of drinking the soup, Mr. Malhotra discreetly poured it into a flower pot beneath the table. Moments later, he pretended to feel dizzy.
“I feel… sleepy,” he murmured before slumping in his wheelchair.
“It worked,” Meera whispered. “Quick, take him to his room.”
They put him to bed and waited until midnight.
At exactly 12:00 a.m., Rohit and Meera entered the bedroom with a flashlight and documents. Behind a painting was the vault.
“We need his fingerprint,” Rohit said, grabbing his father’s hand with visible disgust.
BEEP.
The vault opened.
Smiling greedily, they expected gold, jewelry, and stacks of cash.
Instead—
IT WAS EMPTY.
Only a single paper lay inside. Written in bold letters:
“I KNOW YOUR PLAN.”
“What is this?!” Meera screamed. “Where is the money?!”
Suddenly, the lights turned on.
“Looking for your wealth?”
They turned around.
Mr. Malhotra was sitting upright on the bed, fully awake, eyes blazing with anger.
Before they could react, the door burst open. Police officers entered, followed by Advocate Sharma.
“You’re under arrest!” Commissioner Singh declared.
“Papa—what is this?!” Rohit cried.
“It means your betrayal ends tonight!” Mr. Malhotra shouted. “My grandson heard everything! You tried to kill me for money? I gave you everything—was it still not enough?!”
Meera fell to her knees, begging.
“We were desperate! Please forgive us!”
“Desperate?” Advocate Sharma snapped. “You attempted parricide. Poisoning food is a serious crime. And luckily, Mr. Malhotra transferred all assets and changed his will this afternoon.”
Mr. Malhotra looked at his son with tears in his eyes.
“You get nothing. You are both disinherited.”
The police dragged Rohit and Meera away as they screamed and begged.
Ayaan ran to his grandfather and hugged him tightly.
“Thank you, my boy,” Mr. Malhotra whispered. “You saved my life.”
Turning to his lawyer, he said firmly,
“All my wealth will go into a trust fund for Ayaan. He will inherit it when he turns 21. Until then, I will raise him myself.”
From that day on, grandfather and grandson lived peacefully. The story became a lesson throughout the community—that true wealth is not money, but loyalty, love, and integrity.
Ayaan grew up rich—not just in fortune, but in character. A treasure no one could ever steal.