A pregnant woman discovered a wallet near her husband’s gravestone. When she opened it, she was paralyzed by what she saw inside…

With no place to live, Julia spent her first days sleeping on Philadelphia’s streets. Later, she learned about crisis centers for women in dire situations. They offered meals and a place to stay for a few nights to rest and clean up. Julia didn’t abuse their help, using it only when absolutely necessary. Still, she had to find a way to survive on the outside, which is why she resorted to collecting food from the cemetery. It wasn’t as humiliating as begging, at least.

The ex-convict even mapped out a route through the Philadelphia graveyard. She knew where the wealthiest plots were, where she could always find prepared dishes or sweets for herself and her unborn child. Each time she took something, Julia prayed for the soul resting beneath the earth. It didn’t matter if they were a local criminal or a wealthy person killed in a car crash or by a cruel disease. She simply thanked them for keeping her and her baby from starving that day.

Passing one grave, Julia noticed a large leather wallet under a bench nearby. Her heart leaped with excitement, and her mood lifted. No wonder—such a find was rare. Life hadn’t been kind to her lately, so finding a lost wallet meant food for at least a couple of days. Glancing around to ensure no one was nearby, she picked it up from the damp ground and, holding her breath, slowly opened it. Disappointment hit hard. There was barely any cash—just a couple of ten-dollar bills and some change. Mostly, it held bank cards and receipts.

Sighing, Julia was about to close the wallet when she spotted the corner of a driver’s license in a side pocket. Pulling it out, the pregnant woman examined it. The face on the license looked oddly familiar. Arthur Gregory Stevens. She read the owner’s name, then gasped. Looking at the headstone next to where she’d found the wallet, Julia thought she must be seeing things. But no. The name, surname, and photo on the license matched the name of the deceased, whose stern face stared at her from the marble monument.

“What in the world, Lord,” Julia thought, crossing herself three times. “If this Arthur was buried a year ago, how could his wallet end up here? The dead don’t drop their wallets, do they?” “This is all too weird,” she said aloud, inspecting the find again. Sure enough, the wallet looked almost new—it couldn’t have been lying out in the open for long. Someone would’ve picked it up, or the money and license would’ve been ruined by snow and rain, turning to mush. The receipts, like the bills, were perfectly dry, as if printed hours ago.

It all struck Julia as bizarre. Tucking the wallet into her old jacket pocket, she pondered what to do. There wasn’t much money, and she’d spend it, naturally. But the cards? You couldn’t withdraw cash from them. Trying to use them in a store, even for small purchases, could land her back in jail. Julia had no desire to return to prison, so she decided not to risk it and leave the wallet as is.

From then on, she visited the mysterious grave more often, hoping to spot a relative of the deceased. One day, her luck turned. Seeing a man sitting on the bench by the headstone, Julia quietly approached and asked, “Excuse me, are you related to the person buried here?” The stranger, facing away, turned around, and Julia felt a jolt like electricity. Despite a thick beard and mustache, it was the same man from the monument and the wallet’s license photo.

“Oh, my God,” the pregnant woman gasped, clutching her belly. The shock triggered false contractions. Terrified she might give birth prematurely right there in the cemetery, Julia sat on a bench by a neighboring grave. She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed deeply, trying to ease the intense cramp in her lower abdomen. “One, two, three, four,” she counted, stroking her belly.

“Miss, are you okay?” the man rushed over, gently patting her shoulders to calm her. “You—you’re on the headstone,” Julia stammered, pointing at the monument. The man followed her gaze and replied curtly, “Yes, but it’s not what you think. I’m very much alive, don’t worry. Calm down, nothing scary’s happening. I’ll explain everything.”

Once the contractions subsided and Julia felt better, the bearded stranger began his story: “I had to fake my death because I had no other choice. Someone wants me dead.” Julia’s eyes widened. “Dead? Who?” “My stepmother and half-brother,” Arthur explained. “After my father died, they smelled money like piranhas and decided to take all his assets, but first, they needed me out of the way. Even though I was adopted, Dad always treated me as his own, and I’m three years older than Oliver. I turn thirty-five this year, which means I was set to take over Dad’s company.”

“Wow,” Julia said, “what awful people.” “Tell me about it,” Stevens nodded. “It’s a full-on conspiracy. It started when Susan bribed one of our drivers to sabotage my car’s brakes. I got into a bad accident but managed to crawl out before the car exploded.”

Julia pressed her hands to her face, whispering, “My God!” “That wasn’t the end,” Arthur continued calmly. “Next, I was attacked in a dark alley near my office in Rittenhouse Square. The guy stabbed me twice.” To prove his words, he lifted his shirt, showing Julia two long, rough scars inches from his heart. “God spared me again,” he said simply. Julia could only gasp softly, unprepared for such a sight.

“You’re one lucky guy,” she said. “Born under a lucky star, no doubt.” “I like to think Dad’s watching over me from up there,” Arthur said, nodding skyward, “or I’d already be in that ground.” He pointed at his own monument. “I didn’t wait for a third attempt. I staged a crash, making it look like my car plunged into the Schuylkill River while I was heading to close a big deal. It cost a pretty penny for a fake death certificate and car analysis, but the plan worked. Susan and Oliver think I’m gone, which buys me time to figure out my next move.”

Arthur gave Julia a sad smile. “So don’t be scared—there’s no one in that coffin. I’m as alive as anyone else you see on these headstones.” Julia hesitated, then decided to return the wallet to its owner. “Sorry, when I found it, I knew something was off. How could the same guy be on the license and this photo? So I kept an eye on your grave. Forgive me.” “No harm done,” Arthur replied, gratefully taking the wallet. “I come here sometimes, just because. I look at myself and think, ‘One more slip, and I’d actually be there.’ It reminds me every day to fight for justice and stop my relatives from stealing Dad’s business.”

Julia looked at Stevens closely, then nodded sympathetically. “I get it, believe me. Isn’t there any way to hold them accountable?” Arthur shook his head sadly. “Evidence. It’s hard to get solid proof since all the clues against Susan and Oliver are circumstantial. They’re not idiots—they covered their tracks well.”

Julia understood the young millionaire’s feelings all too well. Not long ago, she’d faced similar injustice, when money and personal hatred led people to lock someone away, erasing them from their lives. Victor, her husband, had money and a successful furniture business. He’d told her shortly before his death that the company was finally turning a good profit. Then he was poisoned, and all the blame fell on her. What happened to the money and the company’s assets remained a mystery to Julia. But she suspected Victor’s parents, who wanted nothing to do with their “murderous” daughter-in-law, had taken care of it.

Julia shared her story with Arthur, and he listened with genuine empathy. Suddenly, a sly glint sparked in his eyes. “Julia, what if I offered you a job that could earn you good money? What would you say?” Julia tensed slightly. “Depends on what it is.” The businessman smiled. “Don’t worry, nothing illegal. I’ll pay you, and you’ll help me pin down my stepmother and brother.”

“How could I help with that?” Julia asked, confused. “I’ve got no connection to your family.” Arthur shook his head. “Your job would be to get into my stepmother’s house as a maid and dig up some dirt on them. I know they keep documents in a safe, maybe even photos, that could prove their guilt. I can’t say for sure, but I suspect my father didn’t die naturally either.”..