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The Real Garcia

The Real Garcia

Short Story · Emotional Realism
By:  DingCompleted
Language: English
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8Chapters
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Synopsis

Familial Bond

Plot Twists

Inspirational

Girl Power

Family Emotions

Revenge

Face Slapping

My grandfather was a thief. He stole my grandmother’s name and her identity. He used them to escape a poor, forgotten corner of the rural West, then ran off with another woman. He became a law professor, standing at podiums and lecturing about justice. She became a famous painter, giving interviews about integrity. My grandmother spent her whole life trapped in that same dying farmland. Everyone called her an old maid. She never stopped waiting for him. Not even on her deathbed. Fifty years later, I clawed my way out of that godforsaken place on the strength of two generations, my grandmother and my mother. I made partner at a top law firm. It was graduation season. I sat in the lead interviewer’s chair. Across from me sat a girl. Polished. Confident. The most outstanding graduate from the best law school in the state. I opened her résumé and flipped through it page by page. Then I stopped at the family information section. I stared at that name for a very long time. I looked up at her and said quietly, “You didn’t get the job.”

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Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The girl’s smile froze on her face.

“Excuse me?”

I closed her file and repeated, more loudly this time. “You didn’t get the job.”

The other interviewers exchanged glances. The partner on my left leaned in and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Ms. Smith, she’s only twenty two. National Mock Trial champion. Six published papers in top journals. She’s a star. Please reconsider.”

He whispered, but the room was too quiet. She heard.

She straightened up.

“I’ve made my decision,” I said, pushing the file aside. “Isabelle Harrington, you didn’t pass this interview. Please leave.”

Everyone stopped breathing.

Her composure finally cracked. She slammed both hands on the table and stood up.

“What do you mean?”

I didn’t answer. I just looked at her face. Her eyes, her nose, the line of her jaw. All painfully similar to an old photograph I had stared at for years.

My hands clenched.

Her brow furrowed in anger. “Do you know who I am?” she demanded. “My grandfather is Professor Emeritus of Law at State University. My grandmother is a renowned painter, a lifelong academician of the National Academy of Fine Arts. Both my parents were federal judges. Everyone in the legal world knows their names. I graduated first in my class from the best law school in the country.”

With every sentence, her confidence grew.

“Tell me,” she said, nearly looking down at me now, “what exactly am I missing?”

“Grades are only one factor,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “In this profession, I also care about character and a clean disciplinary record. As for your family, they don’t give you any extra credit here. Please leave.”

She stiffened. This was probably the first time anyone had ever rejected her so publicly. Her face flushed red.

“You’re maliciously targeting me!”

She snatched her papers and jabbed a finger at me. “Evelyn Smith, right? Just wait. One word from my grandfather, and you’ll never work in this industry again.”

She stormed out, shooting me a venomous look before slamming the door.

“Ms. Smith…” the other interviewers started.

I raised a hand. “Next candidate.”

The remaining three were excellent.

Back in my office, I had just set down their files when the senior partner, David Johnson, burst in.

“Evelyn, are you insane? Why did you cut Isabelle Harrington? Do you know who her family is? Her grandfather is Emeritus Professor of Law at State University and a longtime partner of this firm. Turning his granddaughter away has consequences.”

He spoke faster than usual. “Post the offer immediately. Now.”

“Too late.” I gave him a mocking look. “I’ve already returned her file.”

His face went blank. Then his phone rang. One glance at the caller ID changed his expression. He walked out without another word, throwing me a look that said, You have just started a war.

I wasn’t afraid. I had waited too long for this day.
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Stephen Chin
Stephen Chin
Revenge served cold
2026-06-06 16:29:04
0
0
8 Chapters
Chapter 1
The girl’s smile froze on her face.“Excuse me?”I closed her file and repeated, more loudly this time. “You didn’t get the job.”The other interviewers exchanged glances. The partner on my left leaned in and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Ms. Smith, she’s only twenty two. National Mock Trial champion. Six published papers in top journals. She’s a star. Please reconsider.”He whispered, but the room was too quiet. She heard.She straightened up.“I’ve made my decision,” I said, pushing the file aside. “Isabelle Harrington, you didn’t pass this interview. Please leave.”Everyone stopped breathing.Her composure finally cracked. She slammed both hands on the table and stood up.“What do you mean?”I didn’t answer. I just looked at her face. Her eyes, her nose, the line of her jaw. All painfully similar to an old photograph I had stared at for years.My hands clenched.Her brow furrowed in anger. “Do you know who I am?” she demanded. “My grandfather is Professor Emeritus of Law at State
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Chapter 2
I finished reviewing the other candidates’ files.The door opened. David Johnson walked back in, slightly hunched, escorting an elderly woman.“Ms. Smith, this is Isabelle’s grandmother, Mrs. Harrington.”He shot me a heavy, warning glare, then closed the door.I looked up.She wore a navy silk dress. Her silver hair was perfectly combed. Gold rimmed glasses sat on her nose. She was in her seventies but had barely any wrinkles, remarkably youthful.“Ms. Smith.” She sat down with the haughty posture of someone who had never known hardship. “My granddaughter wants to intern at your firm. Make it happen.”She slid a thick envelope across the desk.I looked at her hands. Plump and fair. An emerald ring on her finger. Those hands had never done a day of hard labor.But the real Garcia’s hands, my grandmother’s hands, were nothing like that. She had spent her life mending horse harnesses and patching overalls by the dim light of a kerosene lantern. Her knuckles were thick, her fingers wrappe
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Chapter 3
That evening, I walked into a quiet coffee shop.Daniel Harrington sat in a leather wingback chair. He was elderly now, heavyset, wearing a dark wool blazer.But I recognized him instantly. That face, those brows. Exactly like the faded photograph I had looked at for thirty years.“Professor Harrington.” I sat down across from him.He sipped his coffee, then looked up. “Ms. Smith. I have looked into you. A girl from the rural West, already so accomplished. Impressive.”He poured me a cup of coffee. “I came from the rural West too. I know how hard the struggle is. Whatever your concerns, I can assure you that Isabelle easily meets your standards. Say yes, and I promise you will go very far in this field.”His tone was light, patronizing. The ease of a man who had been powerful for decades.He looked at me with a smile.He did not recognize me. Not a flicker of recognition. Though everyone said I bore a strong resemblance to my grandmother.He had no idea I existed.“Professor Harrington
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Chapter 4
The next morning, the firm’s conference room had been transformed. A red banner stretched across the wall: Upholding Fair Hiring, Defending the Rule of Law.David Johnson and two other interviewers sat at the main table.Daniel Harrington and Mrs. Harrington sat in the guest section, with Isabelle between them.Journalists from every legal publication filled the room. Cameras lined up in two rows. Live streaming equipment blinked red.I sat in the coffee shop downstairs and opened my phone.The live stream began.David Johnson straightened his tie and walked to the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen of the press, thank you for coming. Today’s briefing concerns former partner Evelyn Smith’s malicious rejection of an outstanding candidate during our recruitment process.”He paused, frowning. “This firm has always stood for fairness and justice. After investigation, we confirmed that Ms. Smith eliminated the top ranked candidate, Isabelle Harrington, without valid reason. This is egregious.”T
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Chapter 5
Isabelle’s face froze for a second. Then she frowned, her eyes still red. “Ms. Smith, isn’t this going too far? Publicly slandering me?”I looked at her calmly. “Ms. Harrington, everyone says you’re brilliant. So tell me. In those six papers of yours, which cases, which legal principles, which books did you cite?”Her mouth opened. A flash of panic, quickly suppressed. “I won’t fall into your trap.”The comments cheered: Quick thinking!I nodded and stepped closer. “Then let me tell you. Your freshman year, you bought a term paper from a poor student. Sophomore year, another. Junior and senior years, two each. All six papers were written by students I have been mentoring pro bono. You took them and put your name on them. They didn’t dare speak up because you are Daniel Harrington’s granddaughter.”I pressed a remote control.The large screen showed the original documents for all six papers. Complete revision histories, late night comments, line by line edits. The real authors’ names we
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Chapter 6
For an instant, his composure cracked. His mouth tightened.But then he straightened, his gaze stern. “Ms. Smith, I don’t know what grudge you hold against my family. But everyone knows my wife and I have been devoted to each other for fifty years.”“Your wife?” I interrupted, pointing at the woman beside him. “Do you mean her, or the Garcia you left behind in that rural backwater?”Silence.His mouth twitched.The woman shot up. “Nonsense! Who are you to make up such lies!”I didn’t look at her. I pressed the remote again.A faded photograph appeared on the screen. A young woman with two braids, standing under an old cottonwood tree. She looked a lot like me. The resemblance was striking.I looked at Daniel Harrington. “Professor, do you remember this face?”He stared at the screen. His Adam’s apple bobbed once.“That’s just a young woman I knew during my time in the rural West. She had feelings for me, but I firmly rejected her. Don’t twist things with one photograph.”“Is that so?”
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Chapter 7
Her back was bent. She was barely fifty, but her hair was mostly gray.In her arms, she carried a black urn. On the urn, a photograph. My grandmother’s ashes.She walked step by step to the front. She raised her head and looked at Daniel Harrington.That face. It was his face.Silence. No one spoke. But the cameras flashed.Then my mother held up a piece of paper. Her birth certificate.It clearly showed 1976, the year Daniel Harrington left the rural West.Birth date: June 13th. The date matched the one in his letters.The comments exploded again.“That face. DNA not needed. They’re identical.”“What kind of monster abandons his pregnant wife in the rural West to become a professor?”“And he stood up there talking about fairness. How does he live with himself?”“And they taught their granddaughter this?”The viewership peaked.Daniel Harrington wiped his forehead, his voice shaking. “David! Shut down the live stream!”But David Johnson did not move.The stream had been promoted by the
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Chapter 8
Sirens. Growing closer.Two police officers entered. “Daniel Harrington and Lily Jones. You are under arrest for identity fraud and unlawful assumption of another’s legal rights.”Handcuffs clicked onto his wrists.As they led him away, he looked back at the urn in my mother’s arms.“Forgive me, Garcia. Forgive me.”Fifty years too late.My grandmother could not hear him.But that was all right.I had evened the score.That night, State University issued a formal statement. Daniel Harrington was permanently dismissed, all honors revoked, and referred for criminal prosecution.The National Academy of Fine Arts announced that Lily Jones had her membership revoked, all titles revoked, and was permanently banned from rejoining.Isabelle Harrington had her degrees rescinded and was banned from the legal profession for life.I read each notice, then turned off my phone.My mother sat beside me. Her hands were still shaking. They had been shaking ever since she walked into that room.I took h
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