So when he died and left me a single old-fashioned $100 coupon from a store I’d never heard of, I assumed it was a joke. Still, I kept it in my wallet for a week, unable to throw away what felt like his final prank. Eventually, curiosity won, and I decided to visit the store printed on the coupon.

Inside the small, forgotten shop, everything seemed normal — until the cashier saw the coupon. Her face drained of color, and the manager rushed me into a back office filled with binders labeled “LEGACY COUPONS.” He explained that only five of these coupons were ever printed in 1972, part of a secret founders’ program that seemed to bring strange, life-altering consequences to whoever redeemed them. The stories were unbelievable: marriages, fortunes, disappearances, bestselling authors — all tied to one coupon. And mine was the only one left unused.

Shaken but intrigued, I redeemed it on an antique camera worth exactly $99.99. The moment I left the store, things shifted — the camera hummed, strangers stared like they recognized me, and a black sedan began appearing outside my home. Soon the camera revealed its true nature: it didn’t take pictures of the present, but of possibilities. A click could teleport me, expose secrets, open doors that didn’t exist, or erase threats that came knocking. Each photograph was a choice, a branching path — and someone out there clearly knew I had it.

Digging through my grandpa’s old journal, I learned he had guarded the camera his entire life, refusing to misuse it or let it fall into dangerous hands. He passed it to me because he believed I wouldn’t exploit it — that I would choose carefully. Now I move through the world differently, taking pictures only when I’m ready for the consequences. My grandfather’s final gift wasn’t a joke after all. It was a doorway. A warning. And a responsibility that changed everything.