#The one Man security man you will be tel for you .will are not allowed in sight home .but rich.

**Title: The Sentinel of Shadows**

In the dim glow of surveillance monitors, Victor Morse watched his home.

He hadn’t stepped inside in seven years. Not since the will. His uncle’s fortune—a sprawling estate, stocks, gold—had come with a stipulation: *“Guard the house. Never be seen on its grounds. Violate this, and all reverts to charity.”* A twisted game from a man who’d loved riddles.

Victor’s security booth, a steel pod buried in the woods half a mile away, hummed with infrared feeds and motion trackers. He’d become a ghost, surviving on frozen meals and the electric buzz of screens. The estate’s alarms were his symphony; the flicker of deer on cameras, his companionship. Wealth had bought him silence.

But tonight, the west parlor camera glitched.

A shadow flitted—*human*. Victor’s pulse spiked. No one should be there. He zoomed in. Empty. Then, a child’s laugh crackled through the audio feed. His uncle had died childless.

For years, Victor had resisted the urge to break the rule. Now, the mystery clawed at him. Grabbing a flashlight, he sprinted through the pines, breath fogging the air. The mansion loomed, its windows eyes. The front door creaked open—unlocked.

Inside, dust sheets draped furniture like specters. The laugh echoed again, upstairs. Victor climbed, each step a drumbeat. In the attic, a projector whirred, casting home videos on the wall: his uncle, younger, bouncing a dark-haired boy on his knee. A nephew Victor never knew existed.

A voice behind him: “Hello, cousin.”

Victor spun. The man in the doorway held a lawyer’s letter. *“In the event of Victor’s trespass…”*

The screens in his booth went dark that night. By dawn, the charity vans arrived. Victor watched from a distance, pockets empty, finally free.

He’d traded gold for ghosts. Now, he walked home.

---
**Themes**: Isolation, greed, #