The Inheritance Paradox
Copyright© 2026 by aroslav
Chapter 2
Time Travel Sex Story: Chapter 2 - A gripping tale of time travel, family secrets, and redemption. Nathaniel Holbrook uncovers his father’s extraordinary past, spanning centuries and shaping humanity’s future, while confronting profound truths about legacy, love, and identity. A thought-provoking journey through time, history, and the enduring bonds of family.
Caution: This Time Travel Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Historical Time Travel
THE FOLLOWING SUNDAY was bright and clear. It looked like the last vestiges of winter had gone and spring had finally arrived. Mom wanted us over for a big family dinner. Zach, Lisa, Brenda, and I all figured we’d be doing more packing after the meal.
“This is so much work, Mom,” Brenda said.
“We’ll need a good meal in order to have the energy to work this afternoon,” Mom replied.
“After a meal of your pot roast, we’ll probably all go to sleep,” I said.
“Oh, I just love to serve a family dinner,” Mom said. “I don’t think there’s really room to serve us all in the cottage. I’m going to enjoy doing it while I can.”
“If you really want to cook for the family, you can come to our house,” I said.
“Could she, Dad? I want to learn to make this pot roast thingy,” Lisa said.
I wasn’t sure how, at sixteen, she suddenly developed a domestic streak to go along with her scientific and business side. She was an excellent student, and I was sure she’d follow in Megan’s footsteps with some kind of super-scientific study of atomic medicine. I should be used to it by now. My daughter was a constant stream of surprises.
“Of course, honey,” I said. “Grandma and Grandpa are actually going to live two miles closer to us after they move. I’m sure they’ll be over all the time.”
“Don’t make it sound like we’ll have nothing else to do in our lives,” Dad said. “We already have friends who live over there. That’s one of the reasons we chose Liberty Manor. Independent living while we’ll still have staff to do things like the yard work and maintenance. Poor Zach won’t be drafted into mowing every week during the summer.”
“I don’t mind, Gramps,” my son chimed in. “I’m looking forward to tuning up the mower this afternoon and getting the first cutting done. I want to make sure the blade is sharp and the engine is clean.”
As intellectual as my daughter was, Zach was mechanically inclined. I wouldn’t argue with that.
“I don’t know where you get your mechanical ability,” Dad said. “God knows your father and grandfather don’t have a bit of it. Worthless college degrees and careers doing something completely different.”
“What was your degree in, anyway, Dad?” I asked.
He’d never mentioned his college life, and I thought this might be a place where I could start getting more information about his life.
“Basket weaving. Kept me out of the Army,” Dad said, evading the issue again.
“Grandma, how did you and Grandpa meet?” Lisa asked. “Did you meet in college?”
My kids must be just as curious about their grandparents as I was.
“He was my knight in shining armor. Here’s a lesson for you: Stay away from places you know aren’t safe!” Mom said. “It happened that both of us were in a place where neither one of us had any business being. That’s all I’ll say about that. The thing is, when I left, I was followed and those three men were going to make sure I didn’t get home. Sure enough, I was grabbed as soon as I was out of sight of the front door. All of a sudden, your grandfather came charging in and pushed them away, dragging me off before they could catch us. All that just so he could ask me out on a date.”
“Shining armor?” I chuckled.
“All right. My black knight. He always wore black back then,” Mom said.
Zach headed to the garage to get the lawn mower out. The women all shooed Dad and me away so they could talk ‘girl-talk’ while they cleaned up the dishes. A little sexist, I thought, but it was the way they worked. Dad and I went to the library.
Mom and Dad’s house was old—like more than a century—and had been added onto in different stages that gave it that quirky feeling of not all being on quite the same level. It wasn’t a mansion, but Dad had separated one room out as his book room. He had a writing desk in it where he sat to pay his bills. I’d set him up with a laptop computer and a tablet reader, but aside from checking his bank accounts each morning, he didn’t really use either one of the computers. The real focus of the room was the shelves and shelves of books. Dad just loved books of all kinds. When we were little, he’d call us into the library in the evening and read to us. I could still see Meg and me, sitting on the arms of his big chair as he read to us.
There was an overhead light fixture that we flipped on when we went in so we could see what we were doing, but usually there were just the desk lamp and reading lamp turned on. There were a few open boxes in the room, and I could see some bare spots on the shelves.
“Are you getting rid of all your books, Dad?” I asked. If he was, they’d go straight to my own little study. It wasn’t as big as his library, but I came naturally by my love for books.
“Heavens, no! But we won’t have room for all of them in the cottage. I’m sorting them out and you can help me.”
“Sure, Dad. Why so many boxes open at once?”
“First, there are books I’ve never read and really don’t care about. That’s the box by the door. You know, sometimes a book looks good in the bookstore, but you just never get around to cracking the cover. Then your interests change a little and that book no longer has the same appeal it had when you bought it.”
I looked in the box by the door. There were only half a dozen books in that box.
“If you decide you want some of those, you get first choice. The rest, we can give to the library. I doubt we’d get much for them in a sale. Most of them are brand new, even though they might be fifteen or twenty years old.”
“Okay. Just tell me when you have a book for this box and I check it out.” I knew already this box would go straight home with me.
“Right. Now, the box on my desk chair is for books I’ve never read, but I intend to. These are going to the cottage.”
I looked and in addition to the box on his chair, there was a full box on the floor next to it.
“We should inventory them as we’re sorting,” I suggested. “Just a spreadsheet with title and author. It would be sort of our own card catalog of the Holbrook Library.”
“You can do that. I know the books on my shelves. Which brings me to books I’ve read and doubt I’ll ever look at again. But I might. So, I’m getting them ready to go to storage. Maybe if they are out of my sight for a couple of years, I’ll forget about them,” Dad said. “I know it’s silly, but I’ll spend a little to have a storage room where I know some of the things I think are valuable are kept, even if I never go there.”
“I get it, Dad. You know, I still have all my writing and philosophy textbooks? I’ve never even thought about getting rid of them. It took me about two seconds to get rid of my calculus textbook,” I laughed.
“You’ve got a good start on a library of your own. Maybe someday you’ll want some of these books.” He turned to the box on his desk. “This box is for collector items.” He’d really only just begun pulling books off the shelves and seemed to have done it randomly so far. “I want these where I can enjoy just looking at them. I have several books signed by the authors. A few are first editions, back in the day when that meant something. And there are some that I happened on in sales or used bookstores. Take a look at this uncut edition of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. It and several others were part of my father’s poetry collection.”
“What do you mean, uncut?”
“Look at the pages. Two deckle edges, but the top edge is a fold. The book was bound before the top of the pages was trimmed. It’s a nice gold-embossed leather binding, too. A fellow book lover was sitting with me one day and offered me $1,500 for it.”
“Why didn’t you sell it?”
“I figured if he was willing to snap off an offer like that, it was probably worth a lot more. I don’t really know, though,” Dad said.
“That makes sense. Any other boxes?”
“This one. I’m trying to be conservative about what goes into this one, but these are books I’ve read and I’m pretty sure I’ll read again. They just spoke to me. Maybe it’s been ten or twenty years since I read it, but I want it nearby. They will go with me to the new place,” he said.