Chapter One — Pineapple Farm Story: An Untold Story from Hollywood Dream
Chapter One — The Paradise My Grandfather Left Behind
Jake Harris was your typical city man. Crushed in the morning rush, lost among countless faces during the commute, grabbing the same latte at the same café, and sinking into his sofa every weekend to binge Netflix. It was a life that carried a quiet, creeping exhaustion—one that didn’t quite have a name.
That day, while checking his emails, a name he didn’t recognize caught his eye.
Whitman & Co. Attorneys
Jake hesitated for a moment, then clicked it open.
“Dear Mr. Harris, it is our duty to inform you that your late grandfather, Harris Jr., recently passed away. You are entitled to the inheritance of his pineapple plantation in the tropics. Should you decline, arrangements for its sale can be made. We recommend that you visit the property in person first.”
Jake sank into his chair. Pineapple plantation? The tropics? His grandfather? A place he had never seen, barely imagined.
“So… Grandfather… he’s gone,” he murmured.
Memories of childhood summers returned unbidden: a tropical island, endless blue seas, orchards, the smell of sun-warmed soil and fruit… He wanted to see it again, with his own eyes.
“Alright… I’ll go see it,” he decided.
A few days later, Jake boarded a plane to the tropics. Outside the window, the ocean and sky stretched in a riot of blues—a world he had never touched before, filling him with a thrill city life had long denied him.
Stepping off the plane, he was immediately enveloped by the humid, fragrant air. The sun beat down without mercy. Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze. The mingled scent of saltwater and lush plants filled his lungs. Life itself seemed to vibrate here—a feeling the concrete jungle had never offered.
The plantation was an hour’s drive from the airport. Along the way, Jake glimpsed villagers leading simple, unhurried lives: barefoot children darting across the road, chickens and goats crossing without care. His heart raced, a mix of nervousness and anticipation.
Passing through the plantation gate, he stopped, breathless. The land was immaculate. No weeds. Dark, moist soil. Pineapple plants arranged in perfect rows, gleaming under the sun. Sheds and warehouses were freshly painted. Even the paths between plots were meticulously maintained.
“…It’s… beautiful,” he whispered.
His grandfather’s cherished land lay before him, preserved in its full glory.
A voice called from behind: “We’ve been waiting for you, Jake.”
Turning, he saw a man with a small monkey perched on his shoulder.
“I’m Tony,” the man said. “I’ve been helping manage this plantation for years. I’d been told the former owner was expecting you to come, and I’ve been looking forward to it.”
Jake’s mouth twitched in awkward uncertainty. The warm welcome, the anticipation in Tony’s eyes—he didn’t know how to respond.
Tony smiled and handed him an envelope. “This was kept safe for you, from the former owner. Your grandfather’s last words.”
Jake’s hands trembled as he took it. The letter spoke of decades of toil, of cultivating untamed land in a distant tropical place, of love and care embedded in every plant and path. And then, in a small, apologetic hand:
“Take care of the plantation.”
A quiet, piercing weight settled in his chest. He had no farming experience, no knowledge of agriculture. Could he truly protect this land?
“What right do I have… without even knowing the circumstances…”
Confusion and anxiety pressed against him. His hometown obligations, a tightly packed work schedule, a vacation snatched merely to see this land—now he found himself caught in an unspoken expectation to become its new steward.
Tony placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’re not alone. Local friends, neighboring plantation owners—they’ll all help. Together, we’ll protect this land.”
That evening, a small welcome gathering was held. Local residents, neighboring plantation owners, and children. Dishes and tropical fruits lined tiny tables. The atmosphere was warm, full of smiles.
Jake sat at the edge of the table, inwardly frowning.
—Great… I never intended to inherit anything, yet everyone seems to think I’m the new owner…
Margaret, an elderly woman, recounted stories of the former owner. “Every detail—from soil management to the spacing of the plants—was carefully calculated. Protecting this plantation is also a lesson in living harmoniously with nature.”
Makoto, a Japanese-descended young man, showed off a set of old tools. “Don’t worry if something breaks. I can fix it.” Jake quickly understood this was a capable young man.
Tony, his expression briefly serious, leaned in. “Jake, there’s something you should know. A company—Tropical Industries—is looking to acquire land in this region. They’re big, and they have their eyes set on this area…”
A neighboring owner lightly tapped Tony’s shoulder, chuckling. “Save that for tomorrow, Tony. This is a welcome party, not a board meeting.”
Tony chuckled sheepishly and shifted the topic. “Right, let’s enjoy the evening.”
After dinner, the children grew bored of adult conversation and began a small craft project indoors.
“This necklace—Grandpa made it from pineapple leaves!” one girl said. Others showed off trinkets they had made, giggling and laughing.
Jake smiled, though inwardly he still frowned.
—Unbelievable… I never planned to inherit, yet everyone is treating me as if I already have…
He quietly slipped outside. The tropical night breeze brushed his skin. Palm leaves cast dancing shadows. He gazed up at the stars, feeling the awkward weight of his unexpected position.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. A notification from work. Subject line:
—“Termination Notice”
To be continued.
