Chapter 3 - The Reading of the Will
Three days later, I sat in the grand, suffocatingly opulent library of the Sterling estate. The funeral had been a masterclass in performative grief. My mother, Eleanor, had worn a black designer veil, dabbing tearless eyes for the society reporters, while my uncle Robert gave a booming eulogy about Grandpa’s “unmatched legacy.”
I sat in the back row, my blood boiling. I knew the truth. Or, at least, I knew enough to know these people were monsters.
Now, the family was gathered for the reading of the will. Grandpa’s attorney, a stern, gray-haired man named Mr. Vance, sat at the head of the long oak table, breaking the wax seal on a thick manila envelope.
My sister Victoria was practically vibrating with excitement. “Let’s just get to the point, Vance,” she snapped, swirling a glass of scotch. “We all know Robert takes over as CEO, and the rest of the liquid assets are split evenly between us.”
Cousin Julian smirked. “I already put a down payment on a yacht in Monaco. Let’s hear the numbers.”
My mother glanced at me, her lip curling in disgust. “I assume my father left Elias a small stipend. Enough to keep him out of our hair and in the slums where he belongs.”
Mr. Vance adjusted his glasses. He looked around the room, his expression unreadable. “Arthur Sterling’s final will and testament is quite brief,” he stated. He cleared his throat and began to read.
“To my children and grandchildren: For years, I have watched you squander the Sterling name. I have watched you trade integrity for greed, and family for status. Therefore, my final distribution of wealth was already handled. The checks given at Thanksgiving dinner constitute the entirety of your inheritance. The rest of my corporate shares, estates, and assets have been permanently liquidated and donated to charity.”
The room erupted.
“What?!” Uncle Robert roared, slamming his fists on the table. “That’s impossible! He can’t do that!”
Victoria dropped her scotch glass, shattering it on the Persian rug. “The checks? The $10 million checks? We threw them away! They were a joke!”
“They were entirely legitimate,” Mr. Vance replied calmly. “Drawn from a secure, private trust. Had you deposited them, you would each be ten million dollars wealthier today. However, since the expiration window was set to 48 hours, any uncashed checks are now void.”
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My mother’s face turned a horrifying shade of purple. She looked like she was going to have a stroke. Then, slowly, her eyes darted across the table and locked onto me.
“Elias,” she whispered, her voice dripping with venom. “You didn’t throw yours away. You took it. You cashed it, didn’t you?”
