**THE MISSING WILL**
Dad’s lawyer called this morning, his voice tight. “We need to discuss the estate. Immediately.” It was weird. Dad died months ago. Everything was supposed to be settled.
At the office, Mrs. Henderson, the lawyer, looked grim. “The original will…it’s gone. Vanished. All we have is a photocopy.” My brother, Mark, sat stone-faced across the table. He’s always been Dad’s favorite.
The copy leaves everything to me. Which means… ⬇️
The copy leaves everything to me. Which means… Mark’s jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with barely suppressed fury. “That’s impossible,” he snarled, his voice a low growl. “Dad would never have done that. He always favoured me.”
Mrs. Henderson, a woman whose composure could withstand a hurricane, subtly shifted in her chair. “The photocopy is certified, Mr. Thompson. It’s legally sound, albeit… unusual. There’s no indication of foul play, but the absence of the original is undeniably problematic.”
The implication hung heavy in the air: someone had stolen the original will. And the suspicion, sharp and pointed, fell squarely on Mark. He had the most to lose. I, on the other hand, felt a strange mix of fear and exhilaration. I’d never expected this inheritance, and now, it felt tainted.
Over the next few weeks, the seemingly straightforward matter unravelled into a tangled web of accusations and simmering resentments. Mark, fueled by a righteous indignation that bordered on hysteria, hired his own lawyer, a shark named Mr. Silas, who promised to “tear this whole charade apart.” He subtly suggested I’d orchestrated the disappearance of the will. The pressure was suffocating.
Then came the twist. During a heated argument in the lawyer’s office, Mark revealed a hidden resentment. He confessed to a secret falling-out with Dad over a business venture, one Dad had vehemently opposed. He’d discovered Dad had secretly willed the majority of his assets to a charity, a fact not mentioned in the photocopy.
“He changed his mind!” Mark yelled, his voice cracking. “He wanted to punish me! This whole thing… it’s a setup!”
His words hit me like a punch. The charity in question was one Dad had frequently volunteered at, a home for neglected animals. The image of Dad, kind and gentle, clashed violently with the image of a scheming, vengeful man Mark had painted.
The next shock came from Mrs. Henderson. She produced a second photocopy, tucked away in a forgotten file. This copy, though older, named Mark as the sole beneficiary. It was the original will. The first copy, the one leaving everything to me, was a forgery, a cleverly executed copy of the original made before Dad’s final, undisclosed amendment.
The air in the room thickened. Silas, the seasoned lawyer, looked stunned. Mark, initially triumphant, now stared at his brother with confusion and hurt.
It wasn’t me. But it wasn’t Mark, either. The forger was someone who knew both wills existed, someone who’d skillfully created a conflict to mask their own misdeeds. The question remained open: who forged the second will and why? The mystery of the missing original will remained unsolved, leaving a bitter taste of betrayal and a lingering uncertainty in its wake. The inheritance, now a battleground of suspicion and half-truths, had irrevocably fractured the family, its future clouded by a secret that seemed destined to remain hidden. The ending, far from offering resolution, created a chilling cliffhanger, a silent question mark hanging heavy over the siblings’ future.