**THE OTHER WILL**
Dad always favored Michael. It was subtle, unspoken, but we all knew it. More opportunities, bigger birthday gifts… it ate at me for years. Now, sitting in the lawyer’s office after the reading of the *first* will, I felt that familiar sting. Michael inherited the house. I got the old watch.
Then Mr. Henderson cleared his throat. “There’s…another document. Found tucked away in Mr. Davies’ safety deposit box.” He adjusted his glasses, his voice suddenly strained. “This one names a different beneficiary. All assets.”
⬇️
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. All assets? To *who*? The room, previously suffocating with the weight of injustice, now felt charged with a volatile electricity. Michael, his face a mask of smugness moments before, paled. His carefully cultivated composure cracked, revealing a raw, terrified vulnerability beneath.
Mr. Henderson unfolded the second will, his hands trembling slightly. He cleared his throat again, the sound echoing in the hushed office. “The beneficiary… is… Eleanor Davies.”
Eleanor Davies. My mother. Dead for fifteen years. A wave of nausea washed over me. This was insane. Impossible. My father, the stoic, reserved man who barely tolerated sentimentality, had left everything to a ghost?
Michael erupted. “This is ridiculous! A forgery! This will is invalid!” His voice, usually controlled and measured, was shrill with desperation. He launched himself towards the lawyer, his eyes blazing. “You must have made a mistake! This isn’t right!”
Mr. Henderson remained calm, his gaze steady. “The document is authentic, Mr. Davies. It’s dated a year before your mother’s passing and bears her undeniable signature, confirmed by forensic analysis.” He produced a small, leather-bound book from his briefcase. “This is your father’s personal journal. He details his reasons for leaving everything to his wife in this last entry. It also explains the circumstances surrounding the initial will. A complex situation involving a business deal gone wrong, and a fear of jeopardizing what he’d worked for.”
The journal entry revealed a desperate attempt by my father to protect his legacy from a powerful, ruthless business rival. He’d believed, wrongly as it turned out, that the first will would shield his assets from seizure, a desperate measure that caused years of silent regret and unspoken pain between him and his sons. The second will, a secret insurance policy, was meant to eventually be revealed.
The journal entry continued, “If I cannot protect my family from the claws of greed, I’d rather they have nothing than to fall into the hands of those who’d take it all and never hesitate to destroy my work in the process.”
The last line struck me with a force I couldn’t comprehend. My father’s rival, a name subtly woven into the journal, was none other than Michael’s business partner, a man we both considered a close friend.
Michael’s face crumpled. He didn’t scream or shout. He simply slumped in his chair, defeated. The truth, brutally revealed, was far worse than the injustice he’d believed to have suffered. The years of subtle favoritism, the better gifts, weren’t evidence of partiality, but carefully orchestrated distractions. A smoke screen to hide the true danger lurking in the shadows. He’d inadvertently inherited his father’s enemy, his partner a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
As for me, I left the office with a profound sense of unease. The inheritance, though substantial, felt poisoned. The “all assets” weren’t merely financial; they included a legacy of deceit and betrayal, leaving a bitter taste far outweighing the sweetness of sudden wealth. The problem was resolved, yet the drama was far from over. The battle for my father’s legacy had only just begun, a battle fought not in courtrooms, but in the shadows of ambition and greed.