My mother inherited my grandfather’s antique furniture. My father received his carefully curated collection of ties and bow ties. I was left a generous sum intended to support my education.
Then my mother frowned.
“What about the rest?” she asked. “Dad always said most of it would go toward Clara’s studies.”
The lawyer paused and adjusted his glasses.
“There is another bequest,” he said carefully. “Arthur Bellamy left three hundred and fifty thousand dollars—and his vintage automobile—to his neighbor, Harold Finch.”
The room erupted.
