Chapter 4

The attorney opened the file.

A hush fell over the living room, and even the sound of cracking salted peanuts came to a halt.

"The Last Will and Testament of Mr. Richard Montgomery, drawn up on March 7, 2024," he began. "I, Richard Montgomery, being of sound mind, do hereby make this will as follows."

My sister-in-law leaned forward in anticipation.

"Item One: The property located at 458 Oak Avenue, Midtown District, shall go to the eldest son, Arthur."

Arthur smiled. The corners of his mouth twitched upward, though he quickly tried to suppress the expression. My sister-in-law grabbed his hand and gave it a hard, excited squeeze.

"Item Two: The savings in the First Continental Bank account shall go to the second daughter, Beatrice."

Beatrice lowered her head, dabbing a tissue to the corner of her eye. I saw her lips twitch, though; she was already calculating the total in that account. I was running the numbers, too. Our father's pension had been generous—over seven thousand a month. Combined with his previous savings, the balance had to be at least four or five hundred thousand.

The atmosphere in the living room shifted subtly. Arthur and Beatrice had both received their shares, leaving only me. The gazes of several relatives drifted my way, filled with curiosity and a trace of pity.

The attorney continued reading.

"Item Three—" He paused, glancing up at me. "Elias—Nothing."

Two words. So brief, so quiet, yet they smashed against my heart with a crushing weight.

The living room stayed dead silent for a couple of seconds.

Then, my sister-in-law laughed. She simply couldn't hold it in, covering her mouth as her shoulders shook with amusement. Arthur coughed, his face masking a poorly concealed smugness. Beatrice kept her head down, though her tear-wiping paused as the corners of her mouth curled upward.

Soon, the relatives joined in, whispering among themselves.

"Tsk tsk..."

"Makes sense, I suppose..."

"Richard really is..."

My great-aunt glanced at me, hesitating as if she wanted to speak. Uncle Albert took a slow sip from his teacup, saying absolutely nothing.

I sat in the furthest chair, my hands resting on my knees, my nails digging deeply into my flesh.

1,095 days.

Three years, 365 days a year.

Fourteen hours a day.

I had quit my job. I had lost my girlfriend. I had worn out three wheelchairs and ended up with a herniated disc in my lower back.

And what I got in return—was the word "Nothing."

The attorney closed the folder.

"The above represents the entirety of Mr. Richard Montgomery's will." He cast another fleeting glance in my direction. "Please confirm the details and sign, everyone."

Arthur had already picked up his pen.

"Where do I sign?"