An Unexpected Will Named Me a Beneficiary, but the Legacy Came with a Catch — Today’s Tale

I attended the reading of Mr. Morrison’s will only to learn that I was the recipient of a substantial estate. My shock was immeasurable, especially since I had never met Mr. Morrison. More bewildering was a stipulation in the will that not only stunned me but ultimately transformed my life.

I was in my modest leased flat, boxed in by cartons. Fatigue overwhelmed me as my landlord had just notified me that I needed to leave within two days.

Facing tight work deadlines, this news was a harsh blow. I glanced at a note from the school regarding the play I was managing and the endless alerts on my phone.

“This is unbelievable,” I murmured, covering my face with my hands. “What am I supposed to do now?”

The noise of the mail slot snapping open broke my train of thought. The postman handed me an envelope from a solicitor, stirring up more dread than excitement.

“Who might this be from? What trouble have I stumbled into now?” I pondered aloud.

Ripping open the envelope, I read the contents. It summoned me to the will reading of one Mr. Edward Morrison. Bewilderment and surprise washed over me.

“Edward Morrison? Who is he?” I questioned internally. “Why would I be mentioned in his will?”

My mind was abuzz with questions. This man was unknown to me, yet here I was, called to a will reading as if by some peculiar twist of destiny.

“It seems I have no choice but to see what this is about,” I reasoned, attempting to quell my anxiety.

Upon reaching an aged mansion, both majestic and slightly worn, its walls overgrown with vines, I paused before entering.

Inside, in the spacious lounge, I encountered the individual who would alter my life. He stood tall and stern, his eyes narrowing upon noticing me. The air was tense, and his intense gaze was palpable.

“I’m James, Edward Morrison’s son,” he declared from a white sofa, making no move to rise or offer a handshake. “Who are you, and how did you know my father?”

“I’m Catherine Green,” I responded, maintaining composure. “I never met him.”

James’s eyes narrowed even more. “Then why are you here?”

Taken aback by his brusqueness, I thought, “How dare he address me so rudely?”

“I was invited by a solicitor,” I retorted with conviction. “I’m as eager to understand what’s happening as you are. Perhaps you could extend some courtesy, out of respect for your father, who felt it necessary for us to meet.”

James grunted, clearly displeased, but remained silent.

Before further exchange, the lawyer entered with a folder, apologized for his delay, and began the will reading.

“Mr. Edward Morrison has left his estate to James Morrison and Catherine Green,” the lawyer declared. “Under the condition that both must reside here together for one year. Leaving early means forfeiting your inheritance.”

James and I looked at each other warily. I sensed his irritation, mirroring my own.

James muttered, “This is ridiculous. I’ll sort this out.”

He then left the room abruptly.

Standing there, I was stunned by the news.

Co-habitate with this disagreeable man? It seemed like a cruel joke.

Yet, with no alternatives and my life unraveling, the risk might be worth taking.

The lawyer, organizing his documents, remarked, “I’ll call tomorrow with more details. The will’s terms activate the day after proclamation.”

“Why was I included in his will?” I dared to ask.

“Oh, Miss Green, that remains unknown. But Mr. Morrison was a kind man. Don’t fret, all will be well,” he reassured.

“What should I do now?” I inquired.

“You’re already here,” he responded. “Just bring your belongings tomorrow by 10. See you then.”

Leaving the house, I spent a long while in the garden among the roses, attempting to soothe my mind before my final night in the apartment. My life had indeed changed irrevocably.

The next day, the lawyer handed me the house keys and provided contacts for its upkeep, as per Mr. Morrison’s directive.

James was absent; the lawyer mentioned meeting him separately. We exchanged goodbyes, and I was left alone with my suitcases.

I arranged my belongings in a room of the mansion, its grandeur obscured by dust and neglect. As I uncovered the furniture, clouds of dust billowed, revealing the aged but magnificent woodwork beneath.

“This place is astonishing,” I whispered, admiring the detailed wood carvings. “It’s hard to believe I’m living here.”

As I organized my wardrobe, the surreal nature of my situation was palpable.

“Why would Mr. Morrison leave this to me and James?” I pondered, sitting on the bed’s edge. The house echoed with each creak, eerie yet captivating.

“It seems I’ll need to get accustomed to these sounds,” I spoke aloud, lightening the mood.

Later, contemplating James, I strolled through the unkempt garden and found him on a bench, absorbed in the wild flora.

“So, you chose to stay,” he remarked without looking up.

“Yes, I need to figure things out,” I replied, taking a seat.

James faced me, his expression severe. “This is my home. I grew up here. I don’t plan to share the inheritance with you.”

“Listen,” I said, striving for calm. “I didn’t plan to stay long, but now I’m here to assert my right. I deserve decent living conditions as well, and I won’t be driven away.”

James smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

I returned to my room, unwilling to prolong the conversation with such an unpleasant individual. After a while, I turned off the light, seeking peace. Yet, the mansion had other ideas for the night.

Awakened by odd noises, I ventured to investigate, curiosity mingled with fear.

The power outage led me to the kitchen for a kerosene lamp. With light in hand, I traced the unsettling sounds to the second floor.

The noise grew, resembling eerie wails. In the guest bedroom, I found a record player responsible for the disturbance.

“James!” I exclaimed, realizing his mischief.

Furious, I sought him out. In the dim hallway, our paths crossed—James, his face oddly lit by a red flashlight, was pulling faces.

“I’ll keep this up until you leave,” he taunted.

“You’re being childish,” I countered. “Your games won’t intimidate me.”

Just then, another strange sound echoed.

“Is this another one of your pranks?” I demanded.

“No, it’s not,” James admitted, looking confused.

Following a darting cat, we bickered down a narrow corridor.

“Move, you’re blocking me!” I snapped.

“You’re in the way,” James retorted.

We reached a closet filled with old tools and began searching for the source of the annoying creak. James’s impatient stomping caused the floorboards to crack loudly.

Suddenly, the floor gave way, and we plummeted into a hidden compartment below, landing among old books and personal items marked with Mr. Morrison’s initials.

“Look what you’ve done!” James accused.

“It was your stomping,” I argued.

As we unearthed more of Mr. Morrison’s belongings, our bickering subsided, replaced by a growing realization of his presence.

I uncovered an old journal, emblazoned with Morrison’s initials.

“This could be interesting,” I remarked, flipping it open.

“You shouldn’t read someone’s diary! Hand it over,” James insisted, taking it and beginning to read.

“This is bizarre. Dad writes about Jane, his beloved… but my mother was Audrey. This isn’t right.”

“My mother was named Jane,” I softly added.

Together, we delved into the pages, uncovering a truth that silently enveloped us. As we finished, a cat sauntered in, settling between us, purring as if to ease the newfound tension.

In this dusty hideaway, Mr. Morrison had concealed a secret that had led us both to this very house.

James and I kept our distance for several days. Buried in work and school preparations, my mind raced with thoughts of Mr. Morrison, who was no mere stranger but now a part of my history.

The night before the play, James knocked on my door.

“Fancy a walk?” he suggested, appearing unsure.

“Sure, I could use some air,” I agreed, eager for a break.

Our walk through the blooming garden was silent until James finally spoke.

“So, you’re my sister?” he ventured.

“It appears so. It’s a lot to absorb,” I acknowledged, settling on a bench.

“He kept a diary until his demise. How did it end up in that basement?” I mused.

“I think it fell through a floor crack, right where we fell,” James theorized, gazing at the stars.

“That makes sense,” I sighed, contemplating the enigma.

“Catherine, Dad found you but couldn’t introduce us. He left that will hoping we’d meet. Perhaps he wanted us to discover that diary,” James reflected.

“Perhaps,” I concurred. “He might have wanted us to find our bond on our terms.”

“What now?” he asked softly.

“I’ve never had a sister. Dad loved two women, and likely his children too. I accept that now,” James confessed quietly.

“I want you to stay,” he added.

“We shouldn’t ignore family or hold onto our parents’ errors,” I noted, feeling at peace.

“Let’s dine. I’m cooking tonight,” James proposed, helping me up. “I’m training as a chef.”

“Really? That’s a surprise. So, you’re creative too?” I smiled, accepting his hand.

“What do you mean ‘too’?” he inquired as we returned to the mansion.

“I direct school plays,” I explained.

Our kitchen conversation revealed shared interests in music, books, and art, making us feel unexpectedly connected.

“And I enjoy tasting dishes,” I joked. “Your culinary skills are quite the asset here.”

“Then stay,” James urged, his enthusiasm evident as he prepared dinner. “Stay for at least a year, and we’ll see where life leads.”

“I’ll stay,” I smiled, stealing a slice of avocado.

“Dinner’s ready,” he announced, setting the table meticulously.

We dined, planning to rejuvenate the mansion, considering community events, and perhaps hosting cooking and theater workshops.

The mansion felt increasingly like home, filled with hopes and plans.

“This is just the beginning,” I remarked, hopeful, enjoying the meal.

“Yes, it is,” James agreed. “Together, we’ll turn this place into a home.”

Our laughter and shared dreams infused the old house with new life, promising a future bright with possibilities. We discussed dreams and aspirations, now as siblings, imagining what we might achieve together in this grand residence.

Share