I Survived A Car Crash After Inheriting $80m
We hadn’t spoken in four years. She was the golden child; I was the family disappointment. But she didn’t know about Aunt Martha’s will yet.
Three days later, the probate registry went public.
Brenda strutted in wearing a pristine cream blazer. No flowers. No balloon. Just a predatory, practiced smile.
Right behind her was a tall man in a tailored charcoal suit holding a leather briefcase.
“You look terrible,” Brenda laughed, her eyes scanning my IV drip. “But don’t worry. I brought help.”
She pulled the man forward.
“This is Travis,” she purred. “He’s a senior managing partner at Oakmont Wealth. He’s going to take control of the estate so you don’t do anything stupid while you’re pumped full of painkillers.”
My blood ran cold. She wasn’t here to check on me. She brought a corporate shark to con me into signing away my inheritance.
Travis stepped up to my bed, flashing a blinding, arrogant smile.
“It’s a pleasure to step in and help family,” he said smoothly. He pulled a thick stack of Power of Attorney forms from his briefcase and dropped them on my tray table. “If you just sign the bottom line, I can take this entire financial burden off your hands.”
Instead, I used my good arm to flip open the manila folder my own lawyer had dropped off ten minutes earlier.
I slid the finalized, signed document right on top of Travis’s paperwork.
Travis glanced down, still smiling.
Then, he read the bold black header.
His smile vanished. The color completely drained from his face. He looked like the floor had just dropped out from under him.
His expensive silver pen slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the cold linoleum floor.
Brenda frowned, crossing her arms in annoyance. “Travis? What’s wrong with you? Make her sign it.”
He slowly raised his head, his hands violently shaking, and whispered… “Oh my God… you’re my… boss.”
Brenda’s perfectly painted smile faltered. “What are you talking about? Boss? Don’t be ridiculous.”
She snatched the papers from the tray table, her sharp nails leaving little dents in the top page.
Her eyes scanned the legal jargon, the familiar logo of Oakmont Wealth, and the signature line at the bottom.
My signature.
Below that, the countersignature of Mr. Davies, Aunt Martha’s ferociously loyal estate lawyer.
“This is impossible,” Brenda stammered, her voice a full octave higher than usual. “You can’t buy a company. You work at a library!”
I gave a weak, pain-filled shrug with my good shoulder. “Turns out $80 million can change your career path pretty quickly.”
Travis was still standing there, frozen, his face the color of spoiled milk. He looked from me to Brenda and back again, his corporate swagger completely gone.
He was just a scared man in an expensive suit.
“How?” he finally croaked out, his voice barely a whisper. “The deal… our firm wasn’t even for sale.”
“Everything is for sale for the right price, Travis,” I said, my voice hoarse from the breathing tube I’d had earlier. “Especially a privately held firm where the majority shareholder is tired of the rat race and wants to retire to a vineyard in Tuscany.”
I didn’t mention the part where Aunt Martha and Mr. Davies had been researching this very firm for six months.
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