I never expected to receive a letter from my great-aunt Vivienne's solicitor. I barely knew the woman—had met her precisely once at a family gathering when I was twelve, where she'd arrived fashionably late in a chauffeured Bentley, draped in furs despite the summer heat, and proceeded to dominate all conversation with tales of her travels and acquisitions. What I remembered most was how she'd insisted I try every dessert at the buffet, piling my plate higher each time I returned.
"Growing boys need sustenance," she'd declared, her own substantial figure evidence of a lifetime dedicated to that philosophy.
Fifteen years later, I stood before the wrought iron gates of Bellamy Estate, key in hand, still processing the solicitor's words: "As Ms. Vivienne's only living blood relative, Mr. Daniel Reed, you are the sole heir to her estate and all associated... conditions."
The mansion sprawled before me like something from a gothic novel—all stone turrets and sprawling gardens gone slightly wild. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the immaculate lawn, giving the place an ethereal quality that made the hairs on my arms stand up.
"The staff has been informed of your arrival," the solicitor had said, adjusting his spectacles nervously. "They're quite... accustomed to the transition process."
I hadn't thought to ask what he meant by "transition process." My mind had been too busy calculating what the sale of such a property might fetch. Enough to pay off my student loans and perhaps fund the small bakery I'd always dreamed of opening.
As I pushed open the heavy oak door, the scent hit me immediately—butter, sugar, and spice. Something delicious was baking, and my stomach growled in response. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, too nervous about this whole inheritance business.
"Hello?" I called, my voice echoing through the grand foyer.
A plump woman in her sixties appeared, wiping flour-covered hands on her apron. "Mr. Reed! Welcome home, sir. I'm Mrs. Harrington, the housekeeper. We've been expecting you." Her eyes swept over my lean frame, and she clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Just in time for tea. You look like you could use a proper feeding."
Copyright 2000 - 2025 21 x 20 Media All rights reserved. This site is property of 21 x 20 Media
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.09 seconds at 1:19am on Apr 22, 2025 via server WEBX1.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author
