I had never known Great uncle Bartleby. Until recently, i was not aware of his existence. All it took was one phone call from my mother to enlighten me, telling me to read the news…
Oil tycoon millionaire dies at aged 93
Suffice it to say, i was not aware of being a part of a rich family, mother never spoke about her family, and i hadnt seen or heard from my dad since he re-married and moved to Sydney. Money was something that i did not consider important, being a somewhat spiritual non-materialistic kind of guy, so i wasn’t terribly phased by the fact that the man was rich. My mother told me that the funeral would be on Thursday, and that i would be picked up.
Having a couple of days before the funeral to prepare, I immediately spent 48 hours watching netflix and lounging around, the middle of the week being my usual days off from work, and my boss gave me the extra days off after Thursday for the death in my family.
Thursday morning arrived, I donned my only black suit and my black leather shoes (held together by hopes and dreams, but they had soul). A honk of a car horn hastened my preparations and I ran out of my apartment, barely ready, to see a limousine parked right in front of my 1992 mazda 323 (i called it tank, because it seemed indestructible but could probably shatter at a moments notice) and i was greeted by a rather thin wirey fellow in black suit, showing me to my seat.
The funeral was… extravagant. I think the price of the flowers would cost more then my apartment. It was impressive, but did not deter from that fact that the entire room was made of up strangers, except a couple of cousins and my mother. Still the event was solemn enough, and the priest gave a rather moving speech about the preciousness of family. While i am spiritual i am not religious, so i did not maintain attention to the priest for too long.
Before i knew it, the funeral was finished and i was being directed to a small room off the side of the church. Upon entry to the room i was directed to wait on the seat in front of a rather imposing office desk. The desk, possibly mahogany or some expensive wood construction, looked as though it did not belong on this small side room in the church, so i suspect it may of been moved here for some other non-divine purpose.
In my apparent focused attention to the desk i did not notice a rapping on the door, the entry of the room of another man… and his apparent attempts to gather my attention.
The man, dressed in a blue suit and blazing red tie, looked as though he was ripped straight out of a black and white mobster film. His clearly balding head was horribly covered by a hairpiece which looked roughly like a ferret. His eyes stared robotically into mine as i gathered my wits and responded.
“Sorry, but what am i doing here?” i finally responded to the man.
“We are here to discuss the matter of Bartleby’s will, you are to be given a choice, one i gather which will be rather easy for you to agree upon, as to whom will receive your inheritance” he said, in a monotone voice that reminded me of text-to-speak programs on a smart phone.
“You can either receive a check for five million dollars, or you may nominate a charity of your choice to receive it”
The man, after having given his instruction went to his binder and pulled out a checkbook. Having clearly given this instruction to many others this day, he was apparently quite used to writing out checks. To him, the decision must of been obvious, but it wasn’t so for me. That money could help alot of people suffering, alot more then just myself, who only suffers from procrastination and mortgage payments.
This is where the readers of this piece come in! Please either comment which decision you would like the story to follow.
a) Take the 5 million
b) Donate the 5 million to a charity
In a weeks time i will tally the comments and continue the story!
Edward Leeming 21/11/2017