A battle of wills (standard:drama, 2003 words)
Author: Robin Wyers	Added: Jul 31 2001	Views/Reads: 3739/2270	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A black comedy,examining the strategies that one might avail of, in order to acquire vast fortunes through inheritance.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

nature takes its course before claiming victory, or simply intervene by 
taking a more malicious approach. Kids are going to love it!”. I 
wondered if I had failed as a parent, I mean surely there’s a few 
screws loose, if someone can come up with an idea like that. Are there 
no morals left in this world? It’s not his first ‘major plan’ either 
and I’m not even going to tell you about the fifteen grand I lent him 
to get Political Ladder off the ground. 

It did get me thinking though – I mean the whole subject of wills. My
health doesn’t match my financial position and I’m seeing my final 
days. As I look out from my third floor, I’m still amazed that this is 
all mine! Not bad for a bloke who started by selling off used cars. 
Perhaps I’ve simply always had a lucky streak, and ten years down the 
line and I was doing well on the market – producing my own brand. Now 
at 67, I’ve been in charge for over 40 years and we’re the 
up-and-coming player on the world stage, with sales rocketing in 
mainland Europe. As chief executive, I’m obviously doing alright for 
myself, but money’s no use to you when you’re six foot deep and this 
will all have to be divided up somehow – especially since that 
unemployable son of mine refuses to take over the business. Marcus has 
perhaps been the loyalest of all, but leaving all of the estate to my 
cat would be a bit of a cop out (in fact Sheila is probably turning in 
her grave at the thought of that. Perhaps I’d better not upset her). 
But Jimmy isn’t all bad, he does seem to try his best – I just wish he 
would do his best at something useful. But I don’t know what’s worse, 
him or Doreen. If she’d get out once every blue moon it’d be a start 
but all she does is wait around here, taking care of her father. I can 
take care of myself for Christ sake and even so it’s not as if I 
couldn’t afford to hire nurses to tend to me here if I wanted! It’s not 
that I don’t appreciate it – don’t get me wrong, but she really needs 
to get out, get married and have kids someday. What if the worst-case 
scenario occurred, and there was no future heir to the Roberts estate? 
I suppose all I can do is suggest, but I’d better have a think about 
this matter first anyway. I might have another look at that will of 
mine right now. Speak of the devil! “Hello father dearest, I thought 
you might like a nice glass of malt”. 

3 “Thanks Doreen, you must have been reading my mind. I’m just going to
have a look at this paper, and I’ll join the two of ye in the lounge in 
ten minutes. I hope ye aren’t arguing again?” he inquired, so subtly. 
“No father, I was just a little cross at James for leaving pieces of 
sports equipment lying about in precarious positions. I’m trying to 
keep this place tidy for you and he just keeps coming over whenever he 
wants, turning it into a big mess. But we’ll be alright, I’ll leave you 
to it,” I replied. 

That ought to finally finish him off, there’s enough rat poison in that
to kill...well, a rat. It’ll be sad to see him go – he’s probably the 
last honest man I know, but it’s a well overdue decease. This is no way 
for a woman to live. Thirty-seven and barely having left my father’s 
side since I can remember! “Doreen will you clean this. While you’re at 
it you might as well get me that – it’d kill two birds with the one 
stone. I mean, I wouldn’t usually ask but Louise is away with the flu”. 
Day in, day out, the same rubbish, “you wouldn’t mind putting out the 
rubbish, would you?” My investment should pay dividends, however, and a 
rather substantial sum should be coming my way by the end of the week. 
Unethical? Perhaps not, but moral tactics won’t give me the deeds to 
this place within the next decade (knowing his luck, within the next 
forty years). I simply had to do it, I can’t say I’m proud of it but I 
will be the proud owner of a seventy room suburban palace together with 
hectares and hectares of prime development land (not to mention a 
Spanish villa) for a few years of hard labour. It’s his own fault as 
well – he offered to pass over the whole business to that vain fool at 
the top of the stairs, who predictably declined – did the thought even 
enter his mind that the management skills I acquired before he became 
ill, made me his natural successor. Or was it too complex a theory to 
consider that a woman might also be able to handle the job. I don’t 
know, he brought much of it on himself – in my eyes. 

What’s that angry cry from the hall? “I’m on the stairs looking at the
mirror...UUUGH! What did you put in this Doreen? Why is my face 
suddenly green?” A collection of bumps follow – for crying out loud, 
which idiot thought of leaving a skateboard on the stairs? 

4 “James, I know it’s scant relief for you after the death of such a
loved one, but at least once his final wishes come out, you might be 
able to begin mourning him properly. The same with you Doreen, I’m 
really sorry”, said his old-friend, Peter McGrath, who had joined the 
small gathering, awaiting the will reading. “The last will and 
testimony of James Roberts Jnr. declares that the rights to his last 
patented video game The Will to Kill will go to his father James 
Roberts Snr., who may release it should he wish. His other assets, 
namely his apartment in Tennyson Street, his Porsche and his £12,000 in 
savings will be entrusted to his loyal friend, Anthony. His sister, 
Doreen will be honoured with the task of caring for Anthony. The next 
five pages of the will are a memo to Doreen explaining how one cares 
for a pet guinea pig...” 


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