02

I posted an early version of the first chapter here earlier, but this is a rewrite of that chapter, plus 28 more.

PART I

"The Inheritance," Chapter 1

by c.w. cobblestone

I didn't recognize the number but the voice on the other end of the line was unmistakable.

"Hey, Tim, it's me."

"What do you want?"

"Listen, don't give me a bunch of bullshit -- I'm just calling to tell you Dad died."

When I didn't reply, my brother cleared his throat and continued: "Anyway, I know you don't care. But you need to come to Naperville."

I snorted. "Fuck that, I'm not going to that asshole's funeral after the way he treated Amber and the twins. The way all of you treated them."

Bob huffed into the receiver. "Ugh, could you not talk about them? Things are bad enough without having to hear about that miserable cunt and her little--"

A pained squeak escaped my throat. "Come on, man, that's my wife and ..."

"And what? Your kids?" My brother scoffed. "Those aren't your kids, Tim -- or didn't you notice there's not exactly a family resemblance? I hear everyone else in the delivery room did."

"Why do you have to say shit like that, Bob? What the fuck? Why can't you just accept them? They didn't do anything wrong. If I can forgive Amber, why can't you?"

"Whatever, man. I didn't call to hear all that bullshit again, and I'm not calling about the goddamn funeral, either. Believe me, nobody wants you there. I'm calling because you need to come out here and sign these goddamn papers so we can get this shit over with."

"Papers? What papers?"

"Mom's estate. Congratulations, dickhead, you're getting your half."

I blinked. "Bullshit. Dad cut me out after Mom died."

"No, that's what he told everyone. Turns out, Mom had it put in the will that the terms couldn't be changed, and that after Dad died, you'd get your half no matter what. I guess when she found out Tina and me couldn't give her any grandkids, she wanted to make sure your wife's little darlings wouldn't have to rely on the United Negro College Fund when they grew up."

"Fuck you, Bob, you racist piece of shit."

"Fuck you, asshole. Listen, I don't want to have to deal with this shit any more than you do, but you need to get out here and sign so we can be done with it and move on with our separate lives like we have been. I don't care if Mom took your side after that lying, greedy cunt--"

"Stop calling her that."

"Well, what else should I call someone who embarrassed you like that? Embarrassed the whole family like that?"

"Like I told you, Dad, and everyone else: if I can deal with it, so can you."

"Fuck that. I don't want to 'deal with it.' Just because you're a sap who doesn't mind being walked on and having everyone laugh at you, that doesn't mean the rest of the family has to put up with the gold-digging, cheating little cunt -- and you can raise some jungle bunny's kids if you want to, but they shouldn't be getting anywhere near Mom's money."

I bypassed Bob's bigoted barb. "Why can't you just FedEx everything? I'll pay. I don't need to drive all the way out there to sign some damned papers; I can do that here."

"No. It all needs to be witnessed by the estate attorney. And we need to get this shit done before the funeral, too, so you need to get your ass out here by Friday."

I gritted my teeth. "Fuck."

After a moment, my brother sighed. "Okay, just let me know what day you're coming so I can set it up with the lawyer. And Tim?"

"What?"

"Please don't bring them with you. I'm serious."

I hung up.

Clutching the phone to my chest, I huddled on the couch for a good half-hour, scenarios shooting through my brain like Beemers on the Autobahn. My mom's estate was worth millions. I was about to be rich. I smiled, fantasizing about calling the warehouse foreman and my manager at the Burger Champ and telling them both to fuck off -- and then I slumped, realizing I'd need Amber's permission before quitting either job.

For a moment I considered phoning her to share the news but decided to wait until she got home. This development was certainly a life-changing paradigm shift, but Amber was out shopping, and her standing order was that I refrain from interrupting retail therapy unless it was an absolute emergency.

The ringer sounded again, piercing my thoughts, startling me. This time the number was familiar, as was the female operator's recorded voice:

"You have a collect call from an inmate in the Illinois Department of Corrections. Press 1 to accept the charges."

I gulped and touched the key. There was a beep, followed by Hakim's baritone:

"Hey, there, Timmy. Let me talk to Baby Girl."

"Uh ... um, she went shopping. She left about two hours ago, but she didn't say when she would be back."

I heard him smack his lips. "Fuck. How about the twins?"

"They're up in their room watching TV."

"Put them on the phone."

"Uh, just a sec."

I dashed upstairs to the kids' bedroom, where Leesa and Shanice were relaxed on their respective mattresses watching Nickelodeon.

I cleared my throat. "Uh, guys, your father's on the phone."

Shanice held out her hand and I passed her the receiver. She pointed to her half-empty glass of grape juice. I got the message and gathered her glass along with her sister's and darted downstairs to fetch refills.

When I returned with fresh juice, Leesa had the phone and was bragging to her father that she had just gotten an A in third-grade math. After chatting for a few minutes, she pulled the phone from her ear and presented it to me.

"My dad wants to talk to you."

I took the receiver.

"Um ... hey, what's up?"

"I went to the canteen yesterday and it said there was only $17 in my bank. Why the hell isn't the whole $50 in there?"

"Um, I added the money first thing Monday."

Hakim scoffed. "Well, call those motherfuckers and find out what happened."

"I swear, I added the money Monday morning, just like I do every week. I'll call the prison liaison office first thing in the morning and find out what's causing the delay."

"You do that, Timmy. And tell Baby Girl I called."

My ears got hot. "Um ... okay, will do."

He hung up.

Shanice scowled at me. "Why are you standing there blocking the TV?"

I jumped aside. "Sorry."

She shook her head. "I want chips, Tim."

"Doritos for me," Leesa chimed in.

I was filling the girls' snack bowls when I heard the front door open and the click of heels on the foyer tile. Wiping my hands on my pantlegs, I scurried toward the living room to greet my wife.

She strode into the room, dropping her purse on the carpet. I shivered at the sight of her. After eight years of marriage, Amber still quite literally took my breath away.

She jerked her thumb. "Get the bags out of the car, Tim, but bring me wine first."

I scooped up her purse and set it on the counter. "Um ... Amber? I ... I have some news ... it's pretty ... um ... it's ... uh ..."

My wife frowned. "Jeez, spit it out, already, and bring me my damn wine."

"Well, um ... my dad died, and--"

"Good," she scoffed. "Best news I've heard all day."

"I know. But, um ... Bob just called and told me I'm getting ... uh, we're getting half my mom's estate."

My wife gasped. "What? I thought Asshole cut you out."

"I did, too, but Bob said my mom wrote it so that it couldn't be changed. So, I get half. Dad lied, apparently."

Amber sank onto the couch, a faraway look in her eye.

"How much is in there, again? Wasn't your half gonna be $4 million?"

"Probably more than that, depending on investments."

"So, when do we get it?"

I shrugged. "I'm not sure how it works. I need to go to Naperville before Friday to sign all the papers. Bob said they can't FedEx them; the lawyer needs to witness it."

"Oh, they got a lawyer?" My wife's eyes narrowed. "Well, then, we need to get our own lawyer."

"Um ... Amber, is that even necessary? Bob and I each get half of everything; it's cut-and-dry, and I--"

"I don't want to hear it, Tim. You're a little pussy, and my job is to make sure those prejudiced assholes in your family don't fuck us over. Now, that's all I want to hear about it."

I swallowed. "O-okay, Amber, I'll start looking for an attorney."

She thought about it for a second and shook her head. "No. I'll ask Hakim who we should get."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you he called while you were out."

"Did you tell him about the money?"

"No, he hung up before I got the chance."

Amber pursed her lips. "I need to talk to him," she said. "He'll know how to handle all this."

I said nothing while Amber mulled deep thoughts. Shanice broke the silence, yelling from upstairs: "Tim! What are you doing? Where's my chips?"

I looked at my wife. "Be right back, okay? I'm gonna take the girls some snacks."

Amber shook her head. "No, I'm taking them out to dinner. Go tell them to get ready."

"Uh, okay. Did ... did you want your wine first?"

"No, I'll have a glass at the restaurant. I want to go out and celebrate this inheritance news with my daughters."

I felt a wave of shame as I realized I wasn't going to be included in this celebration dinner, even though my family's inheritance was the reason they were going out in the first place. Whenever Amber mentioned doing something with "my daughters," it was understood that meant without me.

As usual, though, I gave my wife no backtalk, instead turning on my heel to obey her.

When I entered the twins' room, they glared.

"Where's my chips?" Shanice demanded.

"I'm sorry, but your mom's home and she said you need to get ready; she's taking you guys out to dinner."

Neither twin acknowledged me but they immediately roused themselves. I collected their half-empty glasses before heading back downstairs.

Amber was still on the couch, staring into space. She looked up when I entered the room.

"Go get my bags out of the car," she said. I obeyed, and by the time I'd fetched the last of my wife's purchases, the twins were skipping down the stairs.

My wife stood up and hugged her daughters. "We're going someplace fancy tonight, girls. I've got some really good news."

"What?" the twins squealed.

"I'll tell you at dinner. Let's go."

Amber and the twins waltzed out of the house without a backward glance my way.

"The Inheritance," Chapter 2

by c.w. cobblestone

There were six people in the room but the only sound was the wall clock's ticktock.

My wife frowned at the papers on the table. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hornsby, but I still don't understand why this part is even in here."

The estate attorney sighed. "Ma'am, I've explained this--"

"Well, explain it again," said Mr. Jones, the lawyer my wife had retained at Hakim's behest. "Because this provision doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't make sense?" Mr. Hornsby pointed to the document. "It's plain English, sir. Have you ever done estate law? This is boilerplate. The will states that the beneficiary, your client, is allowed to withdraw a maximum of $30,000 per month for living expenses, and that the rest of the funds will remain in the Snodgrass family trust in perpetuity."

"Well, it's horseshit." Amber's face screwed up. "Tim either gets the $5 million or he don't."

My brother Bob snarled. "Listen, I'm sorry if this ruins your plans, but our mom obviously wanted to block you from stealing the inheritance. You get $360,000 a year if you take out the entire $30,000 every month. Isn't that enough of my mother's money, you greedy little--?"

"Fuck you!" my wife spat.

Mr. Hornsby held up his hand. "Ladies, gentlemen, let's bring it down a notch. We can sit here and argue about this until we're blue in the face ... and Mr. Jones, you can look up all the case law on your iPhone that you want to ... but Mrs. Snodgrass crafted this very carefully, and quite specifically. It's as ironclad as it gets -- it clearly stipulates that there's a cap on how much your client may withdraw each month. This isn't exactly a novel concept; we see it all the time in estate law."

"Well, it's a bunch of fucking bullshit." Amber looked at Mr. Jones. "And you're sure it says in there that I get nothing if there's a divorce, or if he dies??"

Mr. Jones shifted in his seat and nodded while my brother and his wife exchanged open-mouthed stares.

In a huff, my wife thrust the papers across the table toward me. "Fuck it. Go ahead and sign this shit, Tim, and let's get the fuck out of here."

Mortified, I picked up the pen and scrawled my name.

My wife squinted at Mr. Hornsby. "So, when do we get the first $30,000?"

"You have to wait at least three days after the signing, and after that the funds will be accessible on the 15th of each month," Mr. Hornsby said.

Amber did some quick math in her head and threw up her hands. "Three days is Sunday. The fucking banks will be closed."

My brother smirked. "Aw, the poor, little greedy gold-digger will have to wait an extra day to start spending my mom's money."

"Fuck you," my wife screamed. She lunged toward Bob, prompting Mr. Hornsby to step between them while Mr. Jones grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back.

"This is a bunch of bull-fucking-SHIT!" Amber yelled as she stormed toward the office exit with Mr. Jones at her heel. Red-faced, I followed them out.

"Have a nice life, Tim," my brother called after me as I crossed the threshold.

Just before the door shut, I heard my sister-in-law cluck her tongue. "Can you believe the nerve of that woman?"

Mr. Jones walked my wife to our car while I brought up the rear. I overheard her say, "when you talk to Hakim, tell him I'm so sorry about all this. Tell him I'll be up there Monday, and that I'll have the $1,000 for sure, so he can set everything up with the guards. He'll know what I mean."

"I'll tell him. Have a good day, now."

Amber hugged the attorney and slid into her car. I offered my hand but Mr. Jones either didn't see it or he ignored it. Most likely the latter, I thought as I slumped in the passenger's seat.

My wife drove homeward, complaining nonstop about how the will had been crafted.

"I can't believe your bitch of a mother," she said. "What the fuck, did she think I was going to steal the goddamn money?"

I stared at my shoes.

Amber lit a cigarette. "Hakim's not gonna be happy. Fuck."

I ventured a question that had been bothering me for days: "Um, Amber ... now that we can afford the conjugal visits, would it ... would it be okay if I quit the Burger Champ job?"

My wife took a drag of her cigarette and blew smoke out the driver's-side window. "We'll see after I talk to Hakim. How much you got saved?"

"Um, I almost have the $1,000 up now, but if we're getting the first part of the inheritance on Monday anyway, I ... uh, you wouldn't even need the extra Burger Champ money to pay the guards. I could just quit."

"I said we'll see."

I gulped. "Okay. Oh, and if you were planning to go up to see him Monday like you told the lawyer, I'll have to change my schedule; they've got me on drive-through Monday night. Unless you want your mom to babysit--"

My wife waved her hand. "Yeah, change the schedule, whatever."

"Okay, I'll call them as soon as we get home, and will plan on watching the twins Monday night."

Amber smiled. "Mmmm, we'll have enough money for as many conjugal visits as we want now, won't we?"

I bit my lip and nodded.

My wife continued thinking out loud: "Then again, I don't want to push it." She sucked her cigarette. "I wonder how many times the guards will let us do it. Even at $1,000 a pop, they might not want to chance us going in and out of that empty office 3-4 times a week."

I wasn't sure what to say, but I threw out, "I dunno. Maybe."

"Plus, that could get expensive." She frowned. "Even if the guards let us, if we give them $3,000-$4,000 a week, that's really gonna eat up into that $30,000. Fuck. This wouldn't be a problem if not for your fucking mother."

My wife flicked her cigarette out the window and sighed. "Damn it. I can't wait for that parole hearing."

I shivered and kept my mouth shut.

Amber finally stopped bellyaching and turned on the radio. The music put me to sleep.

After an hour-and-a-half reprieve into dreamland, my wife poked me in the shoulder. I blinked and rubbed my eyes. By the time I was fully cognizant, Amber had exited the car and was headed up the sidewalk toward her mother-in-law's house. I undid my seatbelt and scurried after her.

My wife walked into the house without knocking. I followed her into the living room, where my mother-in-law Veronica relaxed on her recliner flicking through her smartphone. The kids lay on the carpet watching TV.

Veronica smiled. "So, how's my little Paris Hilton? When can I expect my mansion?"

Leesa and Shanice hopped up and ran toward their mother. Leesa got there first and tugged Amber's sleeve. "Yeah, Mom, are we millionaires yet?"

My wife sighed. "No, not exactly. Dumbo's mom here put a clause in the will that says I'm only allowed to draw out $30,000 a month for living expenses."

Veronica lit a cigarette. "Well, shit, honey, that's still pretty good money."

Amber fired up her own smoke. "Yeah, but it also says I get nothing in a divorce, or if he croaks. Hakim's lawyer said it was ironclad."

My ears turned red.

Veronica sneered. "Hey, Dumbo, instead of standing there with a stupid look on your face listening to our conversation, why don't you make yourself useful and go pick up the dogshit in the backyard?"

Shanice giggled. "Na-Na, you're always so mean to Tim."

Everyone laughed as I scurried away to clean up after my mother-in-law's Boston Terrier.

"The Inheritance," Chapter 3

by c.w. cobblestone

I was lugging a basket of laundry up the basement stairs when I heard the front door slam. Amber was home -- and pissed off.

Heart pounding, I trotted up the steps clutching the clothesbasket, wondering why she would possibly be unhappy, since she usually was euphoric after a rendezvous with Hakim. On top of that, earlier in the day she'd transferred $20,000 from the available $30,000 monthly inheritance stipend into her account and spent the afternoon shopping. After I returned home from the warehouse, I babysat the girls while their mommy drove her new Escalade to the prison dressed in one of her sexy new outfits.

So, why did she slam the front door so hard when she came home from seeing Hakim? Did their illicit conjugal visit get cancelled? Were they caught?

By the time I made it up from the basement, Amber had already dropped her purse on the floor along with a trail of clothes -- pumps kicked off in the foyer, dress on the living room carpet, stockings at the foot of the stairs. I scooped up her discarded garments, tossed them in the laundry basket and ascended to the bedroom, hoping for a word with my wife before she went to sleep.

The door was shut, Amber's version of a "do not disturb" sign. I trudged back downstairs and took my usual spot on the couch.

My wife slept in the next morning while I roused the twins, got them ready and drove them to school before heading to the warehouse. After a headache of a day on the dispatch desk dealing with shipping software that kept crashing, I drove to the Burger Champ on Main Street, where I put in a five-hour shift on the deep fryer.

Every time I burned my arms on hot metal, or whenever a splotch of grease jumped up and bit me, I fumed inside. As the hours passed, I dropped basket after basket of French fries into the slime, seething over how unfair it all was; although I had just inherited $5 million from my mother's estate, there I was, elbow-deep in muck, making minimum wage, hoping Hakim had told Amber during the previous evening's visit that I'd be allowed to quit one or both of my jobs.

By the time I got off work and limped through my front door, I was exhausted and demoralized. My skin and uniform were greasy as hell. I had a headache. My back and feet were killing me. I felt like warmed-over dachshund shit.