My sophomore year of college, my grandfather called out of the blue. He wasn't asking how I was—he was commanding me home to discuss his will. Honestly, the thought that I was even in the running for a piece of Arthur Kincaid’s estate had never once crossed my mind. My mother, Laurel, died when I was little, and my contact with her family was virtually non-existent; we exchanged a two-minute, obligatory phone call on Christmas Day, then hung up like strangers. I took an academic leave, enduring a grueling seven-hour train ride to Hickory Creek. A sea of relatives I didn't recognize were already packed into the old Kincaid compound. When I walked in, Art looked mildly surprised. “You actually came?” “You told me to,” I said. “You said I had to be here today.” He pulled the woman next to him, who was wearing a crisp, expensive-looking linen dress, closer. “This is Avery Wells. Laurel’s girl.” He then addressed me. “This is your grandmother.” 1 I’d heard years ago that my grandfather had remarried, taking on a woman named Lilly Shaw. My father had considered bringing me down to meet her at the time, but when he called, Art said the wedding was done and dusted, no need to make the trip. My father had hung up and scoffed, “Didn’t even invite us. I guess we’re not family.” After that, my dad rarely mentioned Art. He made me the one to call on holidays. When I told him Art had summoned me home for the will, he only said, “Be careful on the road.” Lilly Shaw sized me up, her gaze lingering a little too long. “Came by train, I see? Did you remember to book your return ticket?” I was genuinely taken aback. What kind of relative, meeting a family member for the first time, asks about the way out? “Not yet,” I said. “Tickets are easy. Plenty of trains heading back to the city.” Lilly pointed to the corner. “Well, you can rest over there, then.” The Kincaid compound was huge—a sprawling, multi-structure home built on ancestral land, with front and back yards and a central Great Hall. I sat on a rough wooden bench in the front yard corner, watching the constant stream of people flowing past, none of whom felt remotely connected to me. As twilight settled, the front yard emptied, and a chill set in. The heavy oak door to the Great Hall was closed. After a long wait, I finally heard the noise of a celebration—shouting, laughter, and the clatter of silverware. I walked up and peered through the crack in the door. They were feasting. A huge table packed with people. Art and Lilly sat at the head, facing the door, their faces flushed with the pleasure of good food and company. It was a proper country feast, the wine flowing freely. I had been traveling all day and hadn’t eaten a thing, yet no one had bothered to call me inside for dinner. I pushed the heavy oak door open. “If there’s nothing else, Grandpa, I’ll head back to school.” Art’s wine glass froze mid-air. He looked genuinely embarrassed. Lilly Shaw, however, was the quickest to react, sliding over with a saccharine smile. “Oh, you silly goose, why didn’t you just come in? You can’t wait for an invitation! Arthur’s been so scatterbrained lately, he’s forgotten he needs my permission just to sit down. Have a seat, darling, and eat up.” She pulled out a chair for me. I picked up my chopsticks, ready to dig in, when Art slammed his palm on the table. “Stop! Did you even greet everyone? You just sit there like a bump on a log?” Except for Art, I didn’t know a single person at that table. “You never bother with us, and when we call you all the way back here, you act like a mute,” he shouted, pointing his chopsticks at me, as if my presence were some grievous offense. “No manners. Just like your mother.” I dropped my chopsticks. Hard. I stared straight at him. “Like whose mother?” The feasting stopped. The room went dead silent. No one gets to talk about my mother. That was my rock-bottom boundary. And of all people, Art Kincaid knew exactly why my mother died. I was hungry, but I wouldn't eat this food. I grabbed my backpack and walked toward the door. “You stand right there!” Art roared. “You think you can just show up and walk out? You’re here to disrespect your elders? Apologize to your grandmother!” I turned back, speaking each word with cold precision. “I am not here by choice. You called me. If my presence is such an issue, why did you even bother? You said you had an estate to settle, Arthur. But you look healthy as a horse. Why did you really call me?” Unable to argue with me, he turned to the room. “Look at this! See what kind of daughter she raised!” “I’m going back to school. Consider this visit erased. You can divide the estate however you please.” I turned and walked out, fuming. I was exhausted, agitated, and I still had no idea what the purpose of my long, insulting journey had been. At the main gate, Lilly called out. “Avery, wait a minute.” She rushed up and grabbed my arm. “It’s dark. Where are you going to go? Come on, eat something, stay the night, and leave tomorrow. Your grandfather really did call you here for a reason. Don’t antagonize him. Come with me, let me introduce you properly.” Lilly was surprisingly strong; she pulled me back to the Great Hall. I had no choice but to follow. “These are the Kincaids,” she gestured, “your grandfather’s sons, their sons, and his brothers’ children. You’ll call them Uncle, Aunt, and Cousin.” She moved her hand. “And over here, the Shaws. My side. We’re all family now. You can just call them all Uncle, Aunt, and Cousin.” Before she finished, one of the Shaw men laughed. “So you’re Laurel Kincaid’s girl? Your mother was famous, you know. Gossip about her spread from Hickory Creek all the way to Shaw Settlement.” The man next to him snickered. “I heard your father cried himself to sleep every night.” Lilly shot them a hard look, then pushed me onto a chair and sat next to Art. “Before everyone gets too drunk, Arthur, tell them why they’re here.” Art nodded, placing his wine glass down. “Everyone quiet down. I’ve called you all here today to settle my affairs and Lilly’s, mainly to divide up the estate. We’ll have peace of mind, and you’ll stop worrying about it.” The table instantly became quiet and deferential, like students waiting for a lecture. “Lilly and I have sorted through everything: the land, the liquid assets, the business, the vehicles, and some smaller personal items. The business is primarily Lilly’s. I never understood it, and I wouldn’t dare touch her assets, but Lilly said that since we’re married, we’re family, and there’s no my or yours. It’s all Kincaid-Shaw, one big, happy family.” Everyone applauded enthusiastically. I felt like the alien in the room. “Lilly and I have decided on the following…” Art began to announce the division. “This house will go to the oldest boy, Art Jr., in exchange for him taking care of us until we pass. The new home down by the creek goes to the second boy, Ben. The condo we bought in the county seat goes to the third, Chad. “Lilly’s business, Hickory Creek Clean-Plate Supplies, has always been run by her oldest boy, Robert. Lilly has already given him twenty percent of the shares and will transfer another thirty-one percent, giving him fifty-one percent control. The remaining forty-nine percent will be family shares, held by her two other children, and nine percent managed by Art Jr. “Lilly’s ancestral home, where her youngest boy is currently living, will be his to either live in or sell. “Lilly’s daughter, who is married and lives out of state, received a house and a car as a dowry when she married, so she will not receive any more property. “Our liquid assets and all other property will be used for our retirement. Any remaining balance will be split equally among the six children. Does anyone object?” The entire table shouted, “No objections, thank you, Dad! Thank you, Mom!” Art chuckled happily. “Good. Now eat.” So, that was it. I was never a factor. The entire point was for Art to put on a show of his immense wealth and the generosity of his new wife, while explicitly leaving out his own flesh-and-blood granddaughter. I felt nothing but a wave of relief. I had never wanted his money, and having to deal with it would have been a hassle. I grabbed my chopsticks and attacked the nearest platter of fried chicken and ribs. I had been humiliated for the better part of a day, and I wasn't going to leave without at least recouping a decent meal. I caught several people watching me out of the corner of their eyes, waiting for my reaction. After tearing through a mountain of food, someone finally broke. “Avery,” Lilly asked with faux sweetness. “You don’t feel… slighted? You don’t mind that you received nothing?” Art banged the table again. “Stop eating! Your grandmother asked you a question!” I swallowed the piece of chicken I was chewing. “No, I don’t mind. It’s your money; divide it up however you want. I have no opinion.” “Don’t act so high and mighty,” I heard Lilly’s daughter whisper from across the table, rolling her eyes. Art was clearly unhappy with my lack of outrage. He needed me to play the part of the resentful, abandoned granddaughter. “You say you don’t mind, but you came running the minute I mentioned the will! You can’t even be bothered to call on Christmas, but you show up like a lapdog when money’s involved. You’re being dishonest!” I didn’t look up from my plate. “You said you were dividing the will. I thought you were dying.” Robert Shaw, Lilly’s oldest son, slammed his chopsticks down. He pointed at me. “Watch your mouth, you crass little animal! Who’s dying?” I didn’t know this man, so I didn’t waste any energy getting mad. I just looked at Art, then back at Robert. “He’s your step-father, not mine. If I’m an ‘animal,’ what does that make your mother’s husband?” “You little…” “Enough!” Lilly cut him off, her veneer of graceful, virtuous wife starting to crack. “Avery, it’s not that Arthur and I don’t want to give you anything. But you are a Wells, not a Kincaid, and not a Shaw. You’re an outsider. It wouldn’t look right, dividing Kincaid and Shaw assets with an outside name. People would talk.” “I already told you, you can divide your assets however you want. I truly don’t care,” I repeated. “But I’m confused. If this has nothing to do with me, why call me here in the first place?” “We invited you for two reasons. One, your grandfather and I missed you. Two, we wanted you to witness it. You’re a college student, studying in the city; you’re going to be successful. We want you to see that everything is settled.” I finally understood. Lilly Shaw was worried that a successful college-educated granddaughter might one day return to claim what was hers. This whole dinner was a calculated theater performance designed to have me witness my exclusion and hopefully, watch me throw a pathetic, futile fit. They were sorely disappointed. Based on the terms I heard, the total assets were worth a couple of million. No wonder everyone's spine was so straight. “I’m full. Uncles, Aunts, Cousins, enjoy your meal.” I put down the bowl, grabbed my backpack, and walked out. “Where are you going? It’s dark! We need you for something tomorrow…” Lilly called out, but this time she didn’t follow. I gave a dismissive wave as a goodbye. It was dark. Dark in the country isn't the same as dark in the city. In the city, there are always lights. In the country, when the sun goes down, it’s truly black. Working from a memory many years old, I stumbled around the village a few times until I found a wooden gate that looked familiar. “Open up! J-Rod! Open the door!” A figure stumbled out, fumbling with the latch, and stared at me in the dim yard light. “You’re… who is that?” I kicked the gate. “Don’t you recognize your Aunt Avery?” He pulled the porch light closer to my face. “Avery Wells? How did you find me?” “I remember you used to have a pickup, right? I need a ride to the county seat.” “Right now?” “Is there a problem? I’ll pay for gas.” Jesse "J-Rod" Rhodes looked back toward his house, then turned back to me. “The pickup’s long gone. I’ve got a beat-up old Chevy now. What’s the rush?” “Just tell me if you’ll take me. If not, I’ll find someone else.” As I turned to leave, he grabbed my arm. “Yes! I’ll take you! Wait, let me get my keys.” I hopped in the passenger seat, and J-Rod pulled the car onto the road leading out of the village. “How long has it been?” I asked. “Thirteen years. Man.” “Thirteen years. We were just kids then.” Thirteen years ago, the summer I was seven, my mother brought me here to live for a short time. Because I was the "city kid," the other village children wouldn't play with me. Only J-Rod followed me around every day. That summer, he took me climbing trees and wading in the creek—the perfect, authentic country childhood. Afterward, I sent him gifts every year, and he always referred to me as "Aunt Avery" in his letters. “Thirteen years, and you still found my place. You’re amazing.” “What about you? Got a girlfriend?” “Yeah, my folks set it up. We’ve been talking for six months. Planning to get married next year.” “Congrats. You’re efficient.” J-Rod got a little shy. “Don’t laugh. We don’t do all the city romance stuff out here. You meet, you see if you can get along, and that’s that. She’s from another village. We don’t see each other much; she calls, we talk for a minute, and then she has to get back to work.” The ride took almost an hour, and we talked the whole time, from childhood memories to adult life. J-Rod let slip a lot of local gossip, including the fact that Art’s sprawling house had encroached on several of his neighbors’ properties. I found a motel in the county seat, slept, and took the morning train back to school. That pointless, exhausting estate meeting wasted two days of my life. I recounted the entire saga to my father. He listened and then, without hesitation, said, “They just wanted you to waive your right to the money so you wouldn’t stick around and hassle them later.” It was absurd. Two days after I got back to school, Art called again. “You left without saying goodbye! That was so disrespectful. You didn’t sign the papers. You need to come back immediately and sign.” “Sign what?” I asked. “The Estate Distribution Agreement.” “I wasn’t included in the estate. Why would I sign?” “You weren’t included because you’re a Wells, not a Kincaid or a Shaw. That’s not our fault. But you are my granddaughter, and you still have to sign. Waiving your claim is part of the distribution, and it’s your responsibility.” I struggled to keep my voice even. “Grandpa, if you’re worried, hire a lawyer in the county seat to draft a certified will. Or get a notary. It’s your money; give it to whomever you want. It has nothing to do with me. I will not come back, now or in the future, for your money or Lilly’s. I have too many classes. I can’t sign.” “Why are you being so difficult? It’s just a signature! If you don’t come back and sign this, don’t ever come back to Hickory Creek!” “I’m late for class. Gotta go.” I hung up, irritated. The more I thought about it, the more bizarre it seemed. Even if Art was senile, he had three able-bodied sons, and the village had a mayor. Why were they so fixated on my signature waiving my claim? Unless there was something that already belonged to me, something Art had been holding onto, and he didn't want to include it in the will because it wasn’t his to give away. It hit me like a train. I stood up and shouted, “Exactly!” The whole class stared at me. My academic advisor, standing at the front, looked confused. “Avery Wells, do you have an objection to the material?” Mortified, I stammered, “No, Professor. I just… I think you’re absolutely right.” “Oh, good. Since you’re so enthusiastic, I’ll have you write the piece for the university literary magazine.” I slumped back down, my mind racing. That document Art wanted me to sign—it had to contain the clue. But I had already rejected him. I couldn’t just turn around and agree to sign. The bell rang. The class president, an earnest guy named Sam, walked up. “Avery, what are you going to write for the lit mag?” I blurted out, “A will.” Sam’s face went pale. He put his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, don’t think about doing anything stupid, okay? If you’re under pressure, I’m here. That lit mag thing is just a formality, you just need to meet the word count.” “The will is the trick,” I muttered. “They’re going to contact me again. I know it.” The words were barely out of my mouth when my phone rang. Unknown number. “Hello, is this Avery? It’s your Granny Lilly.” I was almost delighted. They did call. “Avery, darling, Granny Lilly wants to apologize. We didn’t take care of you when you came home. It was all my fault. I knew you were a smart college girl, and I was so afraid of saying the wrong thing that I let Art handle you, and he, well, he gets a little drunk and forgets things. Please don’t be angry.” Slight praise followed by an apology. She definitely wanted something. “It’s fine, Granny Lilly,” I replied. “It was a busy house. I’m rarely there, so it’s normal for the relatives not to know me. I’m back in class now. Is there something you needed?” “Such a smart, polite girl. Just like a college student should be.” Lilly chuckled. “Well, your grandfather and I actually put together a big cash bonus for you—one for getting into college, and one to help you out while you’re there. I was waiting for you, but you left so fast! I was going to take you out for a nice dinner at the country bistro. When are you coming back?” “Granny Lilly, I have too many classes. If I take time off, I lose credits. Maybe when the semester ends.” “Okay… your education is what’s important. That’s what matters.” She paused. “Well, then I’ll just mail you the agreement, and you can sign it and mail it back. Honestly, your signature doesn’t change anything. I don’t know what’s gotten into Art lately, he’s just obsessed with signatures and fingerprints. He even makes me sign a contract for his groceries. Don’t worry about it. I’ll just transfer the cash bonus directly to you; it’s easier than mailing cash.” Back to the agreement. It was clearly vital to them. “Sure, Granny Lilly. Mail it over. I’ll sign it as soon as it arrives. I’ll text you my address.” Lilly hung up happy. A few days later, a thick manila envelope arrived from Hickory Creek. Inside were two identical, densely-typed agreements. [I voluntarily waive all claim to the inheritance of the Kincaid ancestral land in Hickory Creek, I voluntarily waive all claim to the land used for the ancestral home, I voluntarily waive all claim to all of Arthur Kincaid’s personal property, I voluntarily waive all claim to the condo in the county seat…] [I voluntarily waive all claim to the inheritance of Lillian Shaw’s ancestral land in Shaw Settlement, I voluntarily waive all claim to the land used for the ancestral home, I voluntarily waive all claim to all of Arthur Kincaid’s personal property, I voluntarily waive all claim to…] Paragraph after paragraph, thousands of words. It even included waiving my right to vote or run for the village council. Was all this necessary? I was holding the document when Sam, the class president, rushed up. “Avery, are you feeling better now?” He’d been keeping a close eye on me, worried I was going to have a breakdown. “I’m telling you, the lit mag thing is just bureaucratic nonsense. Just fill the word count with garbage—long, pointless filler—praise the school at the beginning and end, and you’re done. If you’re really angry…” Sam leaned closer and lowered his voice, “...hide one line insulting the administration in the middle of all the filler. They’ll never find it.” Hide one line in the middle of all the filler… My eyes widened. I slammed my fist into his shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you for the idea.” Sam grimaced, rubbing his arm. “Just glad you’re feeling better.” Filler exists to hide the truth. That was it. I tore through the convoluted text. […I voluntarily waive all claim to the inheritance of Lillian Shaw’s Audi A6 sedan…] […I voluntarily waive all claim to the shares and the right to inheritance for Hickory Creek Clean-Plate Supplies, LLC…] […I voluntarily waive all claim to the Shaw Settlement Village Council voting rights…] […I voluntarily waive all claim to…] My eyes fixed on the word shares. Every other asset was phrased as “waive all claim to the inheritance.” Only the factory included the term “waive all claim to the shares and the right to inheritance.” “Hickory Creek Clean-Plate Supplies, LLC… Sam, do you know how to look up a company’s information?” He pulled out his phone. “It’s easy. I have a subscription to the corporate database. The Student Council makes me hunt for sponsors all the time. What are you looking for?” Sam typed Hickory Creek Clean-Plate Supplies into the app. The screen refreshed. The name jumped out at me. My mother, Laurel Kincaid, was listed as a shareholder.
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