Gemotions

Liam slammed the door behind him, the force rattling the ornate, inherited chandelier. His sister, Clara, a picture of placid acceptance, was probably already dissecting the lawyer’s summary of their uncle’s will. He, on the other hand, had found the whole process insulting. To be treated like some kind of puppet, guided by a stranger's words.

He yanked open the old grandfather clock, its pendulum frozen at 3:17. He'd never liked the clock, with its dour face and incessant ticking. It felt like a constant reminder of the expectations laid upon him. The lawyer had spoken of a trust fund, a pre-planned life, and he loathed the implication.

He found it behind the clock. Not the expected stash of cash, nor the deeds to some property. It was a collection of faded photographs and letters. He sank to the floor, the scent of dust and old paper filling his nostrils, a strange, undeniable thrill coursing through him. This was more interesting than stocks and bonds.