Gemotions

The humid air of the solicitor's office felt thick, cloying. Amelia slammed her fist on the polished mahogany table, scattering the neatly stacked documents. "This is a joke!" she spat, her voice tight with fury. Her brother, Thomas, sat opposite, his face a bland mask. He probably thought it was hilarious.

She paced the small room, her heels clicking a sharp rhythm against the floorboards. The will clearly stipulated their parents’ estate, but the solicitor kept mentioning obscure trusts and offshore accounts, things her parents never spoke of. Amelia felt her jaw clench, every muscle in her body taut.

"Where is it, Thomas?" she demanded, turning back to him, her eyes blazing. "The house, the land… all of it. Where are they hiding it?" His shrug was infuriating, the very picture of detached indifference.