Gemotions

The humid air of the solicitor's office seemed to cling to Arthur like a damp shroud. He tugged at his collar, the starched fabric feeling like a noose. His sister, Beatrice, practically vibrated with excitement, her eyes sparkling as she took notes. He just wanted it over with.

He crossed his arms, the action a familiar shield. The solicitor, a man whose smile seemed permanently plastered, began the reading. Land, stocks, a trust fund – all went on and on, a monotonous drone. Then came the twist. Beatrice would inherit the manor house, a sprawling estate, and Arthur... a collection of antique buttons.

He scoffed internally. Buttons. He almost spat at the word.

The solicitor paused, seemingly sensing his… displeasure. “A very rare collection, Mr. Arthur,” he offered smoothly. Arthur merely grunted in response.