Gemotions

The dusty attic air seemed to suffocate him. He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a cobweb. His sister, Beatrice, flitted about, her eyes sparkling with excitement. He'd always known he'd get his father's workshop. His passion. The tools, the wood, the smell of sawdust and varnish were his inheritance. Beatrice, he understood, would get something. But, not this.

He saw the attorney, a nervous man in a too-tight suit, enter the attic. With him, was a small black safe. The attorney cleared his throat. "Mr. Thomas… the workshop goes to your sister. The safe, contains… a specific amount of money, to be divided amongst the children. It is all the late Mr. Harris requested." Thomas's face flushed.

Thomas looked around the space, the workshop he had spent his youth in. Beatrice, her eyes wide, opened the safe. He stared at his sister, who had never picked up a hammer in her life.