A smirk played on Elias's lips as he approached the lawyer's office. He’d known this day was coming, the reading of the will. He’d always been the favored son, the one with the ambition, the drive. His sister, Clara, was…well, she was *Clara*. He tugged at his silk tie, the material feeling expensive and right against his skin. He was going to own this.
The oak door swung open, and the solicitor gestured him inside. The room smelled of old paper and leather. He barely glanced at the worn furniture. He knew his grandfather. He knew what he’d leave. He sank into the plush chair, already mentally calculating the renovations he’d commission.
Then the will was read. The vineyard, the family mansion, the art collection, all his. Elias barely registered the details, nodding with a practiced air of composure. He owned this. He was prepared. The solicitor cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “And to Clara, the family journal, the recipe for Grandma’s pie crust, and this… a small key.”
Elias blinked, a flicker of something close to annoyance crossing his face. Clara? He glanced at his sister, who sat beside him, eyes wide. He would have to have a word with the lawyer after this was over, about this insult. It would get fixed. He could feel a warmth spread through him. He was the one who could make it happen. He was the one who could make things happen.