Gemotions

The smell of stale beer and regret hung heavy in Arthur’s cramped apartment. His brother, Thomas, got the family pub. He got the dusty, neglected stamp collection. He’d always been the afterthought, the shadow. Thomas, on the other hand, was the golden boy. He was supposed to inherit the whole kit and caboodle.

Arthur took a deep breath. His hands trembled as he sorted through the stamps. The solicitor had mentioned a few rarities, but Arthur knew their value was trivial. He went to the pub, the place he knew. He watched the customers filter in, then out, day in, day out. He had a plan. He began to introduce his own regulars, planting a seed of disruption.

He understood Thomas. He knew how important the pub was. He knew how much he wanted to leave a legacy. Arthur would slowly, carefully, chip away at it. He bought a new set of darts, then began to arrange them in a way that the locals couldn't match. Soon, Thomas's clientele dwindled. Arthur's smirk was a thing of cruel beauty.