Katie quietly took care of a lonely elderly woman. But the whole village was stunned when the will was announced
It all began with an official envelope made of thick paper, handed to Katie by the postwoman with unusual solemnity. Inside, on embossed stationery, solicitor Edward Harrison informed her in dry, bureaucratic language of the necessity to appear for the reading of the late Margaret Whitmores will.
Katie read the letter several times. A will? Margaret had never mentioned one. This formal summons frightened her, shattering the quiet grief still lingering in her heart.
Now she sat in a cramped, stuffy office that smelled of dusty files and sharp, foreign perfumes. She perched on the edge of her chair, as if trying to disappear into itthe only outsider here.
Well, when is he going to start? whispered a plump woman in a garish suit, her fingers flashing with gold rings.
This was Laura Bennett, a distant cousin Katie had seen only three times in ten yearsand each time, on Margarets doorstep with some grasping request. Laura gave Katie a contemptuous glance, curling her lip.
And what are *you* doing here, dear? Margaret doesnt need your help anymore.
Katie flinched but said nothing, only clutching her old handbag tighter. The solicitor, a stern man in glasses, cleared his throat for attention.
Very well, let us begin.
Laura adjusted her hair pointedly.
Honestly, Edward, whats there to announce? An old cottage and some rugs. Were all family here
The solicitor gave her a sharp look over his glasses and began reading in a flat, monotonous voice. Katie listened absently, lost in memories of Margarets last daysthe quiet evenings, conversations about books, her dry, warm hand in Katies. Margaret often spoke of her late husband:
My Leonard was brilliant, Katie. Unrecognised, perhaps. He saw everything in numbers, in charts. Said money wasnt paper but energyyou just had to know where to direct it. Katie had only nodded sympathetically, never dwelling on the meaning.
the total value of assets in the deceaseds brokerage account amounts to thirty-eight thousand pounds, the solicitor announced dispassionately.
A ringing silence fell. Even the rustle of papers in Edwards hands seemed deafening.
Laura slowly turned her head toward him, all pretence of superiority gone.
How much?
Thirty-eight thousand, he repeated, not looking up. The will was executed a year ago, in sound mind and memory.
The relatives erupted like a stirred beehive. They exchanged glances, faces tightening, eyes flickering with greed and suspicion. Then, as one, all those stares fixed on Katie.
She sat pale as a sheet, uncomprehending. Thirty-eight thousand? Was *this* what Margaret had meant by energy?
The solicitor coughed and continued.
All my worldly possessions, including all monetary assets, I, Margaret Whitmore, bequeath to Miss Katherine Eleanor Dawson
*What?!* Laura shrieked.
Edward looked up, his gaze cold as steel.
in gratitude for ten years of selfless care, kindness, and companionship, which she gave me while my own blood relatives forgot me for years.
He finished reading.
Katie lifted her head, meeting Lauras wolfish glare.
So *thats* why you clung to her, you snake, Laura hissed, her voice thick with venom. You conned her! You fraud!
Katie froze. It wasnt the moneythis sudden windfallthat shocked her. It was the explosion of her quiet little world, where shed simply helped a lonely soul. The shrapnel was flying straight at her.
She slipped out of the office like a shadow, desperate for air. But the relatives spilled out after her, cornering her on the narrow pavement.
Hold on, Dawson, Laura snapped, gripping her elbow like a vise. Did you think youd just walk away?
II didnt know, Katie whispered, trying to pull free.
Oh, she *didnt know*! scoffed a mansome distant nephew. Ten years of emptying bedpans, and she didnt know! Saintly innocence!
Listen, I dont want the money, Katie said softly. I never asked
Oh, she *doesnt want it*! Laura sneered. Listen, girl, lets make this easy. Youve meddled in family business. That moneys ours by blood. Youre nobody. Well take you to court. Prove you manipulated her, wormed your way in. That she wasnt in her right mind. Youll have trouble, Katie. Serious trouble.
Katie wrenched her arm free and walked away. Their shouts and threats followed her.
The next days were hell. The phone rang nonstop.
Katie, love, lets be reasonable, Lauras husband murmured down the line. Why drag this through court? Give us half, and well drop it. Fairs fair.
An hour later, Laura herself called.
Youve stolen my childrens future! she screamed. Ill ruin you! Everyone will know what a viper you are!
And she told them. At the grocers, where Katie bought bread, Laura announced loudly to the queue how this swindler robbed our poor, senile aunt.
People began to stare, to whisper. Neighbours crossed the street to avoid her. Every glance, every murmur struck like a blow. Her good nameall shed ever hadwas trampled in the mud.
One evening, a knock came. Laura stood there, face full of false sympathy.
May I? She stepped inside without waiting. This is hard for you, Katie. But understandIm fighting for family. We *need* that money. My sons flat, my grandchildrens education. Its only fair, isnt it?
Margaret wrote the will, Katie said quietly but firmly. It was her choice.
Lauras mask slipped.
The choice of a mad old woman! Think a judge will believe you? Well hire the best lawyers. Theyll skin you alive. Walk away. Do it *now*.
After Laura left, Katie sat motionless. She nearly broke. Maybe she *should* walk away. Return to her quiet life. The thought brought fleeting reliefthen bitterness. To refuse would betray Margaret. Admit her last wish was a mistake.
She barely slept. At dawn, suffocating, she went to Margarets house.
The gate creaked. The door was ajar. Inside, chaos. The house had been ransacked. Dust hung in the air, thick with betrayal. Books lay gutted, a photo album torn apart. Theyd searchedand in their greed, destroyed every trace of her friends memory.
In the bedroom, shattered porcelain littered the floora little angel figurine, Katies gift to Margaret years ago. She picked up a shard. Its sharp edge drew blood. As the red drop bloomed on white, fear and doubt vanished. Cold, clear anger took their place.
Theyd crossed a line. Defiled not her, but Margarets memory. Enough.
Her gaze fell on a thick Shakespeare volumeuntouched. Inside *King Lear*, a hollowed-out page held a flash drive and a folded note.
*”My dear Katie, if youre reading this, the vultures have shown their true colours. Dont fear them. Their strength is arrogance; yours is truth. Leonard taught me to invest not just money, but foresight. I knew theyd come for you. On this driverecordings of their calls these past years. And more. Fight for whats yours.”*
Katie clenched the drive. Her weapon.
She dialled Lauras number.
Laura, she said, calm and firm, Ive thought about your offer.
Finally! And?
Ive decided you made a mistake. Breaking into her home. Im filing a police report. My solicitor will contact yours. Expect a summons.
Silence. Then
You *dare*?
Katie hung up. The game had begun. On *her* terms.
Her solicitor, Andrew Carter, had a reputation like a bulldog. Hearing the recordings, he smirked. Gold, Miss Dawson.
A week later, they met Lauras lawyer. Laura sat smug, her counsel spouting claims of Margarets unsound mind.
Andrew waited, then played the recordingsLaura refusing to help repair the roof, her son begging for money. Laura flushed.
Illegal!
All calls saved on Margarets personal phone, Andrew said coolly. He produced another documentLauras attempt to have Margaret declared incompetent. *Two days before the will.* A psychiatric evaluation had refused her.
Lauras lawyer paled.
One last thing, Andrew added. The break-in. Your sons fingerprints are on the porcelain. Criminal chargesunpleasant, no?
It was over. Laura left without a word. The lawsuit was withdrawn.
Five years passed.
