“The doctor gave me six months,” I announced to my family. They came rushing over to divide the house, little knowing it was the first move in my game.
I watched my children gathered around the dining table in my sitting room and saw three complete strangers staring back at me.
My eldest, forty-year-old Edward, sat with the tense expression of a man already counting chickens before they hatched.
Laura, my thirty-five-year-old daughter, cast greedy, appraising glances at the paintings on the walls and the antique sideboard.
Only the youngest, thirty-year-old Emily, didnt look at the thingsshe looked straight into my eyes.
I took a sip of water to wet my dry throat.
“The doctors estimate Ive got about six months.”
Edward leaned forward instantly, his manicured fingers nervously crumpling the linen napkin.
“Mum, we need to be practical. Lets set emotions aside. Business cant wait. Your empireall the assetsneed to be transferred in working order. We need a clear, precise plan.”
Laura chimed in, her voice sweet and insistent, like a market trader haggling over Persian rugs:
“And the house Edward and I were thinking we ought to bring in a valuer. Just for formalitys sake, you understand? So there wont be any squabbles latereverything must look fair.”
They didnt even bother pretending to be sympathetic. They went straight to businessnumbers, square footage.
Only Emily stayed silent. Slowly, she stood, walked behind me, and placed her hands on my shoulders. Her palms were warm and trembling slightly.
The next day, Laura turned up with an estate agent. “Just to have a look around, Mumget a market valuation. No obligation.”
A smooth-talking young man paced the rooms with a laser measure while Laura whispered about how “awkwardly placed” the bathroom was and how “prices had dropped in this area.”
Edward rang three times that morningnot to ask how I was. He demanded access to financial reports and the contact details of the corporate solicitors.
“Business is a living organism, Mum. It cant sit idle for a single day. Every delay is money lost.”
I gave him everything he asked for. Or rather, I made it seem like I did. Calmly, methodically.
They scurried about, dividing, scheming. They were so absorbed in my inheritance, theyd forgotten one crucial thingI was still alive.
One evening, there was a knock at the door. Emily stood on the doorstep with two containers of homemade food. She didnt ask about wills or valuers.
“I brought you chicken soup and a casserole. You need to eat properly.”
She sat beside me on the sofa and took my hand.
“Mum, if you ever need anythingto talk, or just for me to be herejust say the word. Ill do whatever you need.”
I looked at her tired face, still marked from her night shift, and at her simple, honest words.
A week later, Edward and Laura arrived together. With a solicitor in tow.
“Mum, weve drafted a will,” Edward announced from the doorstep. “To make things easier for you. Weve accounted for everythingdivided it all fairly.”
Laura handed me a thick folder.
“Your last wishes must be flawless. No legal complications later.”
I leafed through the documents. Everything was accounted for, down to the last silver teaspoon. My house, my shares, my savingsall meticulously split between them.
Emilys name was barely mentionedshed inherit a neglected little cottage on the outskirts and an old car.
I looked up at them. They watched me expectantly, barely hiding their impatience. They were waiting for my signaturemy final act.
But this wasnt the end. It was only the beginning.
“Thank you for taking care of this,” I said evenly. “Ill review it all carefully. Give me a few days.”
When the door closed behind them, I went to the safe. I pulled out another folderthe one my solicitor had prepared a month ago, right after my doctors visit.
And I called Emily.
“Darling, can you come over? I need your help.”
Emily arrived within the hour. No questions, no fuss. She sat across from me in the armchair Laura had already mentally earmarked for the skip.
“Mum, whats happened? You look different.”
I handed her a slim folder containing a power of attorney. A general one. In her name.
“I need you to do a few things for me. It wont be easy, and itll take time. But you must help me.”
She took the document, her fingers tracing the lines slowly.
“Yes. Of course. What do you need me to do?”
“Its a marathon, not a sprint,” I began. “First, youll meet with my solicitor. Hell brief you.”
Hed prepare the paperwork for the banks and brokers. No sudden moves. Wed shift assets gradually, avoiding attention.
Emily gave me a puzzled look but stayed quiet.
“Your brother and sister will think theyre in control. Ill let them believe it.”
She didnt ask why. She didnt ask why her, not Edward. She simply trusted me.
The next day, I phoned Edward.
“Son, Ive been thinking you were right. We must tend to business. But I dont want you distracted from the core operations. Could you handle our old factory in Yorkshire? Sort out the accounts, conduct an audit. Its a tricky assetno one else can manage it.”
I sent him two hundred miles away to deal with a near-bankrupt business Id planned to shut down anyway. He left, puffed up with self-importance.
For Laura, I had another task.
“Darling, you were right about the valuables. We must catalogue everything in the house. Photograph it, document itfor probate, for insurance. Youve such good tastecould you handle this?”
And she did. For weeks, she wandered the house, listing and photographing every vase, every painting. She was sure she was inventorying her future estate.
Meanwhile, Emily, after her hospital shifts, spent evenings with solicitors and accountants. She signed papers, opened new accounts, moved funds in small increments. It was agonisingly slowbut secure.
For Edward, I had another “consultation”this time about a commercial property in the city centre.
“You know this business best, darling. Find a buyer. Handle the deal.”
He seized the idea with gusto. Personally found a buyer, led negotiations. He was sure the sale money would go to the main company accountsoon to be his.
He didnt know that a week before completion, Emily had signed a deed of gift. The money went straight to her new private account.
Two months passed. I grew weaker before their eyes. Playing the part wasnt hardI *was* tired. But not from an illness. From years of disappointment.
Edward was the first to suspect something. The factory audit stalled, and he returned to London. Our shared financial adviser rang him.
“Mr. Whitmore, your mothers restructuring assets strangely. Are you aware?”
That evening, he burst in unannounced. Face red, eyes flashing.
“Mum, whats going on? Why are you selling off the portfolio piecemeal?”
I gave him a weary look.
“What money, darling? Im paying for treatment at a Swiss clinic. Consultations, procedures its frightfully expensive.”
He didnt believe a word.
“There were millions! You couldnt have spent it all on consultations!”
Laura arrived next. A gallery owner friend had let slip shed seen “your familys Impressionist collection” in a pre-sale catalogue.
“Mum, what have you done?! Selling family heirlooms for pennies!”
They loomed over me, shouting. About money. About assets. About inheritance.
They didnt care about *me*. They mourned not my impending deathbut their slipping fortune.
“Wheres the money, Mum?” Edward hissed, leaning in. “Just tell us where it is.”
Then Emily walked in.
“Whats all this shouting? Mum shouldnt be distressed.”
Edward rounded on her.
“Stay out of this! Its none of your concern!”
And thats when I decided the performance was over.
I rose slowly from my chair. My voice came out clear and strongno frailty, no tremor.
“She *is* the concern. Unlike you.”
Edward and Laura froze.
“What are you on about?” Edward recovered first. “What do you mean, *the concern*?”
“Precisely that,” I said, stepping forward. “Owner of this house. And everything in it.”
I turned to Emily.
“Sorry to drag you into this. But I had to be sure.”
“Sure of *what*?!” Laura shrieked.
“That I was right about you both,” I replied calmly. “You showed me your true colours.”
Laura burst into angry tears.
“Youve taken everything from us! Your own children!”
“You took it from yourselves the day you brought a valuer instead of comfort
