Sixteen Minutes to Midnight

Chapter 2

"Hush, hush," spoke a soft, brittle voice. It was the voice of a man of his years, the voice of a man who had the world thrown at him, and rejected it. But moreso, it was the voice of a man who was empty. People these days are always looking for something more - I mean, that's what the world expects from us, right - it's always more, more and then some more, and when we keep looking for more, we stop thinking about what we already have. And doesn't that make you feel like you're missing something - like you're empty?

I don't know about you, but Gerald seemed empty. He had everything, but he didn't have everything. He could get whatever he wanted, except the things he truly wanted. There's nothing wrong about money, but money can only get you so far. But people are twisted  like that. Sometimes, the money is enough, it seems. And sometimes it leaves us wanting more.

All was hushed.

"I know you all have gathered today," wheezed a voice between short coughs, "for the discussion of how to distribute my wealth. How to partition the will. Who gets what. Who gets how much. How it will be given out. And who claims my estate. All these things."

Beside me, Wilbur simply nods his head as he reaches for his pocket and takes out a cigarette, lights it and clasps it between his two knobbly fingers before bringing it up to his mouth. A puff of smoke.

"But I am dying, and perhaps that is why I have called you here. For is it not a dying man's last wish to see his family? But no, instead what is truly on your mind is how to distribute the will! If my own son, Caleb, was still alive, you all know who I would be giving all the wealth to. But Caleb is not here! No, I am left with you lot. You all squabble with each other to see who gets the most and who comes out on top and perhaps you kick dust in each other's face and see who gets left at the bottom rubbing their eyes."

He continued his rambling.

"I don't really care. What matters is that you are all here. Even if you care more about the will than me, at least your presence would incline you to say some last respectful words before the day is over, before you leave two days from now. Perhaps this is the last time you will ever see me again before I die. And you know what," he scowled, "maybe it's better that way."

"Dad!" cried Donna, suddenly, across the table, "you can't be like this! You've changed, father! I know you think we all only want you for your money...but that's not true! I care about - no, we ALL care about you, dad! Please, can't you see?"

This was coming from the person who was worried they would get the least say in the will. I laughed, then covered my mouth with my hand and reminded myself to shut up. Sandra stared at me coldly. Wilbur, on the other hand, couldn't help but grin.

"Ah, my dear old daughter, the one who loves me so much that she left me for the city. Yes, I'll keep that in mind."

Donna stared at her father, her hands trembling, and then she slowly sat down and laid her hands on her lap. Glen laid his hands on top of hers, comforting her, even though I couldn't help but feel like she was faking it. Or maybe she wasn't, it was hard to tell.

Gerald sat down and unfolded the napkin, tucked it into his shirt, and smiled. "I'm sorry if I killed the mood," he said, "let us eat."

The meal was exquisite and tasted excellent, despite how the dinner had gotten off to a rocky start. It was a fine meal fit for nobility, with three courses supplemented by an appetizer and topped with a chilled souffle to finish. If Alonzo ever found himself out of a job, I would be more than willing to hire him. Tender smoked meat, still steaming, was served amidst generous servings of fresh vegetables. A cup of fine earl grey tea was poured for each person seated at the table - 13 cups in total.