The Murder of Kendall Burns

CHAPTER THE FIRST

Kendall Burns was furious at his sons. But Mr. Burns was also extremely old, and if you've ever seen an old person attempt to be angry, you'd know that it's not the most attractive thing in the world. Quite the opposite, actually—their skin becomes even more wrinkly than usual and they squint their eyes in ways that make you wonder if they're really all that mad at all, or trying to hold in a visit to the lavatory. And so Mr. Burns, being a man that prided himself on his rugged good looks even in his old age, suppressed his loathing just barely enough to plaster on a smile as thin as a well-made crepe and sat down at his desk.

One might wonder what had gotten Mr. Burns in such a fit that he might possibly consider looking unattractive to passers-by—and rightly so. The last time Kendall Burns had been so stricken by hatred at his sons was when the youngest one, Kendall Jr., had quit law school to pursue a semi-successful career acting in infomercials for sponges seventeen years ago. Well, it was either that or when his middle and eldest son conspired together to scar the head of their prestigious boarding school for life by releasing a swarm of bees into his office in the dead of night even when they were wholly aware of the fact that he was not only seriously allergic but seriously scared of the angry creatures.

Indeed, in all of his seventy three years on Earth, Mr. Burns had been fortunate not to have all that many problems at all. He was born into a new-money Silicon Valley ultra-upper-crust family. Of course, after Mr. Burns's mother died of the flu—they were against vaccinations on "religious grounds"—his father gambled exactly eighty three percent of his (admittedly still large) fortune on expensive-but-gross booze and legal fees for inebriated urinating on state property, so they were forced into a modest mansion nestled in the hills of Maine. But even then, Mr. Burns had no problem graduating from Princeton University with a Master's in Gender Studies and going on to (somehow) land a job with a six-figure salary at a Fortune 500 company where he did absolutely nothing. That job led him to his wife, another bigwig (this time with a Ph.D. in Philosophy) who fell in love with his large trust fund.

That wife birthed him three sons who were equal parts gross, unattractive, and bad with money that he supported by writing a series of wildly popular sitcoms after quitting his job at his company. And those sons were the reason that he was angry—correction, very angry—at this very moment. Why? Because even though their mother had died just three days ago, they had ordained it thoughtful and a good idea to march into their father's office and argue about who should get her part of the will.

Admittedly, the part of the will that the woman had previously held was obscenely large—Mr. Burns loved his wife as much as she loved the allowance she got weekly to spend on collecting antiques. Her cut of the will was nearly sixty seven million dollars, to be exact. And the three sons were determined to derive any penny that they could out of the whole "mother-dying ordeal," as they called it.

So the three of them crowded around Mr. Burns's desk and, leisurely crossing their arms, looked at him expectantly. There was a short silence, but his eldest—Matthew Burns, currently unemployed, and very impatient—broke it quickly, moving over to where his father sat, pulling up a stool to sit on. He squatted on the uncomfortable wooden stool and, wincing, leaned into his father.

Mr. Burns looked away from Matthew, anger firing through his eyes. "If you're here to demand for your mother's money, spare me."

"Daddy, no. No, I would never do that. She was my mom," Matthew said in a valley-girl-adjacent drawl. "Luka, Kendall Jr., did you know about this?" He turned to his brothers. Both shook their heads heartily.

Mr. Burns groaned with disgust and, pushing his chair back, jumped out of his desk and started fiddling with the blinds on a nearby window. "Whaddya take me for? An idiot? I'm an author of numerous extremely successful sitcoms, and I heard you talking about it last night!"

Kendall Jr. walked towards his father gingerly. "We know, Daddy. We know—but now that Mammy's dead, the money has to go somewhere, right? We don't want it to just . . . disappear. We're thinking about your legacy here, Daddy."

Luka nodded in agreement. "And, well, I think we all know that the one who should be trusted with maintaining the money in this family should be the only one who's currently steadily employed—me."

There was a chorus of groans. "I'm an artist! I'm waiting to be fulfilled creatively!" Kendall Jr. shouted.

"And I . . . well, I have no excuse," Matthew said, nodding solemnly. "But working at Burger King is hardly being 'steadily employed.'"

"I'll have you know that working as a culinary assistant—" Luka started.

"Waiter. Call it like it is, Luka," Kendall Jr. interjected.

"Yeah, well, whatever. It has provided me valuable experience working with money and getting my hands dirty—something that you two know nothing about!"

"Okay, okay," Mr. Burns said, waving his hands. "You've all given me something to think about. Get out, and I'll see you tomorrow morning."

The three brothers smiled at each other secretly.

"And quit smiling!" Mr. Burns yelled. Then, softer, "Losers."

Matthew, Luka, and Kendall Jr. exited the room, fist-bumping each other, and Mr. Burns sat down at his desk, sighing heavily.