“He left me a letter. He told me the story of the car and explained why he was leaving it to me.”
“You can show it in court. We’ll see how authentic it is.”
“Victor, do you seriously think I would forge a letter from our grandfather?”
“I think you’re smarter than you look. You played the quiet, unsuccessful type your whole life. And then you walk away with an inheritance worth over a hundred grand. Nice one, Alex. You played it well.”
“I didn’t play anything. I didn’t even know about the car until I opened the garage.”
“Right. Tell it to the judge. I’m getting my share, one way or another. We can do this the easy way or the hard way—your choice.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we can make a deal. You sell the car, we split the money fifty-fifty. I already sold the house. Got four hundred and twenty thousand for it. Plus your hundred grand from the car—that’s five-twenty total. We split it down the middle—two-sixty each. That’s fair, right?”
Alex couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“You want me to sell Grandpa’s car and give you half the money?”
“Exactly. It’s only fair. We’re both his grandsons; we both have a right to the inheritance.”
“But Grandpa left you the house. A house worth four hundred thousand dollars!”
“It’s not my fault you got less. But now that it turns out you have the car, the situation has changed. Let’s be reasonable. You give me fifty grand, and we walk away peacefully. I’ll drop the lawsuit, no more legal battles.”
“No.”
“No? Are you sure? The court case could drag on for months. It’ll cost you a fortune in legal fees. Not to mention the stress, the time. Are you ready for that?”
“I’m ready. I’m not selling the car, and I’m not giving you a dime.”
“Your call. See you in court, then.”
Victor hung up. Alex stood in the middle of the street, clutching his phone. He was shaking with anger, hurt, and disappointment. Victor—his own brother, for whom four hundred and twenty thousand dollars wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He wanted to take the last thing Alex had from their grandfather. Greed, avarice, a complete lack of conscience.
“I always knew you were a failure.” Victor’s words from long ago echoed in his mind. Back then, Alex had just swallowed the insult. But now… now he wasn’t going to stay silent. He wasn’t going to give up what his grandfather had left him. What had been given to him with love, with faith in him.
Alex clenched his fists. Fine. Let there be a court case. He was ready to fight. Ready to defend what was rightfully his.
The days leading up to the court date dragged on. Alex met with his lawyer, prepared documents, and gathered evidence. He brought his grandfather’s letter; the lawyer studied it and said it was a strong piece of evidence, but Victor could challenge its authenticity. They needed a handwriting analysis. They got one. The expert confirmed: the letter was written by Peter Miller, with no signs of forgery or coercion.
Alex also found old photos of his grandpa with the car. He found entries in his grandpa’s journals. He had kept a log of all the work he’d done on the Bel Air. Dates, descriptions, receipts for parts. All of it was carefully stored in the garage. The lawyer was pleased.
“We have a strong case. It will be difficult for Victor to prove anything.”
But Alex wasn’t convinced. He knew his brother. Victor didn’t file a lawsuit without a plan.
The day of the hearing arrived. Alex went to the courthouse half an hour early. He wore the only suit he owned, bought for his wedding eight years ago. It was a little loose—he’d lost weight from the stress of the past few weeks. His lawyer was already waiting in the hallway.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
“Remember: only answer the judge’s questions. Don’t get into an argument with your brother or his lawyer. Keep your cool.”
“I’ll try.”
They entered the courtroom. Victor was already there, sitting with his lawyer—a woman in her fifties with a sharp suit and a predatory expression. Victor was impeccably dressed. An expensive suit, polished shoes, cufflinks. He looked confident, relaxed. When he saw Alex, he gave a curt nod. Cold, without a smile. Alex sat down, took out his documents, and laid them out in front of him. His hands were shaking slightly; he clenched them into fists, forcing himself to calm down.
The judge entered—a woman in her sixties with a stern face and piercing eyes. She sat down, put on her glasses, and opened the file.
“Case number 734. Miller versus Miller, regarding the contest of a will.” She looked up. “Are both parties present?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” the lawyers replied.
“Very well. We will hear from the plaintiff.”
Victor’s lawyer stood up and began to present their case. She spoke professionally, clearly, with figures and legal citations. The gist was this: when the will was written, the testator, Peter Miller, had not accounted for the presence of a classic car worth a significant amount of money in the garage. If this fact had been known, the distribution of assets would have been different. Therefore, it was necessary to revise the heirs’ shares and redistribute the property fairly.
The judge listened, taking notes, then asked:
“Do you have any evidence that the testator was unaware of the vehicle’s presence?”
“Your Honor, the will only specifies the garage. The automobile is not mentioned. Therefore, the testator either did not know about it or did not consider it significant.”
“Or,” Alex’s lawyer interjected, “he considered the automobile part of the garage’s contents and intentionally bequeathed it along with the garage to the defendant.”
“Do you have any proof of that?”
Comments are closed.