My Dad Forced Us To Play A Game Before Reading His Will — The Final Question Changed Everything
Part 1
The waiting room of Mr. Wallace’s law firm smelled like lemon polish and expensive leather.
I sat on the far end of the sofa, keeping my distance from my siblings.
It had been three weeks since Dad’s funeral.
None of us had spoken a word to each other in the elevator ride up to the forty-second floor.
Craig checked his Rolex for the third time in ten minutes.
He let out a heavy sigh, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit.
Megan was furiously typing on her phone, likely coordinating childcare with her nanny.
Tyler stared blankly at the wall, a slight tremor in his knee betraying his anxiety.
Heather filed her nails, pausing only to examine the results under the recessed lighting.
We were a family in name only, united merely by the prospect of Arthur’s estate.
Mr. Wallace finally opened his heavy oak door.
He gestured for us to enter his private office.
Instead of the usual long mahogany conference table, five chairs were lined up in a neat row.
They faced a blank projector screen pulled down over the window.
Craig stopped in his tracks.
He pointed at the chairs, his jaw tightening.
Megan scoffed, clutching her designer handbag closer to her chest.
Mr. Wallace walked to the front of the room without a word.
He connected a slim laptop to a projector on his desk.
The bright purple logo of Kahoot illuminated the dark screen.
Heather laughed nervously, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
Mr. Wallace adjusted his glasses, his expression unreadable.
He explained that these were Arthur’s explicit instructions.
Before any documents could be read, we had to play a game.
Fifteen questions about our father’s life.
He handed each of us a sleek tablet.
The screen prompted us to enter a nickname.
Craig rolled his eyes so hard I thought he might pull a muscle.
Tyler grumbled something under his breath about having better things to do.
I just typed in my name.
This was going to be an interesting afternoon.
The first question flashed on the screen.
It asked for Arthur’s morning routine.
I didn’t even have to think.
I tapped out ‘coffee, crossword, then a two-mile walk.’
Dad had done that exact sequence every single day for thirty years.
The timer ticked down with a cheerful, obnoxious beat.
The results popped up in a colorful bar graph.
I was the only one who got it right.
Craig had guessed ‘coffee and the stock market.’
Megan had put ‘I don’t know.’
Tyler had guessed ‘sleeping in.’
The second question asked for the name of his first business partner.
I immediately typed ‘Frank.’
There was a faded photograph of them on his desk that he kept until the day he died.
My siblings stared at their screens like the text was written in a foreign language.
Heather chewed on her bottom lip, tapping randomly.
By the seventh question, my score had reached seven hundred points.
The next closest score among them was a flat zero.
Megan leaned over, trying to peek at my tablet.
She accused me of Googling the answers.
I just looked at her.
I asked her what I could possibly Google to find out his favorite brand of instant oatmeal.
By the ninth question, they had subtly scooted their chairs closer to mine.
They tried to copy my answers before the timer ran out.
It didn’t matter.
The scoring was based on speed, and they were always a second too late.
I sat at nine hundred points.
The rest of them combined barely cracked fifty.
Craig threw his tablet onto the floor with a loud clatter.
He crossed his arms, his face flushed with anger.
He declared the whole thing insane, insisting that nobody remembered trivial details like this.
I quietly told him that I did.
He sneered, accusing me of being the favorite just because I knew a few fun facts.
I reminded him that I actually showed up.
I was there for the Sunday dinners, the holidays, and the random Tuesdays when he just wanted company.
Craig turned away, his jaw clenched tight.
Tyler stared at his shoes.
Heather suddenly found a loose thread on her skirt fascinating.
Mr. Wallace cleared his throat.
He tapped his keyboard, bringing up the final question.
It was an open response format, worth zero points.
The prompt asked who deserved the inheritance and why.
I looked down the row of chairs.
All four of my siblings were typing furiously.
I could guess exactly what they were writing.
Heather would suggest splitting it five ways because she wanted to avoid conflict.
Megan would talk about her three kids and how expensive private school had become.
Tyler would bring up his recent bankruptcy and claim he needed a fresh start.
Craig would argue that as the eldest son, it was his birthright.
I looked back at my own screen.
I typed that the employees who helped him build his company deserved it.
They were the ones who had become his real family in the end.
I hit submit and set the tablet on my lap.
Mr. Wallace watched the answers populate on his monitor.
He scanned the responses, his expression completely neutral.
He closed the game application.
The room went dark for a fraction of a second.
Mr. Wallace turned to us with a tight smile, and clicked play on a hidden video file.
