The moment the screen flickered on, I knew the day wasn’t going to end the way any of us expected. Funerals are supposed to be solemn, predictable—hymns, eulogies, flowers, and goodbyes. But instead of silence, the room filled with the crackling voice of the man we had just buried. My uncle’s face appeared on the projector, his eyes sharp, his lips curved into that knowing half-smile. “If you’re watching this,” he began, “then I’m gone. But before you lower me into the ground, there’s something you all need to hear.”
Gasps broke through the crowd. My aunt clutched her pearls. My cousin muttered a curse under his breath. And me? I froze, my palms sweaty against the pew, my heart pounding. Because I already had a feeling about what was coming. My uncle had always loved drama, and this—this was the grandest stage of all.
For as long as I can remember, my uncle Thomas was the center of family gravity. He was the one with the booming laugh, the one who brought expensive wine to holidays, the one who loved giving advice no one asked for. But beneath the charm was a sharpness, a cleverness that made people wary. He was generous, yes, but his generosity often came with strings. And when it came to his money—well, let’s just say the whispers in our family never stopped.
When he passed suddenly, leaving behind a sprawling estate and more wealth than most of us could fathom, everyone wondered the same thing: who gets what? My aunt assumed she’d inherit everything. My cousins were already bragging about which properties they’d renovate. Even my mother, his younger sister, held onto hope that the man who had borrowed her savings years ago and never paid it back might finally make it right. As for me, I just wanted peace. But peace wasn’t what Thomas left us.
The lawyer stood awkwardly by the casket, his hand gripping the remote like it was burning him. He had warned us that there were “special instructions,” but none of us expected this—a hidden video will. On the screen, Thomas leaned closer, his expression suddenly serious. “I know you all. I know the greed, the grudges, the secrets you’ve carried all these years. And I couldn’t just let you pick my bones clean without one last word.”
The room went dead silent. Even the baby fussing in the back stopped crying, as if sensing the tension.
“I’ve divided my estate,” he continued, “but not the way you think. Some of you will be disappointed. Some of you will be exposed. And some of you will finally get what you deserve.” His eyes seemed to pierce through the screen, straight into each of us.
My aunt stiffened, her knuckles white on the edge of the pew. My cousin Jason whispered, “This is insane.” But I couldn’t look away.
The first blow landed on my cousin Sarah. “To Sarah,” Thomas’s voice rang out, “I leave nothing. Not a dime. Because you stole from me long before I died. That jewelry you claimed was ‘borrowed’? I never forgot.” Sarah’s face went crimson as gasps rippled through the crowd. She stammered, “That’s not true!” but no one seemed to believe her.
Then came Jason. “To Jason,” Thomas said, his smirk returning, “I leave my car collection. But only under the condition that you sell them and use the money to pay off your gambling debts. Don’t think I didn’t know.” Jason’s jaw dropped, and a low chuckle spread across the pews.
And then—then he turned to me. “To my niece,” Thomas said, his tone shifting to something softer, “the one who never asked for anything… I leave the house on Lakewood Drive. Because you, more than anyone, know the value of silence and loyalty. Use it well.”
I gasped. My mother’s hand clutched mine so tightly it hurt. My aunt turned to glare at me, her face a mask of rage. Whispers filled the air. Why me? Why had he chosen me over his own children?
But Thomas wasn’t finished. His eyes darkened as he leaned in close to the camera. “And finally, to my dear wife—my beloved Margaret. You’ve lived beside me all these years, but we both know you loved someone else. Don’t bother denying it. I’ve left you the bare minimum required by law, nothing more. The rest goes where I see fit.”
My aunt let out a strangled cry, her face pale as stone. She stood abruptly, nearly toppling over the pew, her voice breaking. “Turn it off! This is slander!” But the lawyer, bound by duty, didn’t move.
The video ended with Thomas’s smirk returning. “You wanted my money, my things, my legacy. Now you have the truth instead. Enjoy.” And just like that, the screen went black.
For a moment, no one moved. The only sound was the flickering of candles and the faint hum of the projector cooling down. Then chaos erupted. Sarah shouting denials. Jason cursing under his breath. My aunt sobbing, her reputation shattered in front of everyone. Guests whispering, some pretending not to gawk, others reveling in the spectacle.
And me—I sat frozen, the weight of what had just been placed in my hands pressing down like a mountain. A house. A gift. A curse. Because while everyone else was fighting, I knew the truth: Thomas had never done anything without purpose. That house wasn’t just a gift. It was a burden, a secret, a piece of him I wasn’t sure I wanted.
In the days that followed, the family fractured even more. Some stopped speaking to me altogether, convinced I had known about the will. Others tried to cozy up to me, hoping I’d share. My aunt filed challenges in court, though the lawyer assured me the will was ironclad. And me? I walked through the empty halls of the Lakewood house, every creak of the floorboards a reminder of the man who had orchestrated one final performance from beyond the grave.
I should’ve felt victorious, chosen, special. Instead, I felt haunted. Because Thomas had been right—he knew us better than we knew ourselves. He knew our weaknesses, our sins, our secrets. And even in death, he made sure none of us would forget it.
Final Thought
We think funerals are the end, but sometimes they’re only the beginning. My uncle’s will didn’t just divide his fortune—it divided us. And in the end, his greatest legacy wasn’t money or property. It was the chaos he left behind, the truths we couldn’t escape, and the scars that will linger long after his grave has grown cold.
