When the reading of the will finished, Mary Merrywether couldn’t utter a word. Stunned, she struggled to comprehend how she could have ended up cut out from a 100 million estate.
She, who had devoted the last nine years of her life tending the degenerate bastard though every cough, every poo, and every pee of his useless, declining existence – only to end up with a symbolic gift of 10,000 dollars.
She watched, boiling, as Nicole, the dead bastard’s whore, and the main beneficiary named in the will, received wishes from the lawyers, already smelling a continuing, lucrative relationship with Mrs. Esteban.
“I thank you, dear sirs,” Nicole pouted, playing perfectly the dejected widow while already fantasizing the frenzied moments that awaited her in the arms of Federico, the old goat’s nephew.
Nicole Esteban, the widow of Stefan Esteban, noted industrialist, the papers reported weeks later, was the victim of a queer accident, choking on a piece of melon at her mansion.
Mary smiled. Melon is such a sweet fruit.