Epilogue
I sat nestled in the corner of our lush white couch, reading in my favorite spot. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and I was in a good mood; I had the day off, and Elliott had an early day with his clients. I was all caught up on my Netflix and Hulu shows and was considering a nap. Then, out of nowhere, there was a knock at the door. I quickly scurried over to the window and peeked out. An older man in a suit with a briefcase was looking from the door to the open window where I stood. He smiled and waved. Fuck, I guess I have to answer now.
I unlocked the door and peeked at the mystery man through the crack, which I had opened only a few inches.
“Miss Olsen? Jacqueline Olsen?” he asked, his tone warm and friendly.
I eyed him warily. “Yes.”
“I’m Ken Ferguson, an estate attorney. I’ve tried to reach you by phone but haven’t been able to get through,” he explained, shifting from one foot to the other.
I eyed him up and down. “What’s this about?”
“The late Mr. Barnes appointed me as the executor of his will. There are some things he left for you, and I’d like to handle them as soon as possible. His family has been contacting me incessantly.”
My face grew hot. What the fuck would Michael have left me? Probably a box with a fucking lump of coal in it.
“Uh…yeah, okay. Come in,” I finally said, opening the door wider and gesturing him in. “We can sit here.” I stopped at the dining table and pulled out a chair for him.
I sat across from him as he set his briefcase on the table and opened it. He shuffled around some papers before piling several in a stack, then looked up at me.
“I’ll get straight to the point, ma’am,” he started, closing his briefcase before setting an envelope on top of the stack. “Michael Barnes has left all of his possessions and money to you.”
I stared at him in disbelief for what felt like an eternity. No. Fucking. Way. “This has to be a mistake. I—this isn’t possible,” I said, shaking my head.
He nodded and picked up the envelope from the stack.
“In his will, he left a personal letter for you, meant to be read only by you,” he said with a shrug, handing the envelope to me.
I looked down at the envelope, which was addressed: Sweet Jackie . Tears welled in my eyes as I hesitantly broke the seal, my hands trembling as I pulled out a single white piece of paper.
Jackie,
If you’re reading this, it means I’m dead. I’m sure you had something to do with it, or maybe it was an accident. I really hope you had something to do with it, because that means you finally fought back. I had little remorse for how I treated you. I knew you deserved better, but I loved having you as my pet. I knew I was selfish.
As a reward for being such a good girl for so long, I’m giving you everything I have. You deserve it for being the only person to ever love me the way you did. My bank accounts, properties, stocks—everything is now yours. Even in death, I want to take care of you, my sweet little pet. Do whatever you want with it. But please, do me this one last thing—
I turned the piece of paper over, my hands trembling. I shook my head, unable to process what I’d just read. “I can’t read anymore,” I muttered, the anger and disbelief clawing at me. That fucking asshole. “I can’t accept this. I don’t want it.”
I can’t believe he’s still trying to torment me, even in death. Leaving me something like this, as if he could control me from beyond the grave. It’s just another way for him to reach out, to remind me of the pain he caused. I won’t let him have that power over me, even now.
The attorney’s face fell, disappointment etched in his features as he shook his head. “Miss Olsen, if you refuse to accept this, who knows where this kind of money will go?” he reasoned, his tone earnest. “My suggestion? Take it, and give it to someone or something else that needs it.”
I pondered his words in the silence that followed. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours as I wrestled with my conscience. Finally, with a heavy yet resolved heart, I nodded. “Okay,” I murmured, meeting his gaze with determination. With my decision made, a weight lifted from my shoulders, replaced by a sense of purpose. “I’ll accept it.”