Fool's Gold

Eighty years is not a bad feat. Dominic had filled those years with hard, hard work. He had come to this country some fifty years ago. Not all immigrants make it, but he had. He sat by his beautiful mahogany desk, in the west tower of his vast estate. A tower was a bit tacky, perhaps, but he had wanted one. Like the castles back home.

Thirty years old, fresh-faced and strapping, he had marched off to the mines. Hatchet slung over his left shoulder, staring straight ahead. Dominic had never been afraid of hard work, and he had always known that he was meant for greatness. Since he was born, he had known that he was somehow more than his peers. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. No one could claim he was born great, but he was hellbent on achieving greatness. And this was the land of opportunity.

Weeks passed in the sooty darkness of the mines. His eyes grew accustomed to it. All he could hear was the whoosh-clang, whoosh-clang of his hatchet striking stone, and the gentle tweeting of the canary. His muscles ached at first, bulged with the effort of it. But he got better, stronger. He was mining pyrite. Fool’s gold.

He met a girl. Pure stroke of luck, really. If he had nothing else, he had a handsome face and defined physique. A charming smile, with one corner of his mouth upturned. He still had hair back then, at 35. A shock of sleek, black curls. The mine’s owner brought his family once so they could see their patriarch’s riches. A dull wife and two daughters. The younger, Sally, was barely out of her teens. Dominic took the water reserved for drinking and washed dust and debris off of his face, and then he waited until Sally was alone. Dominic was charming, Sally was naive. By the time she was back home, she was in love. 

Sally was not necessarily a pretty girl, with her mousy hair and squirrelly face, but she was rich and her father, Dominic’s boss, adored her. Was there a better stepping stone on his path to greatness? Sally’s father had taken note of Dominic’s hard, silent work and appreciated a labourer who didn’t complain or laze around. He and Sally were wed a year later, and Dominic was made foreman of the mine. But he was not satisfied with just better clothes and the right to stand still. He wanted more, and such was his birthright. A tragedy befell Sally’s older sister Lacey, who once visited the mine and tripped, hitting her head on a sharp rock. She was not yet married, and so Sally was now the sole inheritor. Which meant that Dominic was the sole inheritor.

Sally’s father was the next problem. The man had married young, and could have decades ahead of him. The poor man went for a boat ride with his son-in-law, and only Dominic returned. Soaking wet, in hysterics. He had tried to save his benefactor, truly, but the current was just too strong. And so, everything belonged to Dominic. 

If Sally suspected her husband, she never said so. She was a good, catholic girl, and it was her duty to submit to him. She did so, several times, and bore him five heirs. Three sons, two daughters. One of them was named Lacey. While she created life, Dominic created wealth. Despite a poor education, he had never been bad with numbers. He took what the mine made and invested it, learning by trial and error. Very soon, he was the richest man in the state. Only ten years had passed. He was forty, and his destiny was achieved. Or so you’d think. Dominic was starting to long for his homeland, the dirt here the flower of his genius had grown. But he had no intention of returning. So what could he do? 

He bought a huge patch of land, squarely in a mountain range, and then he set to work. A castle would be erected there, surrounded by a wall of nature. Grey, sharp and imposing, and he adored it. The castle was more a wife to him than his actual wife. Except for some staff, you couldn’t find another human being for miles. Sally pursed her lips, but remained silent as Dominic whisked her and their children away, five years later. It had been a fast project, but he could afford any and all workers he needed. The money, he made back by playing the stock market. The castle was where he belonged, he knew. A man of his calibre needed a flair for the dramatic. Now, finally, his dream was achieved. The wife could be prettier, but he could live with that. They rarely spoke, anyway. She had filled her purpose. What she did to fill her days now was no concern of his, as long as she did not humiliate him. Sally died at the age of fifty-six, bitter and alone. Dominic did not mourn her, but he did not remarry either. The children were mostly adults now, spreading their roots into the world and carrying his name to new heights. 

Yet, Dominic knew there was one piece missing. The epilogue to his grand story. And unlike everything else in his life, this could not be micromanaged. Eighty years old, he leaned back into his polished leather chair, examining the document before him. His will. 

“My children,

If you are reading this, I am dead. I have lived a long, difficult, yet successful life and I am sorry to say that not a single one of you deserves to take over my life’s work. Rise up, prove yourself. No money of mine shall go to a snivelling brat.

Only one of you will inherit, and that child shall inherit everything. This child will not be permitted to share their inheritance with either of their siblings, or they shall lose it all. If this happens, or if no one succeeds in fulfilling my terms, all my assets will be sold and the money will be donated to the village where I was born. 

My terms are simple. One of my five children is responsible for my death. The one who solves my murder and brings the culprit to justice shall be my inheritor. Only one may win. For once in your lives, make me proud.”

Some details had to be edited, of course. This was just a draft. But Dominic felt pleased with himself, for maybe now he had a guarantee that his death should be as magnificent as his birth. Go out with a bang, as they said.