Inheritance

I’m lying on my couch, watching TV, when I hear the doorbell ring. This, in and of itself, is extremely unusual. I never really get visitors apart from my two closest friends, and they know to just walk straight in. I’m a bit scared, to be honest, mainly due to the fact that I use a good portion of my free time to watch those true crime documentaries- you know, the ones where the single women living alone get abducted and thrown in a serial killer’s basement. I pause, for a moment, cursing myself for not moving into an apartment with one of those spy holes on the door. Ah, well, it’s the middle of the day, and my mind is probably just getting the best of me like it always does. I slowly get to my feet and shuffle over to the door, then unlock the hatch and open it slowly, peering around the side. Behind the door stands an austere-looking man in a tailored grey suit, and now I feel both uncomfortable and underdressed in my sweatpants and old hoodie. 

“Ms. Cohen? My name is Samuel Beckett. I am here on behalf of a Mr. Alexander Daniel Cohen. You have been included in his last will and testament, and he requested that I hand-deliver a copy to you.” 

What? Is this some kind of joke? I’ve never heard of an Alexander in my family, much less one that would leave me anything. This was either a mistake, or this guy is a creep, and either way I want him to leave.

“I’m so sorry sir, I believe you have the wrong person. Goodnight,” I say firmly, and begin to shut the door. 

“Ma’am, wait. You are Sonja Jessica Cohen, are you not?” 

“Well, yes, but I don’t-”

“My client was a very private man. It is quite possible that you have never met him. Nonetheless, it is your name on this will, and therefore I must present it to you. May I come in?” 

“Uh, sure, I guess,” I respond, thoroughly confused, and a bit apprehensive. It's not like I have a very mysterious family. We have huge reunions every year, and while I’m not that close with any of my family members, I’m almost 100% sure that I know all of their names. But this guy does look official, and he does knows my full name, so I reluctantly wave in the man and attempt to smooth down my hair before offering him a seat at the small table in my kitchen, which isn't really a kitchen but rather the corner of my apartment that happens to have a mini fridge and a microwave. He thanks me before pulling a thin stack of papers out of his briefcase and sliding them across the table. 

“If you read the papers in front of you, you will see that you have been named as the sole beneficiary of Mr. Cohen’s entire fortune, including his various properties and assets. His worth is estimated to add up to around $7.75 million, as you will see listed below. Ms. Cohen, as this is a large sum of money to leave one person, we have triple checked the validity of this testament, and I can assure you that it is real.”

I feel my face go white. He must see the dismay in my eyes, because I feel like I've gone into shock. $7.75 million? Various properties? What the hell? My family was always okay, financially, but we still struggled with bills sometimes. Where was this guy then? And why, in a million years, would he leave me all of this money? My brain races and my vision begins to blur as I attempt to read the legal documents before me. 

“Um…” I stuttered. 

“However, Ms. Cohen, Mr. Cohen did leave one condition. It is quite an unusual ask, I must admit, but it is, unfortunately, the only way for you to collect this inheritance. As Mr. Cohen clearly stated, your inheritance will only be provided if you sell your current belongings and move to Mr. Cohen’s farm in Switzerland for at least 1 year. He would very much like someone to keep up his farm after his death, and he has specifically requested it be you. I am aware that this is a big life change, and it is up to you if you would like to pursue it- just be mindful of the fact that if you choose to ignore his request, you would be denied your inheritance. I have enclosed the address of the farm as well as pictures, and the contact information of the people currently living on the property, as well as the nearby neighbors. I would suggest you do your research before you make any decision. I will leave you my card and the contact information for my law firm, so feel free to contact me at any time. However, Mr. Cohen did stipulate that the move, if you choose to make it, shall be completed within 1 month of his death. That means you have until December 21st, three weeks from now, to make a decision and buy tickets.” 

What. The. Hell. What the hell? This is not okay. What am I supposed to do? Does he really expect me to move to freaking Switzerland on the whim of some dead relative I never knew? To a freaking farm?? On the other hand, almost $8 million would change my life… But what am I thinking? I have a life here- well, kind of a life. I have friends and a crappy job and… well, I guess that’s it, but still. I can’t move to Switzerland. I’ve planned out my entire life, and spontaneity freaks me out. So do dirty animals. And manual labor. And decisions. So no, I won’t go to Switzerland. But am I really going to turn down that much money? I think of all the things I could do with that kind of cash: I could finally travel, I could move into a better apartment - heck, even a house if I wanted to. I could pay every bill without a second thought, and I could buy myself a whole new wardrobe. Ugh. This guy was obviously some sadistic old man who wanted to torture me with this impossible situation. I feel dizzy and faint, and all I want to do right now is lie down, but I quickly become very aware of the lawyer staring at me, seemingly waiting for a response. I don't know what to say. Is this legal, to just drop this bombshell on me like this?

“Um… okay. Thank you. I’ll think on it, I guess. Should I… um… I guess I’ll email you when I make a decision?”

“That would be fine, Ms. Cohen. Thank you for your time.” He sets down a business card with his email and the name of his firm on it and stands up and walks out the door, leaving me sitting at the chair, my thoughts racing a mile a minute. 

*****

My fingers tap nervously on the computer keyboard as I stare at the bright screen. The past two weeks have been a whirlwind of anxiety and doubts and sleepless nights. I must have gone through 10 notebooks just making lists of pros and cons, over and over again. I’ve got to say, the “pros” list has been much longer than the cons on every list. I would be rich, and to be honest, I am not happy with my life right now. Maybe something exciting like this would get me out of this rut. I swallow down a lump that has formed in my throat and tap my foot on the floor. Press it. I think. One click. Press it. Am I really going to do this? Yes. Yes, I am. Right? God, don’t be such a worrywart. It’s worth it. It’s so worth it, I tell myself. I stop tapping my foot and lean over the screen, my hand on the mouse. I summon all my courage, and click on the button that says “buy now.” I let out a shaky laugh, unable to believe what I just did. I guess I’m going to Switzerland. 

 *****

I wake up to the sound of birds chirping. It's a cool, crisp morning, and the pinkish light of sunrise is just beginning to illuminate the mountains outside my window. I climb out of bed and pull on a big, baggy sweatshirt before walking down the hall, driven by the smell of fresh bread and coffee. In the kitchen, Liam is drinking his black coffee and reading the newspaper. “Hi, you,” he says as I sleepily put a piece of bread in the toaster. “Morning,” I say, and I wrap my arms around him. We eat breakfast in silence, letting the stillness of the morning wash over us. After I clean up, I pull on my boots and walk outside to collect eggs and begin plowing the fields. It's time to start planting the summer crops. Summer is my favorite time of the year, and I like to soak up every second of the warm days, because they always seem to disappear fast. When I first moved here three years ago, I absolutely hated the snow that covered everything in the winter and the way my breath seemed to freeze in midair whenever I stepped outside. I’ve grown to tolerate it, even to kind of appreciate the frozen quiet of winter, but I still love the long, warm, snow-free summer days more. When I walk back inside the little house after finishing the morning’s work, Liam hands me a note from the local adoption center, thanking us for our generous donation. I sit down next to him and rest my head on his shoulder, thinking. 

All those years ago, I did end up receiving my “inheritance” from that man, who apparently was my great uncle. I still have absolutely no idea why he would ever choose me to take over his farm or to receive his money, but I’ve learned not to question it too much. The mystery of it all drove me crazy in the beginning, but now I just accept that things are the way they are, and that no matter what the money was for, I am completely and utterly happy here. I donated a fair share of the money I received to various charities (but I won’t lie, I’ve kept a lot of it, and I use it to fly myself and Liam around the globe every winter when the crops aren’t growing). I sit down with Liam and the three other people living on our farm: Mia, Andrew, and Isabelle. They help us with work around the farm in exchange for pay and a place to live, but they’re like family now. They’re all Swiss, and they’ve been trying desperately to teach me French and Swiss German, but I’m hopeless at language. Mia has prepared lunch today, setting out an array of fresh cheese, bread, and fruit on the table. We raise our glasses and cheers, the hollow clink of the glasses mixing with the sounds of our voices. As the chatter begins around the table, I think of how lucky I am to be here. My life has gone down a completely different path than I had ever expected or planned, but this is where I am, and I honestly couldn’t be happier. I tear off a piece of still-warm bread, slather on some apricot jam, and stuff it into my mouth. As I eat, laughing and talking, I say a silent thank you to Mr. Alexander Daniel Cohen.