Chapter 3

Winifred never thought she would die so soon. She didn't even get the chance to change the beneficiaries in her will to her lover and their illegitimate son.

Indeed, Man proposes, but God disposes.

"I don't believe it! I don't believe it!" My mother-in-law rushed forward to grab the will, but my father-in-law stopped her.

After that, he turned to glare balefully at me. "Randall, you knew about this will all along, didn't you?"

I didn't answer. I simply stood up and straightened my suit.

"Mr. Warlmer, please proceed with the property transfer as soon as possible," I told the lawyer flatly.

With that, I left the place swiftly and shut out the raucous arguments that broke out behind me.

I would never make any concession on things that rightfully belonged to me.

However, I underestimated how low those people would stoop.

When I returned home that night, I realized the lock code had been changed.

I had to press the doorbell to get the housekeeper's attention.

She eventually opened the door, but she looked very uneasy. "Sir… Mr. and Mrs. Foster… erm…"

I brushed past her and marched in.

In the living room, my in-laws, Gulliver and the boy, Zechariah, were lounging on the couch as though they owned the place.

My luggage had been dumped near the entrance foyer, and the contents had spilled everywhere.

My mother-in-law was leisurely munching on snacks. She didn't even bother to look at me when I walked in.

"Well, look who decided to come back. I thought you had already skipped town with my daughter's money," she said sarcastically.

I marched up to the group and swept my eyes over them. "This is my house. Why are all of you here?"

"Your house?" My mother-in-law gave a scornful snort.

"My daughter bought this place. Her name is right there on the deed! Now that she's gone, this place is ours. Who are you to stay here? You're just an outsider."

Gulliver added plaintively, "Randall, can't you let us stay? Zechariah and I need somewhere to live... And Mrs. Foster just wanted to be closer to her grandson, so she moved in as well."

I suddenly realized something. Now that Winifred was gone, her parents and children were first in line to inherit her estate under intestate succession laws.

However, if there was a will, it would take precedence. Therefore, the house was legally mine.

"It doesn't matter whose name is on the deed. What matters is that it is stated in the will that the house belongs to me," I reminded them.

With that, I reached for my phone, ready to call the police.

Suddenly, my father-in-law stood up. He was the educated one, so he was more concerned about retaining his pride than his wife.

"Randall, we're not here to fight you for the house. Winifred just passed, and we're still grieving. We just want to stay here for a few days, in the place she lived, to grieve for her," he said, playing the sympathy card unabashedly.

"And Zechariah is Winifred's only flesh and blood. We just want to be close to him. Don't worry. Once we have gotten over our loss, we'll move out," he promised.

I saw the countdown timer above his head, which showed [8 years, 1 month, 20 days]. I then sized up his look of "sincerity" before giving a scornful laugh inwardly.

These people had no intention to grieve for anyone at all. They were just trying to squat here and pressure me into handing over my property.

Nevertheless, I put my phone away and nodded. "Fine. In that case, all of you can stay."

Besides, I was also curious to see what kind of tricks they had up their sleeves.

In their eyes, when I made this concession, it was a sign of weakness.

*****

The next day, I found out that my master bedroom had been usurped. Gulliver and the boy Zechariah had taken over it.

All my clothes, accessories, and other stuff had been thrown out and dumped in the guest room.

My mother-in-law stood triumphantly at the doorway of the master bedroom with her hands on her hips.

"This is now my grandson's room! You've been nothing but a freeloader living off my daughter for ten years. What makes you think you deserve the master bedroom? Go sleep in the servant's room!" she ordered.

Gulliver was wearing my silk pajamas and leaning against the door frame with a cocky, taunting smirk.

"Sorry, Randall, but Zechariah won't sleep anywhere else. He's really picky about his bed. I was going to help you pack your stuff, but Mother said your things are bad luck and told me not to touch them," Gulliver explained with an apologetic look.

But as he said this, he was ruffling the boy's head contentedly.

"The doctor says Zechariah's a smart kid. Our family will be counting on this little man henceforth," he added.

I took in all these people with narrowed eyes, but I suddenly spotted something odd.

The countdown timer above Zechariah's head looked very odd.

The numbers [68 years, 3 months, 5 days] kept flickering on and off in between flashes of illegible static, looking decidedly unstable.

In the twenty-odd years of my life, I had never seen anything like this before.

Was my special ability going haywire? Or... was there something odd about this kid?

I turned my attention back to the present. These people treated me like I didn't exist, or rather, like a servant they could trample on.