After My Billionaire Grandpa Died, I Inherited $7 Billion. My Parents Demanded It When I Refused
The Midnight Call
It was a Tuesday evening when the phone rang. I was grading practice sheets at my kitchen table, half-listening to the creaks of my old apartment, when I saw the number on the screen: Unknown. I almost didn’t answer, but something in my gut told me to pick up.
“Miss Carter,” a man’s voice, heavy and official, said. “This is Officer Daniels from the State Highway Patrol. I’m… I’m sorry to inform you that your grandfather, Henry Carter, was in a collision tonight. His vehicle was struck by a drunk driver. He… He didn’t make it.”
The world blurred. My pen slipped from my hand, ink bleeding across the page. Didn’t make it. My chest tightened, refusing to believe.
My grandfather wasn’t just alive; he was eternal. He was supposed to see me play at my student’s recital next month. He was supposed to call me tomorrow to ask if I’d eaten. He couldn’t be gone. But he was.
A Stage for Hypocrisy
The funeral was a blur of black clothes and empty condolences. The mansion that had once felt like a safe haven became a stage for hypocrisy. My parents took charge of everything, not out of love, but out of pride.
They barked at the funeral director over flower arrangements and scolded the caterers for not bringing high-enough quality hors d’oeuvres. My mother clutched her pearls and whispered loudly, “Can you believe he drove himself? A billionaire. And he still acted like a common man.”
My father stood stiff, jaw clenched, already calculating. His eyes weren’t red from grief; they were sharp, restless, as if he was doing math in his head: assets, accounts, stock holdings.
And then there was Ethan. My brother leaned against a marble column, scrolling through his phone, sighing as if the whole event was an inconvenience. When I asked him if he was okay, he shrugged. “I’ll be better once we know what we’re getting.”
I wanted to scream. How could they stand in the same room where Grandpa’s life was being honored and talk about money? I stood near the casket, staring at his peaceful face. He looked almost asleep, his hands folded neatly over his chest.
I whispered so no one else could hear, “I’ll make you proud, Grandpa. I promise.”
But as I glanced around, I realized I was the only one who felt that way. My aunt and uncle, people who hadn’t visited in years, wept loudly for the cameras and then stopped once the photographers packed up. My parents posed for sympathy, but their smiles flickered whenever someone mentioned Grandpa’s fortune.
When the service ended, I lingered, not wanting to leave him behind. That house, that garden, that piano—they were all haunted now, and I was suddenly very aware I was alone.
The Reading of the Will
Two weeks later, the call came from Michael Turner, my grandfather’s lawyer. His voice was calm but firm. “Chloe, your grandfather’s will is ready to be read. He requested your presence and the presence of your immediate family tomorrow morning, 9:00 a.m., at my office.”
Something in his tone made my stomach twist. I didn’t know it yet, but that meeting would change everything.
The next morning, I stood outside the office of Michael Turner. The building was an old converted Victorian house, its dark wood and stained glass windows casting long shadows. My palms were sweaty around the handle of my umbrella.
It wasn’t raining, but the sky hung heavy with gray. Inside, the air smelled faintly of leather and coffee. Michael greeted me with a solemn smile, his silver hair perfectly combed.
“Chloe,” he said softly, shaking my hand. “Your grandfather spoke of you often. He was proud.”
I swallowed hard. “Thank you.” My voice cracked before I could say more.
The door burst open. My parents swept in as if they owned the place. My father, Richard Carter, adjusted his expensive watch with a snap of his wrist. My mother, Diane, strutted forward in heels that clicked like gunshots against the hardwood floor.
Behind them, my brother Ethan slouched in, wearing sunglasses indoors at 9 in the morning, his shirt half-tucked, a smirk plastered on his face. “Let’s get this over with,” my father barked. “We all know how this goes. My father built the empire, and as his only son, I’ll be managing it now.”
The 7-Billion-Dollar Shock
Michael’s polite smile didn’t falter, but I caught a flicker in his eyes. He gestured for us to follow him into a conference room where a long oak table waited. I sat near him. My parents claimed the seats at the head as if it were already theirs. Ethan sprawled carelessly across a chair, his sneakers on the edge of the table.
Michael cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and opened a thick leather folder. “Henry Carter was of sound mind when he updated his will last year. He underwent cognitive evaluations, and I was present for every signing. There is no question of his capacity.”
My father waved a hand impatiently. “Yes, yes, read it.”
Michael began, “I, Henry Carter, being of sound mind and body, hereby declare this to be my final will and testament. To my beloved granddaughter, Khloe Carter, I leave the entirety of my estate—financial assets, real estate, investments, and holdings—valued at approximately $7 billion.”
The words hung in the air like thunder. I froze, certain I had misheard. 7 billion? To me?
The room exploded. “What?”
My father shot to his feet so fast his chair toppled backward. His face was crimson, veins bulging in his neck. “That’s insane! He would never bypass me.”
My mother clutched the table as if it would save her from drowning. “7 billion to a girl who teaches piano? She doesn’t know the first thing about handling money!”
Ethan ripped off his sunglasses and slammed his palm against the wood. “Where’s my cut? I need capital for my new startup! He promised me!”
Michael raised a hand calmly. “Mr. Carter anticipated this response. He made it clear, explicitly, that his decision was intentional. He stated that his son and daughter-in-law had been provided for during his lifetime and that he wished his fortune to pass solely to Khloe.”
My father’s fists trembled. “Lies! You manipulated him, Chloe, didn’t you? Whispered in his ear while he was old and confused!”
I shook my head, tears pricking my eyes. “No! I didn’t even know he was rewriting his will. I never asked him for anything.”
