The Inheritance - Part One

With a firm series of pats I flatten the shimmering length of tape over the top of the last of my moving boxes, a faint imprint lingering on the cardboard from my sweat-covered palm. It had been a long few days, slowly working to sell off whatever I could while struggling to fit the last of my meager possessions into the limited number of boxes I could cram into my car.

I needed to be out of my apartment by the end of the workday, having agreed to drop my keys off at the real estate agent's office before they closed up. With that act I'd be living in my car, the final low of an already terrible week I'd been forced to endure.

I had been laid off a while ago, forced out of my position as an academic months back as my college rapidly set about downsizing the 'redundant' staff. Despite the best efforts of my department we had failed to find any sort of position I could fill as more and more jobs were shaved from the institution. Even with my supervisors and ex-coworkers help I had failed to find any new work over the ensuing months, slowly resulting in me burning through my savings and leading to this moment.

With the last box packed I throw my head back, staring up at the ceiling of my soon-to-be old apartment. Tears well up in my eyes, the droplets mixing with the thin sheen of sweat that had built up over the past few hours of tidying and packing.

"This..." I croak, struggling with the words as I reach up to run my fingers through my short sticky hair.

Before I can finish the thought there is a loud knocking at the door. I sit in shock for a moment, blinking in disbelief as I try to work out who it could be. I was the one who was meant to drop off the keys, and my neighbors had already said their goodbyes, or at least those who had cared about my leaving.

As another bout of knocking echos through the cramped halls of my apartment, I hop to my unsteady feet and race over to see who was so eager to see me. As I whip the door open, my hair sticking to my forehead and my face flushed from exertion, I'm met with the sight of a well-dressed man in his late thirties. His short black hair is slicked back with gel and other products, what remains of his receding hairline glistening in the flicker fluorescent lights in the hallway. He is dressed in a rather well-tailored suit, the very dark blue jacket clinging nicely to his somewhat chubby frame. His own face is a little rosy around the cheeks, the climb up the stairs having obviously had an effect on him.

"Mr. Hughes?" he pants, fanning himself with a large binder in his right hand. The binder bulges slightly with the sum of papers inside, the thick bunches of sheets separated by numerous bunches of plastic dividers and sleeves.

"I...yeah?" I manage to cough out in response, my eyes darting over the stranger in my doorway as I try to work out why he was here.

Before I can dwell too long on the thought he pipes up again, looking down at his makeshift fan before opening the binder. With stubby fingers he begins to paw through the materials inside, tilting the whole thing slightly away from me as to keep the contents private.

"Mr. Jordan Hughes?" He asks again, slowly his search as he begins to come to the pages he was searching for. "Related to one... Mrs. Deborah Davies?"

My heart sinks as I hear the name, the event that had started this terrible week immediately looming in my mind as I struggle to keep my composure.

My great aunt Deborah had not been the most healthy woman of late. She had been getting on in years and, unfortunately, had taken a turn for the worse a few weeks after I had been laid off.

She was a wealthy woman, having married rich when she was young and lived her life as a stereotypical homemaker for the decades that followed. She, along with her family, had lived a modest existence and as such she had amassed quite a fortune after her late husband had passed away.

No one really saw her spend much of that large sum. Instead, she had spent her twilight years living in that same meager house she had raised her family in all those years ago. It wasn't until a few months back that she had been forced to move out for her own good, a fall and a declining mental state forcing her multiple children to place her into an old folks home.

After having been made unemployed I had spent quite a lot of time visiting the older woman, not wanting her to languish alone after her accident. I had been the only family member to visit her in this time, with everyone else quickly finding excuses not to visit or spend time with the decrepit old woman. While at first she had seemed to enjoy the visits they soon took a sad turn. As her mind slipped more and more she soon started asking anyone and everyone if she had received any phone calls. Over the course of a single conversation she could ask several times, though she couldn't remember who was meant to call when prompted.

She only lived in the home for a few months before passing in her sleep earlier this week.

The family quickly raced to find out about the inheritance she must have left each of them, each person practically drooling to get their hands on a piece of her fortune. I myself had been equally, if not more, ghoulish than the others thanks to my own desperation. However, as we searched the house we found no will whatsoever. The family quickly devolved into squabbling and legal threats as everyone tried to 'take their due' by grabbing jewelry or by getting into her old chequing accounts. I had merely shuffled home at that point, not wanting to fight over an inheritance that was never intended for me.

"Um...Sir?" asks the man, clearing his throat as I'm snapped back to the reality. I'm forced to clear my throat myself, choking back the tears as I force down the painful memories.

"Yeah...I mean yes, she is...was my great aunt. She..." I stammer out before being quickly cut off by the man as he brightens up.

"Passed away, yes yes we're aware" he mutters, fishing a piece of paper from the binder. "I mean, we are sorry for your loss. However, there is the business of her accounts that we need to settle with..."

"Sorry, but who are you?" I ask, somewhat bewildered at being the one this man had come to.

"Oh, sorry about that" the man blurts out in shock, realizing that he had failed to introduce himself. "I'm Simon Graves, I worked your great aunt's account at the Swap Clinic."

"The Swap..." I mutter, moderately dumbstruck by his declaration. "She never used the Swap Clinic, at least I don't think she..." I begin to muse, my train of thought becoming interrupted by Simon.

"No, she never did get the chance while she was..." he explains, ending in a slight hiss as he realizes just where his sentence was leading. "Again, I'm sorry for your loss. However, Mrs. Davies did ask us to look into a matter around...three months ago."

"Wait..." I blurt out, trying to keep up mentally. "If she..." I begin to say, only to be cut short by a very worried-looking Simon.

"Her requests were...extensive. As such, we couldn't provide our services immediately and...well..." Simon mutters, growing silent as he dwells on the failure on their end to provide what my great aunt had requested in time for her to receive it.

"Well?" I ask, leaning up against the door frame. "What do you need from me? A signature or something?"

"Oh!...No sir" Simon chirps, happy to be brought back on track. "You see, your great aunt listed you as her beneficiary. Considering the size of the deposit we needed from her in order to requisition our services we needed to know who should receive it all...in case the worst happened."

My heart skips a beat as the word beneficiary reaches my ears. This was it, my ticket out of living in my car. Maybe I can even keep the apartment, or even get a better one! I try to keep myself composed, not wanting to seem excited over something so grim.

"So...how much to do..." I begin to ask as Simon glances down at the sheet of paper he had produced.

"Oh the whole works. She wanted a new body for a base, female of course, along with all manner of new features. Hair color, eye color, height, shape, age, when I say the works I mean the..." Simon explains in an exacerbated fashion, obviously stressed out by the sheer amount of swaps Deborah had wanted.

"No, I mean how much was the..." I say, cutting him off as he cuts me off in turn.

"They're a package deal sir" Simon says tersely, his eyes narrowing as he looks up at me. "Once the swaps are all cleared we will relinquish the deposit to the beneficiary of the swap, otherwise we will have to keep the deposit as a penalty. It's all in the contract right...here" Simon explains, passing me the dense page of legalese.

I glance over the tiny dark text hastily, quickly coming to the realization that the doughy man was right. In order to get the deposit back I needed to go through with the swaps my great aunt had requested. While the contract itself listed the 'types' of swaps there could be, the actual content of these swaps must have been listed elsewhere.

Swallowing hard I feel my hands shake, the paper quivering along with my stressful motions. I did need the money, this could be the inheritance that I had been expecting and that my family had been fighting over. However, I'd be giving up so much in exchange.

Clearing my throat, I look down at the suited man from over the copy of the contract.

"Um...how much was this deposit?" I ask nervously, passing the sheet of paper back to Simon.

"Oh, of course. Due to the extensive nature of the services Mrs. Davies required, we needed to secure..."