Tag Archives: riches

2201. Great Uncle Frederick’s legacy

Grover was looking forward to his great uncle dying. Great Uncle Frederick had amassed a stupendous fortune over his eighty-two years of living alone. Surely the nieces and nephews were in for a windfall.

News had come through that Great Uncle Frederick had come down with the flu. This was Grover’s opportunity to show his concern. It might be the last opportunity Grover would have to expresses his interest and care to Great Uncle Frederick. Some of the other nieces and nephews could be omitted from the will because Great Uncle Frederick’s memory was inevitably fading. It was not to be the case with Grover. Grover would remind him.

Sadly, Great Uncle Frederick recovered. There was no fortune coming Grover’s way this time, although Great Uncle Frederick did give Grover the flu.

May Grover rest in peace.

2049. Bernice’s murderous plots

Bernice had spent ages (possibly years) plotting the undetectably best way to murder her brother. You see, their mother was old. And rich. Exceedingly rich. Bernice wanted it all.

Their mother – whose name was Hilda – lived in the most beautiful house on a beautiful hill with a beautiful garden and even more beautiful view. Bernice’s brother – whose name was Jules – had his eyes on the house. “You keep two thirds of the money and I’ll take a third of the money plus the house.” On the surface Bernice agreed, but… Bernice wanted it all.

Things were getting urgent. Hilda was all of fifty-nine – which to younger people seemed old. She still lived alone and managed well, but all it would take would be for an epidemic to sweep the world and she’d be packing her bags for eternity like there was no tomorrow. The urgent murder of Jules would not only cover Bernice in good fortune but would in all likelihood provide enough grief to finish Hilda off.

Jules was unmarried – in fact totally unattached. There would be no spouse or partner or kids challenging Bernice’s windfall. Then Lady Luck stepped in. Jules took ill and died without any prompting whatsoever from Bernice.

Mother Hilda was grief-stricken. But would Hilda die? Oh no! Bernice described her mother as “that old cow who was no good anymore for milking but who wouldn’t kick the bucket.”

Then the worst happened. Oh tragedy of tragedies. Some things are on a par with catastrophic viruses. Widow Hilda got married; this time to a man much younger than herself.

“Is there no justice in the world?” screamed Bernice. “Do I not matter? Under no circumstance will I ever consider that usurper to be any sort of stepfather. Great balls of fire, he’s about my age and riddled with covetous ambition.” She loathed him with a vengeance.

Bernice began to plot.

1999. Rich kids

Roman was one of those rich, spoiled, has-everything young men who at age twenty-three lived in his mansion with a swimming pool and drove a sports car around for no reason other than to impress.

His bed was gigantic and with the push of a button the ceiling would open and expose the night sky. Enough is enough in this description; imagine a luxury and it was his.

All his wealth came from his squandering parents. Who needs an education when you’ve got money? Who needs a job when you’ve got money? Indolence was Roman’s middle name. He didn’t like his parents much. In fact, they were a bit of a nuisance at times.

The problem was that Roman was prone to boredom. On his own bat he created and built the most extravagant out door bar around his swimming pool. To be fair, it was genuinely impressive. Every type of glass, every type of bottle, every type of olive and orange zest, was on display. Such extravagance was instantly marvelled at the minute a visitor pulled into the driveway. What use are riches if they can’t be seen?

One day Roman met Yelena. She was from a rich family too, so sumptuousness wasn’t a novelty for her. She was just the right sort of woman for Roman. And he kind of liked her. He picked her up on the first date in his cacky-yellow Lamborghini. (Many rich people have no idea of class).

After three dates they were inseparable. After four dates, wonder of wonders! Roman let Yelena drive his Lamborghini. Not fast of course, but tentatively and with prudence. If she wanted speed, he would have to drive.

What excitement! Yelena drove twice around the block with Roman as a passenger. She pulled into the driveway. Roman patted her on the knee and her foot slipped. The car rushed forward at a tumultuous speed (2.9 seconds from zero to 100 kph) and smashed Roman’s personally made bar to smithereens, landing the Lamborghini in the swimming pool.

Imagine the rage! Imagine the disbelief! Imagine the cursing (no don’t)! Imagine trying to resurrect a relationship after that! But they didn’t have to try to resurrect a thing; they both drowned.

1922. Walking the city walls

(Hi – I’m still having a break from answering comments. A bit otherwise engaged! More in a day or two).

Timothy was exceedingly rich. He hadn’t simply become rich by inheriting riches from his father, although that was a good half of it. He had become doubly rich through hard work. He was a businessman of unbridled talent and success. Hence his riches.

He lived in a beautiful house with a spacious garden, and although he employed a professional gardener to come in once a week, he enjoyed gardening himself and did a great deal of it when time allowed.

He was also interested in breeding tropical fish, and hence he had a good number of significantly large aquariums in tasteful places around his house. Of course when we say “house” we mean it was more than a house; it was a mansion; a manor; a regal grange.

When Timothy hit forty he thought, “Why am I working so hard? I have all this money, so how much more do I need? I have many interests. Why don’t I pursue them? After all there’s enough money to live more than comfortably for the rest of my life and longer.”

So that’s what he did.

He abandoned work and took to travel! He went to Africa, Europe, Asia. He photographed so many things of history, so many scenes. When he needed a break he would come home and unwind in the garden. In the evenings he would view with pleasure the places he had been. Then it was back into travel!

It was while he was in Verona in Italy. He was walking the city walls, and was high up and passing the Basilica of St. Zeno. He stopped. He thought of something. He burst into tears.

It was all a waste of time; it was all meaningless, because he had no one to tell his adventures to. There was no one to share things with.