The Inheritance Part 1

My name is Chris Smith, I am 23 years old and live in New York; I was open mouthed in surprise as I read the letter from “Abercrombie, James and Prendergast”. An aunt I scarcely remembered had passed away and I was sole heir of her will. I had just lost my job and was down to my last couple of hundred dollars. I had to travel to Los Angeles to visit the attorney’s offices. I had to be out my rented furnished apartment in a few days and I went down to the local Greyhound Bus office and booked a ticket for the day after tomorrow.

The day I was leave New York dawned and I headed for the bus station and boarded the bus for Los Angeles. My meager luggage was only a gym bag which contained my few clothes. On the third day the bus arrived at the end of its journey and I then found a cheap hotel.

I took a taxi to the attorney’s office the next morning and trudged up the stairs of the red brick building. I knocked on door 2A labeled “Abercrombie, James and Prendergast”

A pleasant, smartly dressed blond lady promptly opened the door, a smile lighting her pleasant face. “Ah, you must be Chris Smith!” she cooed, while she opened the door and motioned me to a desk where two chairs were set in front of a desk. Behind the desk an early morning summer thunderstorm darkened one corner of the sky through the window. I faintly smelled flowers. It was much different than I had imagined. “Please be seated Chris, the Attorney will be with you shortly,” she explained, her face lit brightly with a smile as she disappeared into a side door.

I just sat down when another door opened. A tall, well proportioned black woman entered the room. At first glance her large tummy instantly told me that she was pregnant, and not too far from delivery, I imagined, but before the thoughts even registered in my mind, she took control of them.
“Mr. Smith, welcome. As you know your Aunt recently passed away, and I have been tasked with carrying out her last wishes, including the disposition of her estate. You are the sole beneficiary of her sizable will, currently valued in excess of 137.6 million.”

I just sat there, stunned by the information and the young attorney’s abruptness. “Of course, there are stipulations, and I must say that this is the strangest will I have ever heard of, let alone administrated.”

“Stipulations?” I asked, my mind struggling to catch up.

Yes. Stipulations. Stringent, exact and lengthy stipulations.”

“Ummmm, okay, like what?” I stammered. She reached to the desk in front of her while sitting herself behind it, flipped the cover of manila colored legal folder, and took out a carefully handwritten note. She glanced at it briefly, and then handed the sheets to me.

I began to read:

Dearest Chrissy, I hope that you don’t mind that I spelled your name that way, the way you used to want to spell it when you were younger. I know that your mother never understood that, and that your father -- that worthless excuse of a man! -- used to beat you something fierce whenever he found out. When we talked, you and I, I would always try to convince you to act like a boy so you wouldn’t upset him or her even for that matter. At the time it seemed the right thing to do. Do you remember how you used to dress in your little sister’s clothes when you were small? I don’t know how many times I had to change you back — seems like every time I put you down for your nap you’d put her clothes on and hide your own under the bed. I remember how you always liked to play with the girls the most, and how, when given a choice, you would rather play with a doll than one of your Tonka trucks. But every time we saw that we scolded you, or punished you, or worse. We kept that up until the poor little girl inside you of was completely buried. I don’t even know if you remember. I’ve kept tabs you on these past years, now that I can, and know about the drinking and the drugs and your two failed marriages. I know that it must feel to you that you could never find what you need on the earth, and know you have struggled to just get by. Partially, perhaps, it’s my fault, for I said nothing as that happened to you, I sat by and encouraged it, thinking it was best. Chrissy, I am very sorry. I want to make up for it. My husband, your Uncle Nick, (who was a very handsome and gentleman, not like your father at all) was also very smart. He invested in several stocks back before you were born but kept the secret from me. Over the years the value grew and many time the stocks split and eventually they all became worth millions. I only found that out when he passed a couple of years ago. I wanted to use the money to help you find your happiness, but I realized that money would never make you happy. At best, you would just use it slowly kill yourself, as you have done all these years. I discreetly discussed that with some friends of mine, who are all professionals, and together we came up with a plan to help you in that regard. It is, of course, unusual, as you are an unusual and unique person — almost as unusual as me! While you may have become a cross dresser later in life, or more likely, a transsexual, these are at best half measures. Many transsexuals take their own lives, and my friends have led me to believe that is because of the conflict between all the years of society making you masculine at the expense of your feminine side. So that program is designed to remove any such conflicts and let you finally accept, and be accepted as, the person you truly are. You will be given the opportunity to grow up all over again, this time as a girl. I had hoped to be there with you in your journey, but if you are reading this, I guess something else happened and I am gone from the earth. But I will be watching you from heaven, Sweet Girl, so feel my arms around and know that you are loved!
Aunt Karen

I sat there in my chair, my face blushing, while continuing to peer at the letter, waiting for the courage to look up at the young, beautiful attorney. My mind scrambled for the right words to say, but they eluded me, and across the office the loud “tick — tock” of the grandfather clock sounded like thunder in my ears. Several minutes passed, one second at a time, while my mind raced. Finally I spoke: “Ummmm. Wow. What if I just want the money?” I finally dared to look up.

The attorney was sitting in her chair, leaning slightly forward, her hands on the desk. She smiled at me gently. “According to the will, if you choose not to follow her instructions, you will receive five thousand dollars. After taxes, that will leave you about thirty-five hundred. The rest will go to selected charities.

On the other hand, upon completion of her program, her entire estate will go directly to you, less taxes, of course. I know some investment attorneys who could help you there.”

I nodded, hoping I looked wise, but inside my stomach was quaking and I longed desperately for a smoke and drink. “Umm.

H-h-how long?” I stammered.

“That would depend upon your progress, as measured by the team, but we expect between three and four years. If you adapt quickly, it could be a little less. If you adapt less quickly, it could take a little longer.”

“H-h-how w-would it w-work?” I wondered, suddenly feeling unable to catch my breath.