Johnathan's father is dead. He left Johnathan nothing in his will except a key and a letter. What does it all mean, and why is the key so important?
"Tough break" James said behind a barely concealed smirk.
Johnathan said nothing in response, he has wasn't going to let his brother rile him up, not now, not here. This was meant to be about his father, their father. This was meant to be a funeral.
Johnathan was sat by himself as the others left. Well, not entirely by himself, in front of him stood the slick, black coffin in which his father lay. In his hands he held the envelope that had been bequeathed to him. He'd gotten nothing else. Nothing at all. His brother James had gotten the house and twenty thousand pounds, even his father's long-time postman had gotten something but all Johnathan had was this envelope. He hadn't wanted to open it around the others, afraid that when he did his disappointment would be so great that he go off like a bomb amidst all his family, leaving behind a crater of crippling embarrassment in his wake.
Instead now he sat here alone as the funeral music faded out, looking down at his feet, ignoring the flowers and the pictures and the big, black coffin. He wondered why his father hated him so much as to leave him nothing. They had gotten on reasonably well, no major fallings out, nothing out of the ordinary to suggest that they'd been anything but entirely amicable with each other.
Johnathan stared down at his hands as he slowly rotated the plain, brown envelope around and around. His fingers teased at the corner of it hesitantly, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes and then with a final determined act of will he flipped the envelope over and broke the seal.
Inside was a letter and a small, slightly rusted key.
Trembling slightly, Johnathan began to read the letter.
Dear Johnathan, I have something to tell you.