After my father-in-law’s funeral, my unemployed wife inherited $379 million. Out of nowhere, she asked for a divorce, saying, “You’re no longer of any use to me.” I responded, “Don’t end up regretting this.”

I froze. My birthday?

I walked to the safe, spun the dial, and heard the heavy click of the tumblers. Inside, there was a single leather-bound folder.

“Bring it here.”

I handed it to him. He opened it, revealing a Last Will and Testament.

“This,” he said, tapping the paper, “is the will Kimberly knows about. I let her find it. I let her take pictures of it. In this version, she gets the lion’s share. Her siblings get a pittance. You get nothing.”

He looked up at me, a mischievous, shark-like grin breaking through his pain. “It’s a fake, Ben. It’s a decoy.”

“A decoy?”

“A character test,” Arthur whispered. “I wanted to see if she would wait until I was cold before she started counting the money. She failed. She’s been spending it in her head for years.”

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