Page 86 of Cabin Fever

"Mr. Fitzwilliam." Austen appeared and waved us back to his office.

It was the same room I listened outside of several weeks ago. It was small, barely enough space for the outdated brown desk, desk chair, and two more for Carter and me to sit.

The decor matched the rest of the bank, wood paneling. Wood decor must be trending up here on the mountain.

Austen brought out the will and pointed to where Carter needed to sign.

"Just sign there when you have finished reading."

Carter lifted the paper and was surprised to find it only one page in length.

"That's the whole thing?" Carter asked, holding the paper up in the air.

"Yes. You were his only concern. It lists his assets, which is the cabin and the amount of money in his bank account at the time. That number has changed for obvious reasons, due to the time that has passed."

"Because of the money set to deposit into my account, I am assuming it's much lower."

Austen sat back and shook his head. "No, it's more. Due to the amount of money he had and that the majority was being held in a savings account until the will was signed, the interest was more than what you received from him monthly."

"What?" I said as I straightened in my chair.

I knew the Fitzwilliams were rich, but I thought they had only a little more than my father.

Carter's eyes went wide, and his finger traced under one of the parts of the will.

"My father had over ten billion dollars?" Carter's voice went up an octave.

I made a choking noise and my hand, on total instinct, snatched the will out of Carter's hand. "That can't be right. I think that's a typo, Carter." I narrowed my eyes and mentally counted all the numbers. "That's eleven numbers . . . Eleven." My voice sounded like a cross between a longtime smoker and Vincent Price.

"There are no errors. That number is correct. Well, it was correct two years ago. Here is the updated amount, which you will also need to sign this document, too."

Austen pushed the piece of paper toward Carter. I leaned over and saw the number.

"That's a million more dollars. Carter, you're rich. You're like stupid, ridiculous, over-the-top wealthy."

He sat there staring at the two pieces of paper, not moving.

A billion little ideas were fluttering around in my brain. He could expand the cabin. My God, he could build ten cabins, each holding a different purpose. One was the bathroom cabin and another the kitchen cabin, and another would be one big bedroom cabin.

I had a twisted version of cabin fever as I imagined the many homes he could build, all made out of the wood that's so popular here.

"I can't take this. It's, uh . . . it's too much," Carter said as he put the pen down and pushed the papers back toward Austen.

"It's not really a choice. If you sign the papers, then it's yours to do with what you want."

Carter didn't lift his eyes from the papers. "And if I don't sign? It goes to my grandmother?"

"Yes, if that is what you want. Come Monday, the bank will reach out to her and inform her of the will."

"But think of the cabins, Carter," I said as if this was my money and I had any right.

"Cabin. I only have one cabin."

"Sorry, I was just daydreaming for a moment. Never mind."

Internally, I wept for the cabins that almost were.

"Actually, Carter, you won't even have that. Unless your grandmother lets you stay there . . . I've found that the wealthy, once they own property, rarely keep it untouched. She might want to remove your cabin and farm to make way for a vacation home or some money-making property." Austen's tone was more of a warning than a casual observation.

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