Dear William Jr. If you are reading this, you should have just gotten the most wonderful log book service in Adelaide. Now, I require you to drive to New South Wales. I know geography was never your strongest subject in regular school, so that is the state above Victoria. If you want to take the next step toward your inheritance, you must get brake and clutch repair in Milperra. Once you have done that, the seal on the next letter shall be opened. Good luck.
I read the letter outside while waiting for the final touches on my car to be done. The trembling in my hands had finally stopped, but I couldn’t shake the ill-feeling in the pit of my stomach. Could the worst actually be true? Three auto workshops in three different states. That couldn’t be some sort of tax evasion scheme. Surely it wasn’t even money laundering. No, the truth was becoming clear. My billionaire father was once a working-class man.
The thought disgusted me, almost as foul as garlic to my senses. How could he have been a working-class peasant, when he had always claimed to come from a family with immense wealth? Admittedly, I’ve never actually been able to meet any of my family members, and there are no photos of them. But why would my father lie about his heritage?
Well, no matter how much I hate the thought, I need to travel to this Milperra mechanic and discover the truth. If my father truly did come from the working class, I have to discover why he hid it from me all these years.
So many years have I looked down on the peasants. And now I learn that I might be one of them. I shudder at the thought. Perhaps I should just get this whole thing over with as quickly as possible, and then I can move on, with my billions of dollars to comfort me as I absorb the entire thing.
– Will Hunter