Status: Active
Eye of the Hurricane
Chapter 1
I stared at the documents with a mixture of emotions. Loss was the dominant feeling, flashing through the series of painful memories that I was about to leave. There it was in black and white- my uncle’s will that left me, Nichole Taylor Jackson, everything he had ever owned. That included some little house in Chicago, stock in something labeled as “Hawks”, and more money than I could deal with. I could be angry, but there was no use in bothering the dead. The man was buried six feet into the ground, and there was nothing else to ponder about. I’d sell the house, the stocks, and pay off my college loans that way.
I hadn’t gone to the funeral and dodged well-meaning family members who tried to contact me. It was insane, all of this scrambling for a man I barely could remember. He was my father’s brother, an occasional visitor to my big family proceedings. I remembered awkward conversations, half-hearted hugs, and a rare laugh. He paid for my education and probably more, so I did feel bad about not attending. My boss flat out said no when I asked for time off, despite the fact the only time I took off was when I got a throat infection. She hated me, which was a shame. I tried to get along with everyone, until they crossed me. I stared at the block letters on the paper, before reading something else.
For the beneficiary to receive these things, she must follow the guidelines that follow.
I knew there was a trick. After scanning the page, I sat back stunned. This had to be a sick joke. I was only twenty-three. Never before have I done anything extremely reckless to myself or anyone else. I lived my life in a set line with eyes focused on the future. I never had much growing up, compared to the rest of my friends, but this was ridiculous. No wonder my cousin forwarded this to me, thinking Uncle Phillip lost his mind.
My uncle used to own a hockey team. I had no idea why either. My family and I were Southern, so if it wasn’t basketball or football-related, we had no clue of it. No matter how many times I blinked or drank in the subsequent days afterwards, it was clear. In order for me to inherit any money, I had to take over player operations for the Chicago Blackhawks.
Dear Lord in heaven. It was his last wish, and who was I to go against it? It sure helped I got something in the end, but I didn’t want a curse on me. Better to do what the dead wanted in life. There’s a reason horror movies were mostly based off real people. I wasn’t dying before I finished every season of my television shows.
To Chicago it was. I looked outside at the sunny day, with the trees lazily swaying and the fresh mowed grass in my yard. Did they have parks there? I was born and raised in the South, so going to the cold distant north had as much appeal as plucking every eyelash off. I just had to get things in order. I couldn’t very well show up unannounced to whatever field they played on. Did they even play on a field?
After taking a deep breath, I picked up my phone and dialed the lawyer. Mr. Greenlee answered quickly and gruffly.
“Hi, Mr. Greenlee? It’s Nichole Jackson.” I swore I heard noise stop on the other end. “Hello?”
Clearing his throat, his attitude dropped pleasantly. “Yes, Ms. Jackson? What may I do for you?”
Here goes nothing. “I need the information for my uncle’s house and the stock he had in the Blackhawks.”
Forty-five minutes later, any misgivings I had about not going was diminished. People expected me the very next week, and I already booked my flight to Chicago. I prayed that it wouldn’t be as hard as the will made it out to be.
I hadn’t gone to the funeral and dodged well-meaning family members who tried to contact me. It was insane, all of this scrambling for a man I barely could remember. He was my father’s brother, an occasional visitor to my big family proceedings. I remembered awkward conversations, half-hearted hugs, and a rare laugh. He paid for my education and probably more, so I did feel bad about not attending. My boss flat out said no when I asked for time off, despite the fact the only time I took off was when I got a throat infection. She hated me, which was a shame. I tried to get along with everyone, until they crossed me. I stared at the block letters on the paper, before reading something else.
For the beneficiary to receive these things, she must follow the guidelines that follow.
I knew there was a trick. After scanning the page, I sat back stunned. This had to be a sick joke. I was only twenty-three. Never before have I done anything extremely reckless to myself or anyone else. I lived my life in a set line with eyes focused on the future. I never had much growing up, compared to the rest of my friends, but this was ridiculous. No wonder my cousin forwarded this to me, thinking Uncle Phillip lost his mind.
My uncle used to own a hockey team. I had no idea why either. My family and I were Southern, so if it wasn’t basketball or football-related, we had no clue of it. No matter how many times I blinked or drank in the subsequent days afterwards, it was clear. In order for me to inherit any money, I had to take over player operations for the Chicago Blackhawks.
Dear Lord in heaven. It was his last wish, and who was I to go against it? It sure helped I got something in the end, but I didn’t want a curse on me. Better to do what the dead wanted in life. There’s a reason horror movies were mostly based off real people. I wasn’t dying before I finished every season of my television shows.
To Chicago it was. I looked outside at the sunny day, with the trees lazily swaying and the fresh mowed grass in my yard. Did they have parks there? I was born and raised in the South, so going to the cold distant north had as much appeal as plucking every eyelash off. I just had to get things in order. I couldn’t very well show up unannounced to whatever field they played on. Did they even play on a field?
After taking a deep breath, I picked up my phone and dialed the lawyer. Mr. Greenlee answered quickly and gruffly.
“Hi, Mr. Greenlee? It’s Nichole Jackson.” I swore I heard noise stop on the other end. “Hello?”
Clearing his throat, his attitude dropped pleasantly. “Yes, Ms. Jackson? What may I do for you?”
Here goes nothing. “I need the information for my uncle’s house and the stock he had in the Blackhawks.”
Forty-five minutes later, any misgivings I had about not going was diminished. People expected me the very next week, and I already booked my flight to Chicago. I prayed that it wouldn’t be as hard as the will made it out to be.