The phone rang and he grinned sheepishly as he took in the information.
A sense of excitement and anticipation swelled within him.
“We are sorry for your loss. Your uncle passed away yesterday it seems.”
The door had been pushed open by the cops.
He stepped inside.
An unsavoury stench filled his nostrils. The room cut out a sorry figure and it was not long before he could make out that his dreams were blown away along with the ringlets of cigarette smoke.
The grin now vanished and a stoic silence followed.
The word ‘heir apparent’ had no meaning now.
(Word Count: 100)
Written in response to the picture prompt provided by Yvette Prior for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff – Fields.