May 22, 1994 the obituary of William Lance Wethers, Jr., American business magnate, investor, and philanthropist, was posted in the New York Times. Chairman and CEO of Berkshire Hathaway (a multinational conglomerate holding company that is a parent company to GEICO, Dairy Queen, Lubrizol, Fruit of the Loom, Helzberg Diamonds, Long & Foster, Pampered Chef, and NetJets as well as partially owning other popular companies), William was considered the second wealthiest men in the world at the time of his death.
His obituary went on to describe the many charities he frequently donated to. It included his surviving family: Andrew Wethers (brother), Penelope Grace Vandroogenbroeck (sister), Annabelle Wethers (daughter), and his ex-wife. It is estimated that at the time of his death William had a net worth of $87.5 Billion.
Three days later, the letters went out. Six of them, to be exact.
Annabelle was still staying at her father's house when her letter was delivered. She'd just come from his funeral--it had been a full event and many people had kind things to say about her father. The young heiress was exiting her car when a motorbike slipped through the closing gates of the estate. "Miss Annabelle Wethers?" He asked.
She sighed. It was always the same with these damn reporters. "I have no comment." She stated simply, turning to head inside.
"I'm not a reporter." She paused to look at him and he continued. "You are Miss Wethers, then?" He was probably about her age, bright blue eyes... but beyond that, she'd never be able to recall any particular detail about the man.
"Yes."
He handed her an envelope. "You've been served. Have a great day." She snorted. As if. He said nothing, only pulling out another envelope and walking up the driveway to her father's house. Apparently there was someone else to serve, but the only one home was her father's maid, Allison. She'd arrived shortly before Annabelle after the funeral.
Following the messenger up the drive she tore open the envelope, reading the contents:
"At the request of Mr. William Lance Wethers, Jr. you are asked to attend dinner and a formal reading of his will to take place May 27, 1994. You should expect to arrive no later than 3p. Accommodations have been been made for you to stay overnight."
The letter included an address, one she knew well. Annabelle sighed deeply. It would seem that she was to expect guests in the coming days.
His obituary went on to describe the many charities he frequently donated to. It included his surviving family: Andrew Wethers (brother), Penelope Grace Vandroogenbroeck (sister), Annabelle Wethers (daughter), and his ex-wife. It is estimated that at the time of his death William had a net worth of $87.5 Billion.
Three days later, the letters went out. Six of them, to be exact.
Annabelle was still staying at her father's house when her letter was delivered. She'd just come from his funeral--it had been a full event and many people had kind things to say about her father. The young heiress was exiting her car when a motorbike slipped through the closing gates of the estate. "Miss Annabelle Wethers?" He asked.
She sighed. It was always the same with these damn reporters. "I have no comment." She stated simply, turning to head inside.
"I'm not a reporter." She paused to look at him and he continued. "You are Miss Wethers, then?" He was probably about her age, bright blue eyes... but beyond that, she'd never be able to recall any particular detail about the man.
"Yes."
He handed her an envelope. "You've been served. Have a great day." She snorted. As if. He said nothing, only pulling out another envelope and walking up the driveway to her father's house. Apparently there was someone else to serve, but the only one home was her father's maid, Allison. She'd arrived shortly before Annabelle after the funeral.
Following the messenger up the drive she tore open the envelope, reading the contents:
"At the request of Mr. William Lance Wethers, Jr. you are asked to attend dinner and a formal reading of his will to take place May 27, 1994. You should expect to arrive no later than 3p. Accommodations have been been made for you to stay overnight."
The letter included an address, one she knew well. Annabelle sighed deeply. It would seem that she was to expect guests in the coming days.
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