When he got old enough and around to it, he decided he didn’t really care much for anyone left of his family and relatives.
He cared more about the last dog he’d survived.
So on accounta that stuff, and a lotta other stuff no one needs knowin’, when he died, Claude Mastrey, the known nonagenarian, did the twenty-first century thing and lambasted his apparent heirs in the board room atop Century Plaza II, in the offices of Jankins & Rowdoww, attorneys at law.
By way of a post-mortem video.
With senior partner Harry Jankins in attendance.
Who nodded towards the technician at the rear of the room, to dim the lights and proceed with the presentation.
Thus spake Mastrey:
When I was a boy, I traveled all over.
All over the world.
So many times.
So many times on ships, across oceans and seas.
One time when Mom and Gran and I were sailing from Shanghai to Hawaii, back around ’36, before the Nanking massacre, I got to celebrate my birthday twice, on account of crossing the International Date Line.
But I’m not digressing, thank you.
I’m taking time and full advantage these few minutes I share with you, even though now I’ve gone from all of you.
Loved and not.
All of you assembled here know that I came from nothing.
Yet in my time here I’ve assembled a lot of stuff.
The beaners’ve told me ‘four bills,’ but I don’t believe them.
It puffs up their commish.
No matter.
I know this I gotta say is gonna disappoint all of you.
You think: Christ! All those billions?! There’s gotta be a slice ‘a the pie fer me!”
Bang.
Yer dead, son. Or stepson. Or grandson. Or daughter. Or Who the fuck ever. Ever.
It had to come to this.
Not giving or begetting or however the legals term it, I don’t want to share what I made with you.
But how does a dead man’s wealth transfer?
Call me crazy, and you will, but at the end of this road I’ve been travelin’ on, and wonderin’ what’s goin’ on, I’ve taken my current pot of gold: 9.3 billion US dollars, and instructed a private airplane company to disperse my entire fortune in one hundred dollar bills, all across above this glorious planet.
Tonight.
As you all sit here in splendor, hoping.
Howzat for a tender awakening?
