The conference room at the resort buzzed with excitement as Uncle Gerald stood at the head table, a projector displaying a world map behind him. Forty-two family members had gathered for the annual Caldwell family reunion, their champagne glasses raised, their expectations soaring.
I sat in the back row beside my younger brother Marcus, watching Uncle Gerald gesture enthusiastically at the screen. Red dots marked properties across five continents—the villa in Tuscany, the beachfront house in Malibu, the cabin in Aspen, the penthouse in Singapore, the chateau in the French countryside.
"As the eldest Caldwell," Uncle Gerald began, his voice booming with authority, "it's my responsibility to ensure our family's assets are distributed fairly among the next generation."
My cousin Vanessa leaned forward, her eyes glittering. Beside her, cousin Blake was already on his phone, probably researching property values.
"These vacation properties," Uncle Gerald continued, clicking through slides showing each location, "have been in our family for decades. And now, it's time to officially designate owners for each property."
He pulled out a stack of documents, fanning them across the table like playing cards. "I've taken the liberty of drafting ownership papers. Each cousin over twenty-five gets a property based on their contributions to the family name and their ability to maintain these estates properly."
Aunt Patricia dabbed at her eyes. "Gerald, this is so generous."
"Vanessa," Uncle Gerald announced, "you'll receive the Tuscany villa. You've always appreciated European culture, and your interior design business makes you perfect for maintaining its aesthetic."
Vanessa squealed, hugging her husband. "We can finally host that wine-tasting event we've been planning!"
"Blake, you get the Malibu beach house. Your entertainment industry connections will put it to good use. Sophia gets the Singapore penthouse—her finance career suits the location. Derek takes the Aspen cabin for family ski trips."
Cousin after cousin was called, each receiving a property designation. Uncle Gerald handed out the documents he'd prepared, complete with fake notary stamps and official-looking seals.
I noticed my name hadn't been mentioned. Neither had Marcus's.
"What about Riley and Marcus?" Marcus asked, his voice uncertain.
The room went quiet.
Uncle Gerald's expression turned sympathetic in a way that wasn't sympathetic at all. "Marcus, Riley—you're both still establishing yourselves. Riley works from home doing tech consulting or something, and Marcus is still in graduate school. These properties require financial stability, social standing, the ability to host and entertain. Perhaps in a few years, when you're more settled."
"Riley barely leaves her apartment," Vanessa added with a laugh. "Can you imagine her maintaining a villa in Italy? She'd probably turn it into a server farm."
The room erupted in laughter.
Blake nodded sagely. "These estates need people who understand luxury, who can represent the Caldwell name properly. No offense, Riley, but you drive a ten-year-old Subaru."
"I like my Subaru," I said mildly.
"Of course you do, dear," Aunt Patricia said with false sweetness. "You're practical. But these properties need more than practicality. They need vision, sophistication."
Uncle Gerald distributed the remaining documents. "Everyone take your papers. Review them, sign them, and we'll make this official. The Caldwell legacy continues through those who truly appreciate it."
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