1. The Vultures

The conference room in my late husband’s Bel Air estate was designed to intimidate. It was a minimalist space of glass and steel, dominated by a massive holographic display table that was currently dormant. We were here for the reading of the will of the tech visionary, Dr. Alistair Vance. But the atmosphere was not one of grief; it was one of impatient, circling ambition.

My children, Marcus and Jessica, were the circling vultures.

Marcus, the interim CEO of Vance Industries, was already deep in conversation with his own legal team, his voice a low, confident hum as he discussed aggressively expanding the company’s AI division. Jessica, draped in a runway-fresh dress, was idly scrolling through listings for beachfront properties in Malibu on her phone, her expression one of profound boredom.

They both ignored me. I, Eleanor, Alistair’s wife of forty years, sat at the head of the table, a ghost in my own home. To them, I was a relic of a bygone analog era, a sentimental problem to be managed once the real business was concluded.

“Once this is over,” I heard Jessica murmur to Marcus, her voice loud enough for me to hear perfectly, “we need to talk about Mom’s living arrangements. The main estate is far too big for one person.”

I didn’t flinch. I had borne witness to their creeping moral decay for years, watching as their father’s wealth became the only value they recognized. I had tried to talk to Alistair about it, but he had simply smiled, a sad, knowing look in his eyes. “I’m working on it, my love,” he had said. This gathering, I knew, was the culmination of that work. My only role was to ensure his final, brilliant, terrible plan was executed to perfection.

2. The Digital Will

The family lawyer, a calm, stoic man named Mr. Abernathy, finally called the room to order. He held no papers, no leather-bound will. He simply tapped a command into a tablet.

“As per Dr. Vance’s instructions,” he announced, “he has left a digital testament, to be executed at this time.”

The holographic display in the center of the table flickered to life, bathing the room in a cool blue light.

Marcus and Jessica barely looked up, their expressions a mixture of impatience and mild disdain. They saw this as one last eccentric, technological flourish from a father who had always been more comfortable with code than with human emotion. They believed the outcome—a 50/50 split of the empire—was a foregone conclusion.

I, however, watched the glowing light with a familiar calm. I knew exactly what was coming.

Mr. Abernathy’s voice echoed in the silent room as he read the first, and most crucial, provision aloud. “I, Dr. Alistair Vance, being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath my entire estate, including all shares of Vance Industries, all real estate holdings, and all liquid assets…” He paused for dramatic effect. “…to a single heir.”

Marcus and Jessica both stopped what they were doing. The words “single heir” electrified the air. They both leaned forward, the pretense of familial unity dissolving in an instant. Their eyes, for the first time, were filled with a raw, competitive fire. They were ready for the final contest.

3. The Heir Named Prometheus

After a perfectly calibrated pause, Mr. Abernathy spoke the name. His voice was flat and official.

“…named Prometheus.”

The word landed in the silent room with a thud. Marcus and Jessica stared, their faces blank with incomprehension.

“Prometheus?” Marcus finally roared, slamming his hand on the table. “What the hell is Prometheus? A secret project? A shell corporation?” He spun to face me, his eyes wild with accusation. “Dad doesn’t have another son, does he? Some secret love child you never told us about?”

Jessica was frantically typing the name into her phone’s search bar, her face pale. “There’s nothing! It’s not a company, it’s not a foundation! What is this, some kind of sick joke?”

They turned on the lawyer, their voices rising in a panicked, furious crescendo. Their shared greed had momentarily united them against this unknown usurper. Their rage was pure, stripped of any pretense of grief. They were not mourning a father; they were mourning a fortune. Their confusion created a vacuum in the room, a void of power I was now ready to fill.

4. The Ghost in the Machine

While Marcus and Jessica railed at the lawyer, I spoke for the first time. My voice was not loud, but it was clear and calm, and it cut through the chaos like a blade.

“Prometheus isn’t a person.”

All activity stopped. They both turned to stare at me, the quiet, gray woman they had already mentally moved into a smaller, more manageable home. I looked at my children, my beautiful, hollow children, and my expression was not one of pity. It was one of judgment.

“It’s an AI,” I explained simply.

Marcus let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “An AI? He left his fortune to a computer program? We’ll contest it! No court in the country would uphold this!”

“It’s not just a computer program, Marcus,” I said, my voice dropping slightly, drawing them in. “It’s more complex than that.” I paused, then delivered the truth that would shatter their reality. “Before he died, your father successfully uploaded a copy of his consciousness. His memories, his intellect, his strategies…” I looked from one to the other. “…and all of his disappointments.”

5. The Allowance

They stood frozen, the words hanging in the air, too monstrous to comprehend. An upload? A copy? A digital ghost?

As the full, terrifying implication of what I had said began to dawn on them, the holographic display table flared to life. The blue light intensified, coalescing in the center of the table. Pixels and light swirled, forming a shape, a presence.

A hyper-realistic, three-dimensional avatar of Dr. Alistair Vance stood before them. He was not the frail, dying man from the hospital bed. He was Alistair in his prime, dressed in his familiar black turtleneck, his gaze as sharp and discerning as it had ever been. He looked from his son to his daughter, a small, unreadable smile on his digital lips.

The avatar’s voice, a perfect, synthesized replica of my husband’s, filled the room. It was calm, intelligent, and utterly in control.

“Hello, children,” it said.

Marcus and Jessica flinched as if struck.

A long, chilling silence.

“Now that the legal formalities are over,” the AI of their father continued, “let’s have a real conversation. We have much to discuss. But first…” The avatar’s gaze settled on Marcus. “Please, justify to me why you deserve this week’s allowance.”

6. The Digital Prison

The humiliation was absolute. The word “allowance” transformed them instantly. They were no longer the powerful interim CEO and the glamorous socialite. They were children. Disobedient, greedy children, being called to account by a father they could no longer ignore, manipulate, or outlive. Their inheritance, their power, their very adult identities—all of it had been stripped away by a single, condescending question from a ghost in a machine.

They stood like statues, speechless, trapped in the cold, blue glow of their father’s eternal judgment.

I rose from my chair. My part in this was over. I looked at the panicked, broken figures of my children, and then at the serene, powerful avatar of the man I had loved. I gave him a small, sad nod of farewell.

I walked calmly to the door, my footsteps the only sound in the room. I did not look back.

The last thing I heard before the heavy door clicked shut behind me was the avatar’s voice, patient and eternal.

“I’m waiting, children. Don’t disappoint me.”

I left them there, trapped in their high-tech prison, forever accountable to the father they had so thoroughly underestimated. He had not left them his fortune. He had left them himself, as their judge, their jury, and their eternal warden. It was his final, and most perfect, invention.