By the time Jack stepped outside, the evening sun was already dipping low behind the skyline, casting long shadows over the cracked sidewalk. He stood there for a moment, staring out into the street, unsure of what direction to take next. The plan forming in his head was simple, maybe even stupid, but it was the best he could come up with: visit his dad. That would be his next move. He wasn't going to show up empty-handed and spill the truth, though. No, Jack had already decided on the version of reality he would present. He'd tell his father he'd been away working on a research project with a couple of friends, one focused on cracking the mystery behind lottery systems. It sounded clever, maybe even admirable. It gave the impression that he hadn't just been drifting through the last few years like a leaf caught in the wind. It made him look like someone with a purpose, someone who finally hit gold because of brains and effort, not sheer blind luck. He thought briefly about heading back to his shabby apartment to grab his things. Maybe a few clothes, some notebooks, or even that half-broken guitar he used to play on bad nights. But then he stopped himself mid-thought, lifted a hand, and smacked his forehead like he'd just remembered something ridiculous.
"What the hell am I doing?" he muttered under his breath. "I have two million dollars. What do I need those old things for?"
Just like that, Jack turned his back on everything he had left behind in that dusty room. The worn-out clothes, his now cracked phone screen, and the empty ramen cups in the corner all felt like souvenirs from a life he no longer belonged to. He hailed the first cab he saw, climbed in without hesitation, and told the driver to take him straight to his dad's hometown. He didn't even flinch when the driver quoted the price. By the time the car pulled away from the curb, Jack was down to his very last cent. His Dad's hometown was still a long way. He would walk there.
But he wasn't worried. He'd just ask his dad for help. Not financially, no, not this time, but for guidance. Advice. His father knew money. The man had built himself from scratch with sweat, sacrifice, and an iron will. If there was anyone Jack could trust to help him handle a sudden windfall of cash without blowing it all on women, booze, and temporary highs, it was him.
Jack knew himself too well. Give him access to that kind of money without supervision, and he'd burn through it faster than a house fire.
That's why he needed someone like his dad, someone responsible, grounded. His father would lay down a plan, maybe even introduce him to a financial advisor or show him how to start a business. Jack pictured it clearly in his head: a serious conversation in the old living room, maybe some paperwork spread across the table, a pen in his dad's firm grip, and a long talk about accountability.
Then Jack's phone rang.
The screen lit up with a name he hadn't seen in years, Aunt May. His stomach turned a little at the sight. She was one of three sisters from his dad's side of the family, and Jack never liked any of them. They always came around with their fake smiles and endless requests. Asking for loans they never paid back, guilt-tripping his father every holiday, and acting like leeches who could suck the life out of even the strongest man. Aunt May was the middle one, which is why Jack had nicknamed her "medium worse." The oldest was "apocalypse" and the youngest he simply called "loud." May was the one who always acted sweet at first, only to drop some kind of emotional grenade mid-conversation.
He answered the call, preparing himself for some manipulative sob story or another handout request.
Instead, what he got was silence for a few seconds, then her voice—flat, indifferent, cold.
"Jack. Your father passed. Yesterday morning. Cardiac arrest. Just thought you should know. Funeral's tomorrow."
That was it. No buildup. No gentle lead-in. Just the news dropped on him like a sack of bricks, no warning, no softness. Like she was reading off a shopping list. Jack sat frozen in the back of the cab, the phone still pressed to his ear long after she'd hung up. His ears rang with silence. It was like someone had sucked all the air out of his lungs. He stared out the window as the cab rolled on, his face blank, his thoughts scrambling. The one person he had counted on to make sense of this money, the only person he felt truly connected to, was gone. Just like that.
His hands curled into fists in his lap, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. No goodbye. No last words. There is no chance to even see him alive again. The last time they'd spoken was two years ago—and that had ended with Jack yelling and his father slamming the phone down. Now he was supposed to show up tomorrow at a funeral he hadn't even known, was coming at him?
Suddenly, the money in his account felt like a joke. Two million dollars meant nothing if the one person he wanted to share it with wasn't there anymore. He had fantasized about walking into his father's house, proud and smiling, telling him the news. He thought they'd maybe laugh about it. His dad would shake his head and say something like, "Well, I'll be damned. You finally got lucky, huh?" Then they'd sit down and figure out what came next. That image burned now. Replaced by one far darker: his father in a casket, the house filled with people Jack didn't care to see, including the three aunts who would no doubt start circling like vultures. They'd whisper behind his back, ask about the money the second they got the chance, and pretend to grieve while keeping one eye on his inheritance.
Jack leaned his head against the window, eyes blurry with the beginnings of grief and anger. The cab rolled on, each mile dragging him closer to a life that no longer made sense. He hadn't just lost a father. He'd lost the one person who could keep him grounded. The one who would've told him when he was screwing up and made him fix it. Without him, Jack was just some broke ex-employee with a lottery win he didn't know how to handle.
What now? Who could he trust?
The silence inside the cab was unbearable. The driver didn't speak, sensing something had shifted in the passenger behind him. Jack appreciated that. The weight in his chest felt unbearable, but there was no room for tears. Not yet. It still hadn't sunk in all the way. It felt distant. Like he was watching someone else's life unravel from a movie screen. It looked like a bad movie with no pause button and no ending in sight. When they finally entered the outskirts of the town, Jack looked around at the familiar streets. The place hadn't changed much. Same worn-out buildings. Same rusted signs. He felt like a stranger stepping into his own past, but nothing about it felt welcoming anymore.
Tomorrow, he would walk into a funeral home filled with faces that only reminded him of how broken his family had become. Tomorrow, he would have to say goodbye to the man he once called a hero. The man he never got the chance to make proud.
The cab rolled to a stop, and Jack stepped out, the weight of everything bearing down on him all at once. Two million in his name. No direction. No father. No idea where to begin. But, He was rich. Stupidly rich and completely lost.