When a person dies, money listens to one thing first: not the will, but the conscience. Whoever he felt most guilty toward in life inherits everything in his name the moment he breathes his last.
I'd been delivering takeout for seven years and had never laid eyes on the richest man in the country. The night he died, my phone buzzed seven times in a row: 2.2 billion yuan.
His children cornered me at my grandma's fish stall and asked what I was to him. I wanted to know that myself.
His daughter asked me: Was I the one who delivered the half-eaten egg fried rice on her father's desk?
I was.
That same night, another old man I didn't know died, leaving me 3,207.50 yuan.
Twenty years ago, the whole city called my dad a murderer. Now it was my turn.
