“Much of your life is handed to you upon a plate of destiny.” Steve gave Alicia a pen and watched her sign.
“Destiny. Bosh.” She scribbled her name at the bottom of the document and lit a cigarette. “You choose your destiny. You make your destiny.” She inhaled and curled her lips in a sneer. Her next words floated out upon a bed of smoke: “That is why I am rich and you are not.”
“You can't choose the path your life takes. Not completely. Yeah, you can steer, try to keep your life on track: Marry the right guy, like you did. Work hard. Meet the right people. But in the end...”
“Excuses, little brother.” She stood and walked to the window.
“Rich or poor. Tall or short. Fat or thin. Genetics and fate. You just can't control everything, Alicia.”
She turned and smiled at her attorney. “I can.”
He shrugged. There was not point in arguing with his sister.
“Are we finished?”
He nodded. “Yes. I'll file...”
“Don't tell my children.”
“I've always told them that my money would go to charity. But...” She smiled. “They've learned to work hard. Why not reward them when I'm gone?”
He grinned. “Can't take it with you.”
“Oh, I wish I could. Buy my way straight into heaven. How much do I owe you?”
“On the house. It was a quick job.”
“You're too honest. That's why you're always broke.” She waved and left his office, a dingy building, by all accounts. Steve was lazy. He knew it. His father had told him enough times. Lazy and unimaginative.
“Goodbye, Alicia.” He watched his sister her pull from the curb and steer towards the tragic accident he knew was waiting to happen, the accident that he had arranged.
He examined the modified will sitting upon his desk.
Good thing his sister wasn't a stickler for details: Steve would inherit everything.
This was written for this week's Trifecta Writing Challenge. The word was path.