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My Friend’s Grandpa Gave Us Points for Every Visit & Included Me in His Will, While His Entitled Sons Expected a Fortune

The point system seemed innocent enough at first glance. I initially believed it was simply Mr. Reginald’s unique method of keeping track of his visitors. Little did any of us suspect that he was meticulously documenting every minute spent, every phone call received, and every small act of kindness shown. It wasn't until the solemn moment the lawyer opened the crisp envelope that the profound reality of my life’s impending shift truly sank in.

When I signed up for my civil service requirement at a well-regarded assisted living facility, my primary motivation was to find a straightforward way to fulfill my mandatory community hours. However, what I encountered instead was an immersive and deeply moving education in human nature, an experience that would ultimately and irrevocably alter the trajectory of my life.

“Mr. Tim! You’re tardy once again,” Mrs. Penelope would playfully scold from her customary perch by the sun-drenched window. I’d offer a sheepish grin and a sincere apology, secretly cherishing their gentle reminders and the sense of accountability they instilled.

For a transformative eighteen months, I learned the delicate art of transferring frail bodies with care and respect from wheelchairs to the comforting embrace of their beds, the precise administration of medication without ever diminishing someone’s sense of independence, and, most importantly, the profound skill of truly listening to stories that had patiently waited decades to be unveiled.

As my service concluded, I found myself adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Job applications lay dormant, half-completed on my laptop screen, while my mind wandered to distant lands, filled with daydreams of backpacking adventures through the ancient landscapes of Europe or the rewarding experience of volunteering in the vibrant communities of South America. Anything, it seemed, to postpone the daunting task of deciding my future path.

Then, on a seemingly ordinary Wednesday afternoon, the familiar buzz of my phone broke through my reverie.

“Hey man, you free for a beer tonight?” a text message from Leo flashed across the screen. We had been steadfast friends since our formative high school years, but the diverging paths of college had led to less frequent encounters.

“Sure. Harry’s at 8?” I quickly replied, a sense of anticipation stirring within me.

Upon arriving at the familiar pub, I found Leo already nursing a pint. I immediately noticed a subtle but significant shift in his usual easygoing demeanor, replaced by a palpable weight of concern.

“Remember my grandfather?” he began after the initial warm greetings and catching up.

“Oh, Mr. Reginald? How could I possibly forget! The very man who introduced us to the strategic depths of poker and then proceeded to expertly relieve us of our meager allowances?” I chuckled, a wave of fond nostalgia washing over me at the recollection of those carefree summer afternoons spent around his kitchen table.

“Yeah,” Leo responded with a faint smile. “I could really use your help with my grandfather.”

He proceeded to explain how Mr. Reginald had suffered a significant fall the previous month. Thankfully, no bones were broken, but the incident had profoundly shaken his usually unshakeable confidence. This once vibrant man, who had single-handedly built a thriving business from the ground up and selflessly raised three sons after the untimely passing of his beloved wife, was now struggling with the simplest of tasks, like fastening buttons and tying shoelaces.

“Dad and Uncle Stephen are pushing hard to put him in a care home,” Leo confided, his voice tinged with frustration and sadness. “But Grandpa is vehemently against it. He’s made it clear he’d rather pass away in the familiar comfort of his own home than be surrounded by unfamiliar faces in an institutional setting.”

I nodded understandingly, a somber image of the residents at the nursing home, often gazing wistfully out of windows, seemingly counting the slow passage of days, flashing through my mind.

“I remember you mentioning you worked at that retirement place,” Leo continued, his eyes holding a glimmer of hope. “Could you… I don’t know, maybe teach me some of the basics? How to help him shower safely, things like that? Just for a couple of weeks until I get the hang of it. I’ll, of course, compensate you for your time.”

“Don’t be absurd,” I said instantly, waving away his outstretched wallet with a dismissive hand. “Mr. Reginald always treated me like one of the family. Called me his fifth grandson, remember? I’d be more than happy to help in any way I can.”

The relief that washed over Leo’s face was immediate and palpable. “Really? Tim, that would be absolutely amazing.”

“Of course,” I replied without hesitation, already mentally cataloging the essential supplies we might need to ensure Mr. Reginald’s comfort and safety. “He’s a proud and independent man. We’ll need to provide assistance in a way that preserves his dignity and avoids making him feel helpless.”

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An old man looking outside a window | Source: Pexels

The following Monday morning, I found myself pulling into the familiar driveway of Mr. Reginald’s sprawling ranch-style house, a knot of nervousness tightening in my stomach despite my genuine desire to help. The house looked exactly as I remembered it, a comforting landmark of my younger years, but I knew the man waiting inside was facing a new and challenging chapter.

Leo greeted me at the door, his expression a mixture of gratitude and concern. “Thanks so much for coming, Tim. He’s in a bit of a mood today, I’m afraid.”

“Is he expecting me?” I asked, a sudden wave of uncertainty washing over me. Had I perhaps overstepped?

“Yeah, but you know how he can be about accepting help, especially from someone outside the immediate family.”

We found Mr. Reginald seated in his favorite armchair in the living room, the morning sunlight streaming through the window illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.

The sight of him struck me with a poignant force. He appeared noticeably thinner and paler than my last memory of him, but those piercing steel-blue eyes, full of wisdom and a hint of their old spark, were still as sharp and perceptive as ever.

“Well, if it isn’t young Tim,” he said, a hint of his characteristic dry wit lacing his voice. “Leo here tells me you’ve come to teach him the delicate art of babysitting his old man.”

I offered a warm smile, recognizing the familiar pride that lay beneath the playful barb. “Actually, sir, I was hoping you might consider teaching me a few things as well. I’ve heard snippets of your incredible stories about building that hardware store into a local institution, but Leo mentioned you’ve never fully shared the tales of your time serving in the Navy.”

Something flickered in his eyes, a spark of renewed interest. “That boy doesn’t know half of what I’ve seen and done in my lifetime. Pull up a chair, young man, if you’re planning on staying a while.”

And just like that, the initial tension dissipated, the ice effectively broken by the shared thread of storytelling. We spent the better part of that first hour engrossed in his vivid recollections of naval service during a bygone era, while I subtly demonstrated to Leo the proper techniques for assisting Mr. Reginald with standing and moving without making his grandfather feel weak or dependent, each steadying hand appearing more like a casual, friendly touch.

“I see exactly what you’re doing, young man,” Mr. Reginald said suddenly, fixing me with a knowing and appreciative look. “And I deeply appreciate the respect and dignity you’re showing me.”

Over the subsequent weeks, our visits settled into a comfortable and predictable rhythm. Leo would arrive early each morning to assist his grandfather with breakfast and the initial tasks of the day. I would typically come by after lunch, and together, the three of us would work through his prescribed physical therapy exercises, manage his medication schedule with meticulous care, and sometimes simply sit on the porch, sharing quiet companionship as we watched the local birds flit and feed around the meticulously maintained bird feeder Mr. Reginald had proudly built with his own hands decades ago.

“You boys diligently marking your visits on my kitchen calendar?” he inquired one afternoon, nodding towards the large calendar hanging prominently on the kitchen wall, filled with handwritten notes and appointments.

Leo exchanged a confused glance with me. “Should we be, Grandpa?”

Mr. Reginald simply offered a mysterious smile, a twinkle in his eye. “I keep my own kind of track. Got my own little system, you see.”

I didn’t give it much thought at the time, chalking it up to the eccentricities of an older gentleman maintaining a sense of order and control in his daily life.

However, those few promised weeks of assistance gradually stretched into months. Six months, to be precise, filled with shared moments and growing camaraderie.

At first, Mr. Reginald’s health seemed to decline at a slow and steady pace, almost imperceptibly. Then, with a sudden and heartbreaking swiftness, everything changed.

One evening, he seemed relatively well, regaling us with a humorous anecdote about the time he’d cleverly outmaneuvered a competing store owner in a local business deal. The very next morning, Leo’s tearful phone call shattered the fragile peace.

A phone on a table | Source: Pexels

His beloved grandfather had suffered a massive stroke during the night.

Three agonizing days later, Mr. Reginald passed away peacefully in the quiet stillness of his hospital room, surrounded by the love of his grandson.

The following day was steeped in a profound and somber atmosphere, heavy with the unique grief that accompanies the loss of someone who carried within them a vast repository of stories and lived experiences. Leo and I found ourselves sitting in the familiar quiet of his grandfather’s kitchen, the aroma of stale coffee hanging in the air as we navigated the difficult and unwelcome task of making funeral arrangements.

Suddenly, the sharp ring of the telephone pierced the heavy silence that had enveloped the room.

Leo answered the call, his face shifting from a mask of grief to one of utter confusion as he listened intently to the voice on the other end.

“Yes, he’s here with me,” Leo said, his eyes flicking in my direction with a questioning look. “Tomorrow at ten? Yes, we’ll both be there.”

He hung up the phone, then turned to me, his brow furrowed with bewilderment.

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“That was Grandpa’s lawyer. Apparently, the will reading is scheduled for tomorrow morning. Before the funeral. And you’re specifically named as someone who needs to be present.”

“Me?” I asked, genuinely taken aback and utterly perplexed. “Why on earth would he want me there?”

Leo simply shrugged, his confusion mirroring my own. “No idea, Tim. But Grandpa was quite specific about it, according to the lawyer.”

That night, sleep offered little respite, my mind racing with unanswered questions. Why would Mr. Reginald include me in something so deeply personal, so intrinsically family-oriented? I hadn’t done anything extraordinary. I had simply tried to be a decent human being, offering support to a kind man in his time of need.

---

The lawyer’s office exuded an air of quiet formality, the rich scent of polished leather mingling with the subtle, clean fragrance of lemon polish. Leo and I arrived precisely at ten o’clock, only to find Leo’s father, Victor, and Uncle Stephen already seated, their expressions tight with anticipation and a sense of entitlement.

Their eyes widened with undisguised hostility the moment they registered my presence.

“Why the hell is he here?” Victor demanded, his voice laced with the entitled arrogance of someone accustomed to having his demands met without question. “I know Dad had some sentimental attachment to you, calling you his ‘fifth grandson’ or whatever nonsense, but this is strictly family business.”

Stephen leaned forward, his eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. “Bet the little gold-digger is hoping for a hefty payout, isn’t he?”

I felt an uncomfortable heat rise in my cheeks, but I consciously kept my voice calm and even. “I was explicitly invited by the lawyer. I have no idea why. I’m simply here to listen, as instructed.”

Victor abruptly stood up, his finger jabbing accusingly in my direction. “If you somehow manipulated my father into leaving you money, I swear I’ll sue you so hard your great-grandchildren will still be paying off the legal fees!”

Leo swiftly stepped between us, acting as an unexpected buffer against his father’s aggressive outburst. “Show some basic respect, Dad. You barely bothered to visit him when he was alive and needed you. At least let him rest in peace without this disgraceful display.”

“Watch your insolent mouth, kid,” Stephen growled, his face contorted with anger.

Leo stood his ground, his voice firm and unwavering. “You’ll receive exactly the same level of respect from me that you consistently showed him: absolutely none.”

The already tense atmosphere threatened to escalate further when the door swung open once more, and Leo’s cousins sauntered into the room, their designer clothes and careless smiles broadcasting their unwavering expectations of a substantial inheritance.

As we waited for the lawyer to formally begin the proceedings, I couldn’t help but overhear snippets of their self-absorbed conversation.

“I’ve already put a down payment on that Porsche,” one cousin boasted, a smug smirk playing on his lips. “Figured Grandpa would want me to enjoy his money in style.”

“Well, I’ve got my eye on that stunning villa in Cabo,” the other replied, his voice dripping with avarice. “Three glorious weeks of nothing but sun, sand, and top-shelf tequila.”

Not a single word of genuine affection or remembrance for the man whose passing was about to fund their extravagant fantasies. Not even a fleeting moment of sincere grief. Just a relentless stream of “me, me, me” and “money, money, money.”

Finally, the lawyer entered the room, his presence immediately commanding silence. He placed his worn briefcase on the mahogany table and carefully removed a sealed, official-looking envelope.

“Mr. Reginald was very precise in his instructions regarding how this was to be handled,” he began, his voice calm and authoritative. “Before I read the formal will, he specifically requested that I share this personal letter with all of you.”

With a deliberate motion, he broke the seal and unfolded several pages of handwritten text, the familiar script instantly recognizable.

“To my family, and to Tim, who became family through choice rather than blood,” he read, his voice resonating with the weight of the departed. “If you are hearing these words, it means my long and fulfilling life has finally reached its natural conclusion. Please, do not dwell in sadness. I have had a good run, filled with love and experiences.”

“Over the years, I have had ample opportunity to discern who truly cared, whose actions spoke louder than mere words. In my desire to divide my earthly possessions fairly and justly, I devised a simple points system,” he continued, his words hanging in the silent room. “The criteria were as follows:

Phone call or letter: 1 point (with an additional +1 point for longer, more meaningful communications) Visit: 2 points per hour spent (plus an additional +1 point per hour of travel undertaken to be present) Providing direct help or assistance: 3 points per hour.”

“These are the meticulously recorded final point totals accumulated over the past three years:

Victor: 8 points Stephen: 10 points Stephen’s children: 150 and 133 points respectively Leo’s brother: 288 points Leo: 7,341 points And to my cherished fifth grandson, Tim… 5,883 points.”

The lawyer paused, his gaze sweeping across the stunned faces in the room before continuing to read the final instructions.

“My remaining assets have been carefully liquidated, with the exception of the family home, which will be sold at market value. The total sum derived from this liquidation will be divided by the total number of accumulated points, and the resulting value per point will then be used to distribute the inheritance proportionally to each beneficiary’s earned points.”

An absolute hush fell over the room. You could have heard the faintest whisper of air as the full implications of Mr. Reginald’s carefully constructed system began to sink in.

Then, as if a dam had suddenly burst, all hell broke loose.

“This is utterly preposterous!” Victor bellowed, his face flushed with disbelief and outrage. “He was clearly manipulated in his final years! This so-called ‘point system’ is a blatant absurdity!”

Stephen slammed his fists on the polished table, the sudden noise making everyone jump. “We are his sons! His own flesh and blood! This has to be illegal! There’s no way this ridiculous scheme can be legally binding!”

The lawyer calmly raised a hand, his practiced authority effortlessly silencing the room’s chaotic eruption. “Mr. Reginald, a man of considerable foresight, anticipated precisely this type of reaction. Therefore, the will contains a very specific and legally sound clause stating that anyone who chooses to contest the provisions of this will automatically forfeits their entire share of the inheritance. Their allocated points would then be redistributed amongst the remaining, non-contesting beneficiaries.”

Victor and Stephen exchanged a rapid, silent glance, the wheels of calculation visibly turning in their minds.

“How much?” Stephen finally asked, his voice grudging. “What is the total value of the estate we’re talking about here?”

The lawyer calmly stated a figure that made my own knees feel weak and my head swim. Even divided by the total number of points, it represented more money than I had ever dared to dream of possessing in my lifetime.

Predictably, they sued anyway. They launched a bitter and protracted legal battle, claiming that I had somehow exerted undue influence over a frail and elderly man, and that Leo and I had engaged in a nefarious conspiracy to fraudulently deprive them of their perceived birthright.

For three long and draining years, depositions, court appearances, and endless paperwork became an unwelcome and stressful routine in our lives.

Eventually, justice prevailed. After countless motions, appeals, and desperate attempts to overturn Mr. Reginald’s clearly stated wishes, they finally lost their legal crusade.