Journal Entry 77 - June 10th, 1886 – 8:06 a.m.
The rain struck my chamber window last night, and the thunder rocked the whole frame of the house. In those half-seconds between the lightning flashes outside, I could see the ever-serious General staring down from his portrait. And though he may be cross with me, Mr. Edgeworth is long-deceased. Why should a dead man keep his wealth from the living? His earthly claims are no more. I suspect whatever curse he left in his will, or uttered under his dying breath, was purely to keep mortals from finding what his cadaver still selfishly clings on to. Well, I swear upon my soul that his veiled threats are now as empty as his skull—and they won’t dissuade me. I shall, in the end, appreciate the fortune that awaits its rightful inheritor; for a miserly corpse can appreciate nothing.
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