GREEDY STEPMOTHER SELLS DADS CLASSIC SHELBY DURING HIS FUNERAL

“I sold it,” she said coldly. “I got $2,000. It’ll be my little financial cushion. Don’t look at me like that. It’s just a car, and I’m the grieving spouse.”
The car was worth easily six figures. She had practically given it away out of spite and greed before his body was even in the ground.
I was shaking with rage when a sedan screeched to a halt next to us.
A man jumped out, looking panicked, holding a dusty, sealed plastic bag.
“Wait!” he yelled. “We were checking the spare tire well for rust before transport and found this. My boss said he couldn’t in good conscience keep it without you seeing it first.”
Karen scoffed and snatched the bag.
“Probably just more trash or old parts.”
She tore it open.
When she saw WHAT was inside, her knees buckled.
She hit the pavement hard, gasping for air like she’d been punched in the gut.
She looked up at me, her face drained of color, and handed me the envelope.
It began:
“Karen, I know you very well, so I decided to do ONE THING for you.