December 22, 1978

As I ventured into the farming area, Mose, as always, trailed behind me. It was becoming increasingly irritating to have him constantly at my side, but I supposed I had to bear with it. After all, I was the oldest and, therefore, held a certain level of responsibility.

"Son, come over here," my father called out, beckoning me towards the Hen House. I motioned for Mose to stay put, but he only complied when I resorted to luring him with a handful of M 's, tossing them in every direction for him to catch. Satisfied that he would remain occupied, I made my way to my father's side.

"I know you aspire to be the next heir, Dwight," my father began, his tone serious. "But there will be no inheritance if Aunt Shirley has anything to say about it."

Confusion clouded my mind as I sought clarification. "What do you mean?" I questioned.

"She plans to appoint young Mose as the heir. It's an unconventional choice, having the younger sibling take over. But that's precisely what makes it unstoppable," my father explained, concern etched on his face.

"But, Father, you were younger than Aunt Shirley when you became the owner," I pointed out, attempting to find a flaw in his argument.

"That was different," my father dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I was a man then. But that's beside the point. The fact remains that we cannot allow Mose to become the next heir."

My gaze shifted towards Mose, who was engrossed in the act of picking his nose and, to my horror, proceeded to eat an M with the very same hand. A smirk crept across my face as I turned back to my father.

"You're talking about this idiot?" I quipped, unable to hide my amusement.

"Do you think Aunt Shirley cares about intelligence? She wants control, and Mose is the only one who can secure it for her," my father explained, his tone grave.

"So, your plan is to seize control from Mose when he least expects it," I concluded, a newfound determination settling within me.

"Exactly," my father confirmed. "It's time to take charge, Dwight."

"Very well, Father. If that is what you wish," I acquiesced, ready to embark on this unexpected quest for power.

Leaving the chicken coop behind, I caught Mose unaware of the M incident. "Dwight, you missed it! The M 's fell all over the ground. Perhaps the stork brought them," Mose exclaimed, oblivious to the schemes being hatched around him.

"Sure," I replied curtly, taking a seat and pondering the intricate web of plans that lay ahead.

I knew what I had to do. As I stepped into the farming area, Mose faithfully following in my footsteps as always, I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was amiss. It had been a long day, filled with the usual tasks of tending to the crops and maintaining the farm.

But then, I saw it. Aunt Shirley, making her way towards my father's office. Their conversation was hushed, but I could sense the tension in the air. "See you, Dwight," I heard my father say, his voice tinged with concern as he disappeared into his office.

The weight of the situation settled heavily upon my shoulders. I had spent the entire day with Mose, planting beets, as was our routine. However, Mose's incessant eating of the beets became a constant source of frustration. "No, Mose! Put the beet down!" I shouted, trying to keep him on track. But he persisted, throwing beets around and causing a delay in our work. It took me what felt like an eternity to finally plant all the beets, my patience tested to its limits.

That night, my father assigned me the task of purchasing groceries, including carrots, beets, and lettuce, from Mr. Sneedly's secret shack. As I entered the shack to make my purchases, a sense of unease washed over me. I noticed a group of police officers inside, their presence perplexing. And then, the words I overheard sent a shiver down my spine. "Time of Death: 2:30." It hit me like a punch to the gut. That was my father they were referring to.

Aunt Shirley appeared outside the shack, her expression unreadable. I stood there, rooted to the spot, as the realization sank in. My father, the pillar of our farm, was gone. The patriarch who had guided us, protected us, and held this place together, had been taken from us in an instant. And I hadn't even had the chance to say goodbye.

I watched as my father's lifeless body was carried away by the coroner, a heavy feeling of sorrow settling over me. The recipient of my father's will approached, offering his condolences. "I am truly sorry for the loss everyone is experiencing. Dwight Sr. was a remarkable man, deeply valued in this community," the man expressed with genuine sympathy.

My gaze shifted towards Aunt Shirley, suspicion flickering in my eyes. Could she have had a hand in my father's demise? I couldn't help but recall his fatal heart attack, which had occurred in the very room Aunt Shirley had insisted on accompanying him to for a conversation. A seed of doubt took root within me, urging me to dig deeper and uncover the truth.

But before I could dwell on these thoughts, the focus shifted to the matter of my father's will. Aunt Shirley wasted no time in bringing it up. "So, what does the will say?" she inquired, her voice tinged with anticipation.

The man cleared his throat and began reading from the document, his words carrying a weighty significance. "According to the will, the majority of the Schrute fortune and the ownership of the farm shall pass on to my son, Dwight Kurt Schrute," he revealed.

Aunt Shirley's reaction was immediate and filled with disbelief. "What?!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with frustration and disappointment. Clearly, my father's decision had caught her off guard, shattering her own aspirations for control.

I, too, was taken aback by the revelation. It had always been in the back of my mind that someday, the responsibility of Schrute Farms would fall upon my shoulders. But I never anticipated it happening so suddenly. At just eight years old, I was still learning to tie my own shoes, let alone manage an entire farm.

Time seemed to stand still as the willmaster's words sank in. "Dwight, it appears that you are now the owner of Schrute Farms," he declared, his gaze fixed upon me.