The doorbell’s ring had an ominous tone. It was with trepidation that I opened it; the bright sunlight burned my retinas, and it took a moment for the two policemen at my door to come into focus.

“Yes?” My voice shook.

“Are you Mr. James Miller?”

“I am.”

“Are you familiar with the name,” the officer looked down at his notepad and then back up to me, “Greta Miller?”

“She’s my great-aunt on my mother’s side. Is she okay?”

“I’m sorry to inform you, Mr. Miller, your aunt has passed away. We have you listed as her sole survivor.”

I felt my face crumple as I cried, “I killed her!”

The two officers moved quickly to handcuff me. “What did you do with the gun, Mr. Miller?” one of them asked.

“Gun? What gun? I posted a meme on Facebook that guaranteed me a fortune – and now Aunt Greta has gone and left me her all her money!”

“Is… that how you killed her, Sir?”

“I DIDN’T THINK IT WOULD WORK!!!” I’d never felt so distraught in my life.