The Inheritance Paradox
Copyright© 2026 by aroslav
Chapter 3
Time Travel Sex Story: Chapter 3 - A gripping tale of time travel, family secrets, and redemption. Nathaniel Holbrook uncovers his father’s extraordinary past, spanning centuries and shaping humanity’s future, while confronting profound truths about legacy, love, and identity. A thought-provoking journey through time, history, and the enduring bonds of family.
Caution: This Time Travel Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Historical Time Travel
(Eugene’s Story)
EUGENE WALLACE HOLBROOK was disgusted with himself. He had betrayed everything he held as true and holy. He was the scum of the earth and he knew it.
On June first, 1979, he woke up in his car—a 1964 Corvair Monza. The car was all he had left. He’d been so ashamed a month ago when his infidelity was exposed and he was fired that he’d slipped into the house without speaking to Mary, packed everything he could into the Corvair, and drove away. He’d driven to Flint where an old friend was an attorney and filed for divorce. It was the only thing he felt he could do. Now, after more than a month mostly living in his car or a couple of nights a week at the YMCA, his world had narrowed to what he saw around him.
Clothes—not much. He’d always worn a suit and occasionally dungarees. His bat, ball, and glove. He’d probably never need those again; they just happened to be in the car when he left. His days of coaching the church softball team were past. A box of books, his prized possessions. He’d always loved books, but he limited himself to packing a single box to overflowing with his most loved volumes. The box was open and stacked above the top, but no one was going to take his father’s poetry books from him. It was all he had of his father’s.
There were a few photos in a shoebox, a hat and gloves for cold weather, his typewriter and paper, his Bible, and a coffee cup. Basically, it was the detritus of a life misspent. This morning, he had to check in with his lawyer and then see his doctor. Then, if he had the energy, he’d stand at the home improvement store with a sign that said simply, “Will work.”
He reflexively clutched at a pendant he wore—had worn for the past year since he found out about the girl who made it for him. One more loss in his life.
He thought maybe he should register with a temp agency and see if he could find a job typing somewhere. Or maybe he could just find a place to curl up in a ball and die. He was tired. His world had come to an end. He’d left everything behind and had nowhere to go.
Except the lawyer’s office. There was only one reason he needed a lawyer. Even so, he waited for nearly an hour in the reception area before Ron called him into his office.
“You look like hell, Eugene,” Ron said.
“Thanks. You, too.”
“Nice. You know why we’re here. I was just waiting for the courier. I’ll need your signature on all three copies.”
Eugene took the papers, noting all three had been signed by Mary and witnessed the day before. He signed where directed and Ron witnessed them and stamped them with his notary seal. Ron’s secretary came in with a cup of coffee for each of them, which Eugene gratefully sipped. He hadn’t had anything to eat or drink this morning. Ron folded one copy and put it in an envelope to hand to Eugene.
“That’s all?” Eugene asked.
“That’s it,” Ron answered. “You’re officially divorced and are now a single man.”
Eugene stared at the envelope without seeing it.
“I’m sorry, Eugene,” Ron said. “You didn’t contest anything, just signed everything over to her. Do you even have any money?”
“A couple hundred dollars. I’ve been doing day labor. I need to find regular employment of some sort and a place to live. The car is getting cramped and beginning to smell a little,” Eugene said.
“No doubt. Hey, that pollster group just opened a phone office downstairs. You’ve got a good voice. You could try them.”
“Sure. I’ll go over to the Y and get a shower and shave first. I should wash my clothes, too.” He heaved a deep sigh.
“Eugene, it doesn’t have to be the end of your life, you know. People get divorced every day. It’s part of life,” Ron said.
“All those people don’t cause it. I couldn’t even look Mary in the face. I moved in the middle of the night and ran away. She has every right to hate me. I cheated on her. I broke our vows. I broke the vows I made to the church. What difference does it make if I live or die?”
“Don’t, Eugene. Don’t get suicidal on me. Look to a brighter future. One that is better than anything you had in the past. Stay with us,” Ron said intensely.
“Yeah. I’m not going to kill myself. I just won’t stop anyone else from killing me if the opportunity arises,” Eugene said. He swallowed the last of the coffee and stood to leave.
“Take care, Eugene,” Ron said. “And see those people downstairs about a job. It will help you get back on your feet.”
“Thanks for everything,” Eugene said.
He still had three hours to kill before his doctor’s appointment. He hadn’t eaten anything but didn’t figure he could keep anything down anyway. The pains in his gut had gotten steadily worse since he moved out of the house and into the car. ‘Guilt pangs,’ he thought. God’s punishment visited upon the wicked. He’d been to the doctor twice and they ran a battery of tests, extracting blood for analysis, fluid for a biopsy, and running him through an MRI.
He managed another cup of coffee from a vending machine at the clinic as he waited for Dr. Roberts to finally see him.
“Mr. Holbrook? The doctor will see you now. This way, please.”
The nurse led him to an exam room and told him to just sit and wait. No dressing in a backless gown this time. He was surprised the doctor even ran the number of tests he did. He’d paid twenty dollars the first time and hadn’t been asked for more. It was supposed to be a free clinic. He wasn’t really sure why he was back for this appointment. He couldn’t afford medication. Not that medication could help a guilty conscience.
“Eugene,” Dr. Roberts said when he came through the door and closed it tightly behind him. “Sorry it took me so long. We’ve had a rush of emergencies. You’d think people would be through with the holiday chaos by now. Apparently, some still think Memorial Day is on the 31st instead of the last Monday. Weird, isn’t it? We spent all our lives with the holiday on May 31st and then they just pass a law and suddenly the dates change every year.”
“Yeah. Sorry to interrupt your busy day,” Euguene said. Something else that was his fault. There were people who needed a doctor and he was taking up space.
“A bit dramatic, isn’t it?” Roberts said. “How are you feeling today?”
“No better. I haven’t been able to keep any food down lately. I guess that means I’m saving money,” Eugene said.
“It’s not going to get better, Eugene. I’m sorry to have to say that. There’s a tumor in the small intestine, right below the stomach. It’s malignant.”
“I can’t afford surgery,” Eugene said.
“I’m afraid it wouldn’t make a difference. It’s metastasized. We found cancer cells in your bloodstream with markers for your kidney, liver, and bladder. That probably means it’s other places we didn’t test, too.”
“What are you saying?” Eugene asked, trying to focus on the doctor’s words.
“It’s terminal, Eugene. You need to put your affairs in order.”
“How long?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was as if it was happening to someone else.
“Three months at best. If you can’t eat, it could be faster.”
Put his affairs in order. What an appropriate way to phrase it. It was his affair that caused the chaos in his life. If he’d kept his pants zipped, he’d be sharing this news with Mary and she’d comfort him. At least she didn’t have to put up with her husband dying on her. He missed most of what Dr. Roberts was saying to him as he plunged into self-pity.
“We can get you into hospice care,” the doctor said. “It will include pain management, but no real treatment for the cancer. It would give you a place to live. Not elaborate, but clean, with food. A TV. Friends could come and visit. We’ll make you as comfortable as possible.”
“Oh. I ... don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
“Let’s make an appointment for two weeks from now, but if you make a decision before then, call and we’ll get you right in.”
“Thank you. I guess ... I’ll see you in two weeks.”
He stopped at the reception desk for an appointment card for June 15. Maybe he could die by then.
He walked out of the clinic and got in his car. He was numb. Divorced, unemployed, homeless, and diagnosed with terminal cancer. His stomach wouldn’t stop hurting and he constantly felt like he was going to throw up. He drove sixty-five miles out to the overlook and watched the boats on the river for a while. He wasn’t paying attention to what he was seeing.
Barges, cruisers, pleasure craft. It looked like it would be a great weekend, and people were headed out to take advantage of the good weather. In the Detroit area, that could all change at a moment’s notice. The St. Clair River divided the United States and Canada. He’d crossed it once. His one big trip out of the United States. He’d thought one day he’d travel the world, but he guessed that was all a pipe dream. He’d travel wherever his casket took him. He supposed they’d find someplace to bury him. A potter’s field.
It was dark by the time Eugene returned to his senses. He turned the car to drive west, back to Flint. There was a place he’d driven past many times. This time, he pulled into the parking lot behind the bar. The entrance was in front and he needed to step around a smelly dumpster. There weren’t many people in the bar. The Friday night crowd hadn’t yet gotten started. That suited him just fine.
Eugene had never really been in a bar before. It smelled of smoke. The floor felt sticky. There were both men and women, so he figured it must be pretty safe, even though it was dimly lit. He walked up to the bar and leaned against it as if he knew what he was doing. Some women at a table with the remains of dinner on it started laughing. Eugene glanced at them but didn’t think they’d singled him out to laugh at. A bartender eventually made his way to Eugene.
“What’ll it be?” he asked.
“Do you sell bottles of liquor here?” Eugene asked.
“Of course. But only for consumption on the premises. What would you like?”
“What’s cheap?” he asked.
The bartender scowled, sizing him up. He turned away from the bar and grabbed a bottle that had already been opened and was about three-quarters full. He put it on the bar so Eugene could see it. Canadian Mist.
“Can I have a glass?”
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