My name is Thomas O'Malley, and YES, I've heard EVERY variation of EVERY 'Aristocats' joke you can THINK of, so save it!

I grew up in Boston, one among many Irish Catholic families in that town until I was 21 years old.

It's two months before my 22nd birthday there's an insistent knock on my door.

"Who is it?" I call.

"Hello? My name is Margaret McIlvaine speaking on behalf of the Law Firm of O'Sullivan, Kelly, Walsh, Flanagan and Mullan of Wexford County, Ireland? I'm here to talk to you about the death of your Great-Granduncle Twice Removed?" A woman's voice with a Wexford accent so thick you could cut it with a knife says.

"..." I go over to the door but don't open it.

"What kind of scam is this?" I ask, wishing like hell the peephole in my door hadn't been painted over years ago.

"Oh, it's no scam Mr. O'Malley! I know its a strange request but your Great-Granduncle twice removed lived to the astounding age of one-hundred-and-four, and all of his sons died in world war two while his daughters and granddaughters had no sons of their own! You're the only person who's actually responded, and if that stays the case you will inherit everything!"

I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything.

"Hello?! Mr. O'Mally, PLEASE DONT CALL THE GARDA: THIS IS SERIOUS!!!" The attorney's voice cries desperately.

"I'm still here, but why would that panic you so much?" I ask.

"If we can't find at least one heir to inherit the estate within a year and a day of Mr. Ward's death it will destroy not only our firm but the entirety of Ireland!"

"That's a bit hard to believe," I say, but somehow the desperation in her voice makes it clear to me that for whatever reason SHE believes it...

"That's exactly what I said, but then Mr. Kelly showed me the statistics and I didn't doubt him anymore," Miss McIlvaine says. "Our firm was the exclusive representation of Mr. Ward, both personally and professionally. Mr. Ward was the majority shareholder of twenty-three of Irelands largest corporations, especially it's largest ISP, and we have access to his personal data-mining algorithms. The SECOND he died, the murder rate in Ireland began a statistically anomalous steady climb, which if our projections are correct will result in a murder rate of over 60 people a DAY by the end of the year! That's TWICE the YEARLY average EVERY DAY!"

Now I'm intrigued, at least enough to open the door.

"This is either the WEIRDEST scam I've ever heard, or something seriously screwy is going on." I declared. "Show me this so-called 'proof'," I demand.