My Family Tried to Evict Me from the Craftsman House My Grandparents Left Me
I walked down the long hallway, the smell of beeswax and old books growing stronger as I approached the library.
Ashley was standing by our grandfather’s roll-top desk, her fingers digging through a stack of yellowed utility bills.
Under her left arm, she clutched a heavy, dark leather folder that looked stuffed with loose legal-sized papers.
On the desk beside her lay Grandfather’s old leather-bound journal, its brass clasp undone.
“Ashley,” I said, stopping in the doorway.
She jumped, her shoulder dropping as she tried to block my view of the open drawers.
She reached up with her free hand, quickly smoothing her blonde hair behind her ears.
“Emily, you startled me,” she said, her voice rising. “I was just looking for the old water bills.”
“The water bills are in the kitchen drawer,” I said, stepping closer to the desk. “Why are you going through Grandfather’s personal papers?”
She tightened her grip on the heavy leather folder under her arm, squeezing it against her ribs.
“We just need to make sure the family records are in order,” she said, giving a quick, tense nod.
