My Wealthy Grandmother Left Me a Single Brass Key and No Inheritance
I went up the stairs at eleven o’clock, the floorboards groaning beneath my feet as I carried my small book toward my bedroom.
As I passed Margaret’s closed door, a thin line of yellow light stretched across the dark carpet from the gap at the bottom of the frame.
I paused, hearing the faint, distinct whir of the rotary telephone dial spinning and returning to its starting position.
“Bennett,” Margaret’s voice came through the heavy oak wood, clear and surprisingly strong for this late hour. “It is Margaret.”
I held my breath, leaning slightly closer to the door frame, my fingers resting against the cold wallpaper.
“She signed the proxy without asking a single question,” Margaret said into the receiver.
There was a long pause, the sound of the attorney’s distant voice crackling faintly through the old telephone line.
“Yes,” Margaret said, her voice firm. “The final papers are ready. We can proceed with the transfer.”
I stood in the dark corridor, a sudden warmth spreading through me as I realized the name on those private phone logs I had found weeks ago indeed belonged to Mr. Bennett.
