My Wealthy Grandmother Left Me a Single Brass Key and No Inheritance
I watched him follow Linda down the path, their black umbrellas moving together like twin dark spots against the gray grass.
The brass letters on the glass door of Mr. Bennett’s office read Bennett and Associates, but the hallway inside was empty and smelled of old paper and carpet cleaner.
I arrived at ten minutes before ten, my wet coat dripping onto the linoleum floor.
Linda was already sitting in one of the low leather chairs opposite the large mahogany desk.
She did not look up when I entered, her hands busy smoothing the front of her dark wool skirt.
Mr. Bennett sat behind his desk, a thick blue folder lying closed between his hands.
“Please, sit down, Emily,” he said, indicating the vacant chair beside Linda.
I sat, the leather sticking slightly to my trousers.
“We are here to read the last will and testament of Margaret Vance,” Mr. Bennett began, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses.
He opened the blue folder, the sound of the thick paper turning loud in the quiet room.
