My Wealthy Grandmother Left Me a Single Brass Key and No Inheritance
The neon sign of the Cherry Street Diner buzzed with a dull, yellow hum in the evening light. I sat in a booth near the back of the narrow restaurant, a single mug of black coffee sitting on the laminated tabletop between my hands. The air smelled of burnt grease and cheap syrup, a familiar scent that brought back the years I had spent working double shifts before Oakhaven.
Chloe, my oldest friend from college, slid into the booth opposite me, her bright red wool coat matching the color of her lipstick. She carried a leather purse that looked brand new and set it carefully on the vinyl seat beside her.
“I came as soon as I got your message,” Chloe said, reaching across the table to touch my arm. “You look exhausted, Emily. What happened at the lawyer’s office?”
“She left everything to the community trust,” I said, staring into the dark surface of my coffee. “And four hundred and fifty thousand dollars went to Linda.”
“The housekeeper?” Chloe asked, her eyebrows rising. “The one who lived in the basement?”
