My Wealthy Grandmother Left Me a Single Brass Key and No Inheritance
Chloe’s basement was cold and smelled of laundry detergent and old cardboard box storage. I carried my single suitcase down the wooden stairs, my shoes squeaking against the painted concrete floor. In the corner of the room, near a small window that looked out on the street level, sat a folding card table with a metal folding chair.
I set my suitcase on the floor and sat down on the metal chair, the cold steel biting through my trousers. I reached into my purse and pulled out the small bundle of mail that Mr. Landis had handed me when I left the apartment building, a collection of past-due statements that had accumulated over the past three months.
The white paper envelopes were yellowed at the edges, some marked with bold red stamps demanding immediate attention. I laid them out on the wooden surface of the card table, arranging them by date.
The total amount of my debts seemed to grow larger under the glare of the single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. My student loan statement sat on top of the pile, the interest continuing to accumulate while I had been washing my grandmother’s linens at Oakhaven.
