My Wealthy Grandmother Left Me a Single Brass Key and No Inheritance
He reached for a black binder on the shelf behind him, flipping through the plastic sleeves until he found a signature card.
“I will need to see some identification,” he said, his tone turning cautious. “The owner specified that only the person with the matching key and a state ID could access the unit after this date.”
I slid my driver’s license across the counter.
He picked it up, compared the name to the card in his binder, and then looked at the brass key I held in my hand.
“Everything seems to be in order,” he said, sliding my license back to me.
“Is there anyone else down there?” I asked.
“No,” he said, pointing out the side window toward the rear of the property. “Take the gravel lane all the way to the back row. Unit forty-two is the last door on the left side of building C.”
I thanked him and walked out of the warm office back into the gray morning.
