My Wealthy Grandmother Left Me a Single Brass Key and No Inheritance
The gravel crunched under my boots as I walked past the long rows of green garage doors, each one secured with a heavy iron padlock.
The wind whistled through the gaps in the sheet metal, making the entire place feel abandoned and empty.
I reached the end of building C, where the gravel lane turned into a patch of dead weeds against the back fence.
The green metal door of unit forty-two stood before me, its paint faded and peeling at the bottom edge.
A massive iron padlock hung from the center latch, cold and rusted around the keyhole.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the brass key, my fingers brushing the small fiber tag.
This was the end of the line Margaret had laid out for me three years ago when she first called me back to Oakhaven.
I stepped close to the door, the smell of damp earth and rusted metal rising from the gravel at my feet.
My hand was steady as I lifted the heavy padlock.
