Eve

I look at the keys placed in my hand. Keys to a house.

Not a house, more like a mini-mansion that I didn’t know existed.

Let me rephrase that. A mini-mansion we looked at five years ago just for the fun of it, because there was no doubt we couldn’t afford such a large, luxurious house or any house in that section of town.

Not on Brandon’s salary. My meager earnings selling rag dolls doesn’t qualify as a salary.

“You must be mistaken. Brandon wouldn’t have bought this house without telling me. We could barely afford the small three-bedroom home that we live in.” That, and he was allergic to spending money, period.

Any time I spent money on myself, he complained that we were broke and I was trying to bankrupt him.

He couldn’t understand why it cost so much to get my hair done and nagged me to find a cheaper salon.

A mani-pedi? There’s no need when I can polish my own nails.

Brandon complained that anything girly I wanted put a strain on our budget.

Unlike our friends, I couldn’t have a cleaning lady because they cost too much, and I did a better job, anyway.

And I’m supposed to believe that cheapskate husband of mine had a multi-million dollar house sitting empty?

“You are Evelyn Robbins, are you not?”

“You know I am.”

“Then there’s no mistake.”

“Gordon, my car is fifteen years old. Fifteen. The people that own that house don’t have old cars unless they’re classic, which mine is not. It’s a beat-up-knock-around car that could use some TLC. And those people have boats, too. Do I look like a woman who has a boat waiting for her?”

Watching me pensively in his gray pinstripe suit, Gordon Flucks clears his throat, then looks down at the paperwork in front of him. “Well, Mrs. Robbins, before you say anything more, I think you should have a look at this.”

He pushes papers across his shiny wood desk. I hesitate a moment, certain the lawyer has his clients mixed up. There’s no way Brandon could have kept a secret like this. Ready to prove the man across from me wrong, I take the papers and give them a closer look. My mouth drops as I read.

No. Way.

“While you do have a mortgage of seven hundred thousand left on the oceanfront property, with the five million dollar insurance policy and the three hundred thousand in his personal bank account, you have more than enough to pay it off, along with the remaining mortgage outstanding on your primary residence. ”

“Five million dollars? Million, with six zeros after the five? I don’t even know what to do with that much money. How is this possible?”

“Your husband loved you and Gemma very much. He made the most of his investments so that in a case such as this, you are both taken care of.”

Now I know he’s lying. Brandon may have loved Gemma, as much as a man with a heart made of wood could, but me? Our days of love are long gone.

Gordon smiles. “Why don’t you start by trading your car in and buying a new one. Not a flashy sports car that you might get hurt in. Something sensible and safe.”

Safe, my ass. I might just get me a Corvette. I’ve always wanted one. Mostly because it was the only sports car I could recognize.

“Maybe I should.” I get to my feet and extend my hand.

“I’m sorry if I don’t seem grateful, Mr. Flucks, but this is a shock.

Brandon had a small insurance policy that he signed over to the funeral home in the case of his death.

We lived paycheck to paycheck as far as I knew. I thought we were poor.”

“I understand.”

“Then you also understand that I don’t know what to do with this kind of money.”

“I suggest you don’t rush out and spend it all. And I wouldn’t tell too many people. Even family. Especially family. Once they hear you’ve been left an inheritance, they have a tendency to come with their hands out.”

“Not to worry. I don’t have any.” Brandon made sure of that.

He did his best to keep me from my family when we were dating, and when we were around them, he always got into an argument or fight with someone.

With the exception of my daughter, I have no family left.

They gave up on me when I chose to marry Brandon.

They called him a loser and said he’d never amount to anything. Jokes on them.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He stands, buttons his suit jacket, and heads to the door to his office.

I cross the threshold to the outer hall and take a deep breath, trying to grasp the idea that I’m now a millionaire.

“One more thing, Mr. Flucks. Can you recommend an investor?”

“I’ll give you the names and numbers of a couple of my most trusted associates. And Mrs. Robbins, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

At least someone is. I wanted to rejoice when I heard the fucker had a heart attack. Serves him right. But hearing that I went from a woman forced to shop in thrift stores to Mrs. Moneybags, I want to throw a party!