A Million Eviction Letters/Dollars

I had my eviction letter in my sleeve as I drew out my pen, signing the papers and confirming my great uncle's death.

Not like I really knew the guy. His bloodline had ended with him. No heir. No wife. Nothing to help his last name survive. It wasn't as useful either that he was born with two sisters who would be married-poor girls-at a young age, leaving him alone for what would be the rest of his life, owning a big house after his mother and father's death. What a sad life he must have had, I couldn't imagine the man that came with it. Not a happy one, that was for sure.

My mother who claimed to have met him in a family reunion once reported him as an angel. Said he treated her sweetly unlike my older cousins.

Amusing was my first thought. If she had only seen all the beer I found in his basement when the cleaning crew came by his home that laid in the middle of the road. Odd place and the beer was probably to dull the pain. Lines and lines of it. It couldn't have possibly been for decoration.

After all, the man was a true hogger. Rare objects-mostly weird ones like the shoe-shaped couch I found in his room-had clouded his house. Not all of it useless since I was able to sell some stuff on eBay. Nonetheless, at the end of that smelly cleaning journey, everything else ended up being trash.

I did found one picture of him though, shoved into one of the many boxes labeled as trash. It was in black and white, dust gathering around its edges. My fingers cleaned it away, displaying a man with overflowing wrinkles and an empty smile. He was wearing a suit and standing next to two girls, his sisters most likely. I studied him more closely.

No wonder he had no kids. His plain face seemed to be a trusty repellent against...everything. I wanted to leave too, even if I was only seeing him in a picture. The man clearly cared more about his varied collection of things than his appearance.

There were no mirrors in the house. Not even in the bathroom. Moss and toothbrushes hung in its place. The other rooms were just more storage space with a tiny game room in the back.

Everything looked like it had been in the middle of a hurricane, the messy chaos being the aftermath.

It would have been a quick trip if I hadn't been stopped by a stranger at the house's doorway.

The smell of alcohol swooped in from behind us as he presented himself among me. A great black coat loomed over his shoulders, mustache turning into an upward grin, as I met his eyes.

Creep, I thought as I dodged him, under the arm. He caught me by the shoulder right after, making us confront each other face to face. Creep. Creep. Creep.

"Excuse me, Mr. Can't Take A Hint," I growled, shoving him away, chest on pushing. I needed to return. Work as a librarian was still tight despite having a loose schedule. "I don't have time for idiotic men like you."

His mustache frowned, wrinkles gathering. How old was he? Thirty? Thirty-nine? Forty?

He half-prompted and half-whispered into my ear, "How about your great uncle's men? Do you have time for them?"

He was way too close for comfort, ending in me stepping on his foot with my right heel and digging the other one in his shin. He grabbed me by the arms.

In return, my gaze cut through him like a knife. I hissed, "I know that stupid act. Been used too many times." I patted him in the arm, at an attempt, at sneaking past. "Next time try coming up with something more original, perhaps?"

Yeah, right, like anyone hits on the town librarian.

He held me back, chest puffed and face emotionless as I turned around, hearing him say, "I have a job to propose to you."

I blinked twice. "Really? Like what?"

"FBI agent."

I laughed, feeling the urgent need to check my lungs cause they were beginning to hurt. "You know I'm a librarian, right?"

His face turned to wood, gazing back at me with no reaction. Oh, god, he was serious.

The stranger said, "You do martial arts on the weekends. Black belt, self-defense, and properly trained with a bow and arrow. Impressive, if I do say so myself."

I blushed, waving it away as if it were nothing. "They're just hobbies-"

The stranger crossed his arms, leaning back on the outline of the entrance. "I still think your great uncle chose well."

I arched my eyebrows, suddenly interested. "And what's in it for me?"

"Your great uncle left some money in his office. A million dollars to be precise. It'll go to you, should you decide to take the job."

I shook my head, confirming, "My great uncle didn't leave me anything."

I didn't even know him. I wanted to say but the words refused to come out of my mouth.

The stranger leaned in, flicking me in the head as if I were stupid. I'm not stupid. "Check the fine print."

My mind brought me back to the ice-cold room. The eviction letter slipping out of my hand with endless thoughts of money. How to survive. How to pay for food. My parents were gonna kill me so the contract of a dead unknown relative hadn't seemed important at the moment. Despite that hard day, I remember the fine print.

Everything left shall go to his heir.

But the bloodline ended with him. Once again his surname died with him so it was me, wasn't it?

This was stupid. Utterly stupid but yet...a million dollars. That was a lot of money and librarian, well, it had never been my ideal job. College had failed me when it had come time to find my passion and that job was up for grabs. Plus...FBI agent sounded like a pretty cool title.

I sighed. "Alright, when do I start?"