Chapter 4 - The Empty Box
The dull sound of the shovel striking metal echoed loudly across the freezing, snow-covered backyard.
Brenda immediately stepped off the wooden porch, her eyes wide with greedy anticipation as she rushed toward the hole.
I tried to push past her to reach the frozen dirt first, but one of the massive workers forcefully shoved me back.
I lost my footing on the slippery slush and fell hard onto the freezing ground, scraping my hands against the ice.
Brenda completely ignored me, ordering the two men to pull the heavy object out of the frozen earth.
They grunted as they lifted a rusted, heavy metal lockbox out of the dirt and set it heavily on the snow.
I recognized the dark green metal immediately, remembering it from the top shelf of Grandma's bedroom closet when I was a child.
Brenda dropped to her knees in her expensive coat, completely disregarding the mud soaking into the fine fabric.
She produced a heavy steel crowbar from the liquidator's tool bag and jammed it aggressively beneath the rusted lock.
With a sharp, violent twist of her wrists, the old padlock snapped and fell uselessly into the snow.
I pushed myself up from the freezing ground, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
I expected to see the box overflowing with cash, precious family heirlooms, or the authentic, legally binding will.
Brenda threw the heavy lid open, a triumphant, greedy smile spreading wildly across her face.
That arrogant smile vanished instantly, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated confusion and rising panic.
I leaned forward, looking over her shoulder into the dark interior of the rusted lockbox.
The box was completely empty, completely devoid of any money, gold, or legal documents.
There was only a single, glossy photograph resting alone at the very bottom of the metal container.
Brenda reached in with trembling hands and pulled the picture out, holding it up into the gray winter light.
I gasped aloud when I saw exactly what the clear, high-resolution image depicted.
It was a photograph of Brenda sitting in a dark restaurant, accepting a thick envelope of cash from the corrupt corporate developer.
A bright red timestamp in the corner of the photo proved the bribe took place just two weeks before Grandma died.
Grandma Shirley had somehow known about the betrayal and had buried this evidence to ensure Brenda would eventually find it.
Brenda's face turned a sickening shade of pale as she realized her own mother had successfully outsmarted her from the grave.
Before I could demand an explanation for the bribe, the piercing sound of police sirens shattered the quiet afternoon air.
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The wailing sirens grew rapidly louder, indicating that multiple squad cars were speeding directly toward our street.
Brenda looked at the incriminating photograph, then looked at me, and a terrifyingly calm expression washed over her face.
