That was the day Alex Miller lost everything. His wife, who called him a man going nowhere and slammed the door behind her. The respect of his brother, Victor, who inherited their grandfather’s $400,000 house while Alex was left with a rundown garage on the edge of town.
He even lost faith in himself. If his own grandfather left him nothing but a rusty tin box, then maybe everyone was right: he really wasn’t worth much. That night, in the driving rain, he drove out to that godforsaken garage. He didn’t know why.
Maybe to confirm that his life had truly hit rock bottom. Maybe just for a place to sleep—he had nowhere else to go. The rusty lock didn’t give way easily.
The door groaned open with a long, painful screech. Alex stepped inside, swept the flashlight from his phone across the dark space, and froze in utter shock.
Alex Miller sat in the stuffy lawyer’s office, watching the older woman in a severe pantsuit read his grandfather’s last will and testament in a monotone voice. His brother, Victor, lounged in the chair beside him, wearing an expensive Italian suit that smelled of cologne. Victor was drumming his fingers on the armrest—a telltale sign of his impatience.
Grandpa Pete had passed away a week ago. He was 95, and had lived a long, full life. Alex still couldn’t believe he’d never again hear that deep, slightly gravelly voice, or see those sharp eyes that seemed to look right through you.
For the last few years, his grandfather had been a homebody, but he always lit up when Alex visited every weekend.
“The residential property at 17 Sunshine Avenue, including all structures and the adjoining land, I bequeath to my grandson, Victor Miller,” the lawyer continued.
Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw Victor straighten up. A faint, satisfied smile touched his lips. Of course, the house. Grandpa’s house in the historic downtown district, where a shoebox cost a fortune. It was a two-story craftsman built in the 50s, back when Grandpa Pete had just returned from the war and started his life.
Alex wasn’t jealous. He’d never expected an inheritance and didn’t really need one. It was enough that his grandfather had loved him, spent time with him, and shared stories from his incredible life.
“And Garage Unit #42, in the ‘Eastward’ storage complex on Industrial Road, I bequeath to my grandson, Alex Miller.”
Silence hung in the air. Alex blinked, the words not quite registering. A garage? That old storage unit on the industrial side of town? Grandpa had mentioned it a few times, but as far as Alex knew, he hadn’t been out there in twenty years.
Victor snorted. It was a short, sharp sound, somewhere between a laugh and a dismissive puff of air.
“Is that it?” he asked the lawyer.
“There is no other property listed. According to the will, that is all,” the woman confirmed, taking off her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose. “Any bank accounts were closed during his lifetime. No other assets have been recorded.”
“I see.” Victor stood, buttoned his jacket, and looked down at his brother. “Well, Alex. Congratulations on the inheritance. A garage is a serious asset.”
There wasn’t a trace of sympathy in his voice, only poorly concealed gloating. Alex rose slowly, a knot of humiliation tightening in his stomach. It wasn’t about getting less than his brother—that didn’t matter. It was the way Victor looked at him. That look said, “See? Even Grandpa knew which one of us was worth something.”
“You’ll both need to sign the documents to accept the inheritance,” the lawyer said, laying out the papers. “Sign here, please.”
Alex signed automatically, barely reading the text. Victor’s signature was a confident scrawl, done with obvious pleasure. He handed the lawyer his business card.
“If you need any other paperwork, call this number. My assistant will handle it.”
They walked out of the office together. It was an overcast day, with a light autumn drizzle starting to fall. Victor popped open an expensive umbrella with a leather handle.
“Hey, don’t take it so hard,” he said, a flicker of something like pity in his voice. “A garage isn’t bad. You can rent it out, make a little extra cash. Not like the house, of course. I figure the house is worth at least four hundred grand. I’m selling it, obviously. What do I need that old shack for? I’ll buy a condo in a new high-rise, invest the rest in my business.”
Alex listened in silence, a dull anger building inside him. A shack? Grandpa had lived his whole life in that house, raised his children there, grew old there. Every floorboard had its own unique creak, every corner held a memory. And Victor was going to sell it off like a piece of old furniture at a yard sale.
“You know, if you want, I can help you out,” Victor continued, walking toward his black Mercedes parked at the curb. “I can find a buyer for your garage. For a small commission, you know, brother to brother. You could probably get a thousand for it. Maybe two, if you’re lucky.”
“Thanks, I’ll think about it,” Alex managed to say.
“Suit yourself, but the offer’s on the table. Just don’t wait too long. Nobody wants those old storage units anymore. Everyone’s got built-in garages now.”
Victor got in his car, slammed the door, and drove off without another word. Alex was left standing in the rain, which was now coming down harder. He hadn’t brought an umbrella; he hadn’t even thought about it. Cold water trickled down his collar, but he barely felt it.
A garage. An old, beat-up garage in an industrial park you had to drive clear across town to get to. A place that was sketchy during the day, let alone at night. Why? Why would Grandpa leave him that?
Alex pulled out his phone to call a cab, but changed his mind. He decided to walk. Maybe the fresh air would help him clear his head, figure out how he was going to explain this to Tina.
Tina. His wife. They’d been married for eight years. Eight years that lately had felt more like a slow, fading ember of what once burned bright.
They met at a friend’s party. Back then, Alex had just started as a mechanic at a small auto shop. He didn’t make much, but it was enough. Tina worked as a receptionist at a salon; she was vibrant, funny, and full of life. They fell in love hard and fast, marrying six months later. They rented a one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of town, ate ramen noodles, and were happy.
But over time, something changed. Tina changed. Or maybe she just stopped hiding who she really was. She started comparing him to her friends’ husbands, his salary to theirs, their life to everyone else’s. And in those comparisons, Alex always came up short.
“Look, Karen and her husband are going to Mexico. For the third time this year. And Mike just bought Susan a new SUV. A real one, not some used junker. Why are we still renting this dump? All our friends bought houses years ago.”
Alex tried. He took on extra shifts, stayed late at the shop, saved every penny he could for a down payment. But it was never enough. And Tina’s expectations grew with every passing month.
For the last six months, she’d barely spoken to him. She came home late, left early. Whenever he tried to talk, her answers were short and clipped with irritation. Alex felt their marriage cracking, but he didn’t know how to fix something that might have been broken from the start.
And this morning, as he was getting ready to go to the lawyer’s office, Tina had suddenly shown interest.
“So, what do you think you’ll get?”
Comments are closed.