Chapter 3 - Thirty-Eight Dollars
Marlene gave Ethan until nightfall to leave the house.
He packed two pairs of jeans, work shirts, socks, and a photograph of himself with his father at the county fair. From the back of a kitchen drawer, he recovered his late mother’s silver cross.
Marlene had hidden it because she said reminders of his father’s first wife were unhealthy.
Cole watched from beneath the porch awning.
“Don’t come crawling back when that toolbox doesn’t feed you.”
Ethan put the box in the passenger seat and drove through the rain.
His phone battery was at six percent.
He had thirty-eight dollars.
At the gas station, the bank card Marlene promised would remain active was declined for a two-dollar coffee.
The clerk looked away.
Ethan slept behind an abandoned feed store with his coat over his face and the toolbox pressed against his ribs.
Near dawn, metal shifted.
The bottom drawer had slid open.
His father used to tell him not to force old equipment.
“Listen first,” he would say. “Every machine tells on itself.”
Ethan tapped the drawer.
A hollow sound came from beneath it.
He used his pocketknife to lift a false panel.
Inside lay a brass key, a folded map of Miller Ridge, and a sealed envelope bearing his name.
ETHAN. ONLY IF THEY PUSH YOU OUT.
His hands began trembling.
The first page contained three words in his father’s blocky handwriting.
CABIN. LAND. YOURS.
A second envelope carried the county seal.
Ethan almost opened it.
Instead, he placed it back beneath the drawer.
His father had written one more instruction.
May you like
Open this only with a sheriff present.
Dad had expected a fight.
