The Next Day, a Sheriff Knocked on My Door

I bent down and pulled out a black leather wallet, worn soft at the edges from years of use.

When I opened it, my breath caught.

Stacks of hundred-dollar bills were folded neatly inside.

I counted without meaning to. Then stopped.

It was more money than I’d seen in my account in years.

Rent was due in three days. The power company had already sent a warning notice. Brynn’s sneakers had holes straight through the soles. I’d taped cardboard inside them the week before.

My heart pounded.

This money could solve everything—at least for a while.

Then I saw the ID.

An elderly man stared back at me. Gray hair, deep lines, tired eyes. The name read Walter Bennett. Behind it was a folded note with an address and an emergency phone number.

I closed the wallet slowly.

The shop had been crowded all day. Anyone could have lost it. Anyone else could have taken it.

I stood there longer than I’m proud of, arguing with myself.