LAWYER: “…only if you agree to live in the house for exactly 365 days. You cannot sell it, rent it, or change the locks until that year is up. And you must not enter the basement.”
POOR WOMAN: “The basement? Why? Is he hiding bodies down there? This is insane. I can’t live in that hateful man’s house!”
LAWYER: “It’s $400,000, ma’am. Plus his savings account, which covers the property taxes for the year. If you leave before the year is up, the estate goes to the City Dump. Your choice.”
POOR WOMAN: “Fine. I’ll do it. But I’m sleeping with the lights on.”
[6 MONTHS LATER]
POOR WOMAN: “Mr. Henderson (Lawyer), I’m calling you because I found something. I know I’m not supposed to change things, but a pipe burst in the kitchen. I had to tear out the drywall.”
LAWYER: “Did you fix it?”
POOR WOMAN: “Yes, but behind the wall… I found a logbook. Mr. Sloan’s handwriting. He didn’t just live here. He was… watching me.”
LAWYER: “Watching you? You mean stalking?”
POOR WOMAN: “No. Listen to this entry from three years ago: ‘July 4th. Neighbor girl is crying on the porch again. That boyfriend of hers is screaming. I’m going to go out and bang on the fence with my shovel and act crazy. It’ll scare the punk off. Better they think I’m the villain than she gets hurt.'”
LAWYER: “…”
POOR WOMAN: “There’s more. ‘December 20th. She lost her job. I saw the eviction notice peeking out of her mailbox. I paid the landlord anonymously and told him to say it was a clerical error. She looked so relieved today. Worth every penny.'”
POOR WOMAN: “I… I hated him. I yelled at him. I called him a bitter old miser. But he was saving me. Every single time.”
LAWYER: “Mr. Sloan was a complicated man. He didn’t know how to be soft. He only knew how to protect.”
POOR WOMAN: “The year is almost up. But I need to know what’s in the basement. I don’t care about the inheritance anymore. If it’s something bad, I need to know.”
LAWYER: “If you enter the basement, you forfeit the money.”
POOR WOMAN: “Keep the money. I’m going down there.”
[SHE HANGS UP. SHE WALKS DOWN THE STAIRS.]
POOR WOMAN: (Texting Lawyer) “I’m in the basement.”
LAWYER: “And?”
POOR WOMAN: “It’s… it’s a nursery. A baby’s room. Perfectly preserved. Dust everywhere.”
LAWYER: “His daughter died forty years ago. She was your age. She died in a car accident right before she was supposed to inherit the house.”
POOR WOMAN: “There’s a photo on the dresser. She… she looks exactly like me.”
LAWYER: “He couldn’t save her, ma’am. So he spent the last ten years trying to save you. The condition wasn’t about the house. He just wanted to make sure you were safe under a roof for one more year.”
POOR WOMAN: “I’m not selling the house.”
LAWYER: “Excuse me?”
