But he’d left the final choice with me.
That afternoon, I drove to Main Avenue.
I unlocked the old brick storefront.
Inside were newly painted walls, updated utilities, and chalk marks on the floor.
One read:
Oven here.
Another:
Greta’s workbench.
I stood in the empty room, imagining what Grandpa had planned.
Then an older woman appeared through the side entrance carrying a sandwich and coffee.
“You must be Walter’s Greta.”
I nodded.
“I’m Lois. I own the diner next door.”
She handed me the food.
“Walter said you’d probably arrive hungry.”
I smiled through tears.
Even now, Grandpa had found a way to make sure somebody looked after me.
On Monday, I met with Marty.
He confirmed the inheritance conditions.
My mother and brother had ninety days to satisfy both requirements.
I could release them, but nobody could force me to.
A few hours later, my mother called.
