The lawyer found me behind a strip mall restaurant on a Tuesday afternoon, my hands deep in a dumpster, searching for anything edible that hadn’t completely spoiled. I was eighteen years old, nine days homeless, and hadn’t eaten a proper meal in forty-eight hours. The world had started to feel fuzzy around the edges, like a dream I couldn’t quite wake up from.
from.

“Nathan Brooks?”

I spun around, ready to run. Being homeless had taught me to be wary of anyone who approached—police officers who told you to move along, other homeless people who might try to take what little you had, business owners who saw you as a problem to be removed.

But this man didn’t look like any of those threats. He looked like a lawyer from a movie, all pressed suit and confident posture, expensive watch glinting in the afternoon sun. His leather briefcase probably cost more than my car had.

Ezoic
“Who’s asking?” I managed, my voice cracking from disuse.

“My name is Richard Hartwell. I’ve been looking for you for three days.” He held up a business card embossed with gold lettering. “I represent the estate of James Brooks. Your grandfather.”

I shook my head, certain I was hallucinating from hunger. “I don’t have a grandfather. My father said he died before I was born.”

Ezoic
“Your father lied.” Richard said it simply, without judgment, like he was stating a fact about the weather. “James Brooks was very much alive until twenty-three days ago. He spent the last fifteen years of his life trying to find you, and when he finally did six months ago, he immediately changed his will. He left you his entire estate—four point seven million dollars in assets, including a house, investment accounts, and a small business.”

I stared at him, my hands still covered in garbage residue, my stomach empty, my entire life packed into three garbage bags sitting in the trunk of a car that had run out of gas two days ago.