Dear Mr. Mandrake,
We have been trying to contact you through your family line without success. Due to time constraints, this is our last attempt.
Your late great aunt, Melinda Mandrake, has included you in her last will and testament.
Because of aforementioned time constraints, you must complete any remaining paperwork immediately, or forfeit your inheritance, to avert any financial or earthly ruin. Please come to Jimson Law, at 600 66th Street, Chicago, IL on March 21st at 9 a.m. sharp. Please be prompt, as we will deduct any expenses used to reach you from a fund the late Melinda has put aside.
We’ve included a map to the exact location, as GPS may not recognize the address.
Respectfully,
Demetri Demonte
once again, then he glanced back at his phone’s GPS. He was there, where 600 66th Street should be, parked on the side of the road, staring out toward an empty field in the middle of Chicago.
Townhouses lined the other side of the street. He held the map up and confirmed several house numbers, triangulating his position. He was in the right spot.
The clock of his old, beat-up green Kia hatchback ticked away another minute, 8:58.
“Dammit,” he muttered to himself, staring into his bright green eyes in the rearview mirror and running his hands through his ginger scruff. He crumpled up the paper and tossed it behind him. Another stupid prank or ill-thought scam. This one had even made him call his mother, a thing he’d sworn off doing ever since she left him stranded in an empty home for a year to finish high school as she and her new husband moved down to Florida.
“You’re not moving in with us when you’re done with school, right? We don’t have room for you,” was the last thing his mother said before he hung up on her.
No, Mom, I’d rather live in a dumpster. He looked back toward the townhouses, wishing he could afford something like that. With the way things were going, the dumpster might be his only option. Apparently, the great city of Chicago was jammed full of dentists, and no offices were looking for brand-new graduates. His only prospect now was a studio apartment with five roommates while he found some entry-level job to hold him over.
Mat stuck his keys in the ignition as the clock on his dashboard flipped to 9 a.m. He looked back out toward the empty field once again, and his mouth fell open. It was no longer empty.
The once empty field now had a stone path leading through a short white picket fence, past landscaped bushes and trees and up to a small one-story cottage. An entire forest surrounded the house, and trees that weren’t there moments ago now towered over the townhouses, casting a shadow on his car. A sign hung above the doors to the cottage, with the words Jimson Law painted in black and gold lettering.
A Black man, the same age as Mat and dressed in a perfectly tailored gray suit, stepped out of the house and stood on the stoop. Mat’s eyes widened, both from the materialization of the house and the very attractive man with a shaved head, well-maintained beard, and a smile that gleamed in the beams of sunlight filtering through the trees.
Mat fumbled out of his car and smoothed his shirt, noting that his salmon shorts and linen button-up were perhaps a little too casual for whatever he was getting himself into.
As Mat rounded the Kia, the man met him at the small waist-high gate, unlatching it as he said with a smooth baritone voice, “Mathias Mandrake for our 9 o’clock, yes?”
Oh god, he’s even more attractive up close, and his eyes seem to sparkle. Really, whose eyes sparkle like that? Mat smiled awkwardly and stumbled over his words. “I. Yes, but I go by Mat. How? There was an empty park here a second ago. And a suit. Should I have worn a suit? I feel like I should be in a suit.”
The man only smiled and ushered Mat through the gate. “Buildings come and go, but this one is here now, and we have an appointment. As for the suit, I like to look refined for my clients, but you’d be surprised by some of the attire my clients choose to meet me in.”
Mat blushed. “What does that mean?”
“I’ve said too much already. I am Demetri Demonte. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Mandrake.”
Demetri stepped past Mat and held the door open, carrying with him the scent of a smoky whiskey cologne that sent Mat’s mind racing.
“Um, thanks. Pleasure to meet you too? What is this all—” Mat paused, noting that the inside of the cottage was much bigger. Unexplainably bigger, with a massive foyer and rooms to either side that were easily four times larger than they were outside.
“All your questions will be answered momentarily. Would you like any coffee or tea?”
All that Mat could muster was, “How is . . . ?”
Demetri placed a hand on Mat’s shoulder and ushered him forward. “No, then? Why don’t we head to my office?”
He led Mat down a hall that was certainly longer than the house, turned, and led Mat down another hall just as long before opening a set of French doors.
His office was filled with books resting on deep wooden shelves that carried over to the dark mahogany desk. A pair of rich red leather chairs sat on one side of the desk, and a massive, throne-like red leather chair rested on the other.
Mat took a seat in one chair, and Demetri claimed the seat behind the desk, grabbing a stack of folders and resting them in front of him. “I want to start by apologizing for the late notice. We tried contacting you earlier, but we had to resort to other means to get your address.”
“Other means?”
“Let’s just say we hired a private investigator to locate you after your parents failed to give us your whereabouts.”
“Mother,” Mat corrected. “That asshole she’s with is not my father.”
“Noted. Yet, regardless, I have you here now, and we have a few things we need to go over to keep your claim on the estate before time runs out.”
Mat frowned. “Estate?”
Demetri flipped open the folder. “Your great aunt has left you as the sole heir to her entire estate. Primarily, this includes a property, and all the items within, in a neighborhood called Henbane Hollow.”
Mat’s heart thrummed heavily in his chest and his voice strained. “Wait. What? Property? A house? I have a house?” He stared at the desk, his breath racing away.
Demetri held up a hand. “You have a claim to the house, yes. Mandrake Manor, at 13 Wormwood Way in Henbane Hollow up in Connecticut.”
And there it was. “Connecticut? I don’t know anyone in Connecticut. How much is it worth? Can I just sell it?”
Demetri winced and pulled out a handwritten letter from the folder’s contents. “Well, no. The will has a few stipulations to prevent the inheritor from outright selling the house within a year of ownership. You may, however, decline the offer, as the will provided a list of several others in line for inheritance.”
Bile filled his mouth, and his breathing slowed. “A year? Why? What condition is the house in?”
Demetri flipped through a few pages. “Well, the estate provides a stipend for repairs. Mandrake Manor is an old house. One that has been in the Mandrake family for generations.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I have not been granted permission to enter the house, but I have been told the inside is in much better condition than the outside. From what I have seen of the estate, some major repairs are needed.”
Mat leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, nodding to the paperwork. “When do you need an answer? I’m not even out of college yet. I can’t. I’ve got plans.”
Demetri pulled another paper from the folder and smiled. “You’re graduating from a college of dentistry, yes? And I hear you’re having trouble with job placement, correct?”
Mat frowned. “Yes? How did you—”
“It just so happens that the town a few miles from Henbane Hollow has a dental office in need of an expansion. I could put in a good word if you’d like.”
Mat let out a laugh. This is insane. It can’t be real. “Sure, a mysterious lawyer shows up in a house that was a field and offers me a house and a job. Okay, where are the cameras?”
“No cameras, Mr. Mandrake. Henbane Hollow is a tight-knit community, and I respected Melinda for all that she did for us. For her to list you as primary heir holds some significance.” Demetri rested his hands on the papers and leaned forward in his seat, his eyes locked on Mat. “So, if I need to pull some strings to get you to move in, I will.”
Mat frowned. Was that a proposition? No. Calm down, Mat. Think. Stay in Chicago, with friends but no job, or move across the country with a house, job, and potentially flirty lawyer?
“Okay,” Mat said, turning away and rubbing his arms. “If you land me a job, I’ll do it.”
Demetri smiled and pulled several papers from his file. “Perfect. Then before you leave today, I need some signatures, and the house is yours.”
Mat skimmed through the documents, spotting things like “the owner of Mandrake Manor promises to abide by all laws, treaties, and contracts of Henbane Hollow,” and “I acknowledge that no agreement, legal or metaphysical, supersedes the ownership of Mandrake Manor to proclaimed heirs.”
“What is all this?” Mat asked.
“Melinda Mandrake was very thorough in her contracts. Speaking of, there is one more thing now that you have agreed to take the home. Melinda asked that the new owner move in with roommates. Two of them, to be specific. It also states that I am not to hand over the keys until you’ve arrived with said housemates.”
Mat frowned, and his heart sank. “What? Why? I don’t know if I can do that.”
Demetri leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I’m sure a college man like yourself has several friends stuck in the same predicament as you who might find life in Connecticut a bit more freeing.” He pulled a card from the table and slid it to Mat. “If any of them need a job, let me know. I’ve worked with nearly everyone in a sixty-mile radius of Henbane, and they all owe me favors.”
Mat picked up the pen. “I’m really doing this,” he said as he signed the first paper.