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HELEN
It was starting to get dark as I made my way to Dudley’s apple tree. I looked over and saw no signs of life at Brenton’s. I didn’t see his truck either. Maybe he had taken his daughter out to dinner.His daughter.I shook my head again, but shrugged it off. I was potentially onto something huge, and Brenton was not going to ruin my excitement.
I observed the tree under the gray dusk sky. I didn’t want to dig up the entire plot, so I had to be meticulous in how I did this. The tree had a sparse amount of apples, just over a dozen. Most of them were tucked amid the leaves and branches, but one apple hung at the very edge of a branch, its weight pulling the limb down.
“It’s a crap shoot, but so is this entire idea,” I said as I started digging into the ground directly below that apple.
I was gentle at first, not wanting to damage any roots. Eventually, I fell into a rhythm, ramming my shovel into the earth and scooping with vigor. The more I dug, the more I began to feel hopeful that I had been accurate in my conclusion about the journal being under this tree. It just felt right.
I had been shoveling dirt for about ten minutes, when my shovel hit something hard. My pulse quickened and my sporadic breaths halted. I clutched the shovel with white knuckles, scared to look into the hole I had just made. If it was just a tree root, I was going to be so disappointed.
Slowly, I inched closer to the hole with closed eyes, until my face was hovering directly over it. Opening my eyes, I stared into the dark abyss and gasped. Below me was a small wooden box. It looked like it had been constructed from the same type of wood as the flooring in the foyer, the flooring that had sheltered the first half of the journal.
I threw my shovel to the side and dug up the falling dirt with my hands, pulling the wooden box from the earth. I held it so carefully, like it contained my weight in gold. I thought about bringing it inside to open it, just in case Brenton came home. I didn’t want to have to explain why I was sitting in my backyard with a shovel and a giant hole like a maniac. I probably looked like I was covering up a murder, but I was too excited. I gripped the lid on the box, and attempted to pry it open. I pulled with all my weight, but the lid wouldn’t budge. I abandoned that idea and set the box on the ground. I grabbed the shovel and wedged its tip under the lid. I pushed down onto the shovel’s handle and the lid popped open.
“Yes!” I exclaimed and then quickly covered my mouth, looking around me to make sure no one had heard. Brenton still wasn’t home and there was no one else within miles of this property.
I fell back down to my knees, pushing the lid open. Its hinges creaked and I wondered how long this box had been buried here. How long had Dudley been plotting his will?
In the wooden box was a rectangular shape covered in a white cloth, aged with brown splotches and a few tears. I pulled the cloth back and there it was. The small book was missing a front cover and its yellow pages matched the other half of the journal perfectly. I flipped it over and sure enough, the back cover was made of the same brown leather as the journal I had discovered in the floor of the foyer. I squealed in excitement.
I thought about trying to fill in the hole and putting my shovel away, but decided I’d do it tomorrow. I ran back into the house to read the journal in some light. I grabbed the other half of the journal from its hiding place in the office, buried under some old papers in a drawer. I put the two halves together and they fit beautifully.
I brought both halves into the kitchen and began to read every inch of the pages I had just dug up. This half of the journal was even more chaotic than the last. Dudley’s scrawlings were extremely dark in color, like he had used all his weight to place this ink on the page. The mayhem felt angry.
The first page of the journal was dated 2002. Similar to the previous half, along with short notes, scribbles and diagrams, this portion of the journal contained several long entries like Dudley had used it as a diary. The first page read:
How could they? Those greedy bastards took everything from me. I had been suspicious when they started taking an interest in me again. They had never wanted to hear about my travels or my job before, but as soon as they saw TruFruit’s magazine feature, they started swarming like piranhas. Fiona was the first to bite, which shocked me a bit. She’s becoming worse than her parents. I caught her walking the property in March, running around the trees like she owned them. Thankfully, I found her before John did. I invited her in. My house had just been built on TruFruit’s property, so there were no furnishings yet, not even a couch. We stood awkwardly in the foyer while she interrogated me about the business. She asked if we were looking for financial investors and I had told her we were well beyond that at this point. John told me my family had approached him once before and he turned them away. Instead, he found me and I was happy to invest if it meant I could continue to travel the world looking for unique trees. John was more than happy to have me on board, and so a very profitable relationship formed and it thrived for years. Until my lowlife family members ruined everything.
The note stopped there. I turned the page to find another entry.
It’s finalized. I am no longer a contributing member of TruFruit. I fought tooth and nail to make sure I was compensated fairly, but John screwed me. So much for our years of friendship. A number was negotiated between Wally and John’s lawyer: 10%. Apparently it was equivalent to the amount I had initially invested. John wanted to pay me out monetarily, but I thought of a better idea.
I looked up from the pages in awe. Brenton and I had been onto something after all. My family somehow scammed Dudley out of TruFruit. I kept turning the pages. On one filled page, I found a hand drawn map. The road that led to both Brenton and Dudley’s property was named at the bottom of the page, and what I believed were TruFruit’s rows of apple trees were denoted by lines. A square sat right where Brenton’s house would be and was labeled with a percentage: 90%. A square that sat where Dudley’s house would be was labeled with 10%. Dudley had carved out his circle of land in ink, 10% of the total property in these hills. In a note he had written:What I am owed.
I puzzled this map out in my head. Brenton and I had talked about the peculiarity of Dudley’s property countless times. The way it stood directly in between land owned by TruFruit felt too strategic to be a coincidence, and sure enough it was. After Dudley was fired, instead of being paid out his 10%, he decided to keep 10% of TruFruit’s land. I made a mental note to yell at Wally for not sharing this with me. He had been the one to negotiate Dudley’s termination and he didn't think that useful information for the niece carrying out his obnoxiously mysterious will?
The other pages of the journal didn’t have any information that was too valuable. They were mostly more of the same: Dudley bitching about his termination and our criminal family. The last page contained one final note:At least I got the tree. My last hope at redemption.
Below the note was another miniature map, with a star where the apple tree currently stood in the backyard. I shut the journal, trying to understand where I stood in all of this. The second half of the journal still hadn’t answered my question: How do I get my inheritance?
I shook the book in frustration and a small piece of paper fell loose. I leaned over to pick it up, its color brighter white than the rest of the journal’s pages. I hadn’t noticed this while I was sifting through the pages.
I unfolded the paper and my mouth dropped open. It was dated last year. Dudley must have thrown this clue in at the last minute, for my eyes only. Here it was, my instructions to receive his inheritance.
That tree in the backyard will make you millions. All you need is TruFruit’s cross-breeding process and you’ll be set for life. Upend their share of the market. Make them regret they ever fired me. Earn your inheritance.
“What the hell? This is such bullshit!”
I had toearnmy inheritance? By running a business?! Illegally?! There was no way in hell. No way in hell would I steal that patent. No way in hell would I rip Brenton’s life’s work off. This was all too much and I was out! No inheritance was worth this. I was able to learn some information about Brenton’s cross-breeding process, but nothing that I could use to recreate it. I didn’t even have the faintest idea what the hell I was doing or how I could possibly steal a patent, not that I would want to anyway.
I should have known this was all too good to be true. Dudley preached how awful our family was, but in reality he wasn’t any better. He sent his niece on a wild goose chase to carry out his petty vengeance under the guise of cementing my independence from my petty family.
I sighed, realizing what this meant. I had no inheritance, no money to sustain me while I wrote my novel. Not to mention I had no awe-worthy end to my stupid mystery novel now. This mysterious treasure was all a selfish facade. I had made my way over to the couch and was reclining my head on its back, looking up at the ceiling in defeat. At least I had my job to fall back on. I let my exhausted eyes droop shut, dozing off quickly.
My eyes burst open at the sound of my phone ringing. I looked around me, dazed. There was a light golden hue throughout the house. It was morning. I dug through the couch cushions until I located my phone.
“Hello,” I said, my voice cracking.
