Page 17 of Breakout
After a few minutes, the door opens.
“Hey Pey, you need to come here and bring your ID.”
So much for staying warm.
“One minute.”
Huffing, I get out of bed and grab his T-shirt off the floor. I slip it over my head and make my way over to the closet. I grab the first sweatshirt I see and slip it on. At the last second, I grab my wallet from my bag.
When I step out into the hall, I find Beckett standing at the door with his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face. My eyes shift from him to the stranger standing in front of him with a manila envelope in his hand.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Are you Peyton Anderson?” the stranger asks.
“Yes…”
“Can I see your ID, please?”
“What’s going on?” I mutter as I open my wallet and pull it out.
“This guy has a letter that only you can accept,” Beckett grumbles.
Once the guy verifies I am who I am, he hands me the envelope. “Could you sign this?”
I sign the form he places in front of me with a pen. Then I hand it back.
“You two have a nice day,”he says before walking away.
“This is weird, right? Like who would send me a letter I have to personally accept? The only mail I get is junk mail and bills.”
Beckett opens the door and ushers me back inside.
Beckett shuts and locks my door before turning toward me. “I guess we will find out now, won’t we.”
While Beckett takes a seat on my bed, I pace as I open the letter. A law firm’s letterhead jumps out at me when I start to unfold the piece of paper. Piper & Sons Law Office? Never heard of it.
Ms. Peyton Anderson,
I am reaching out to you today in regard to the reading of the will of one Matthias Anderson. You have been named as a beneficiary in his will. It is customary that the heir comes into the office for the reading. Please call to set up a time for your appointment. We look forward to hearing from you, and we are very sorry for your loss.
Sincerely,
William Piper, Esquire
“What the hell?” I mutter, frowning.
“What is it?”
I hand the paper over to Beckett and let him read it for himself. I’ve never heard of a Matthias Anderson, so this has to be a mistake. When my parents died, the state looked for a living relative for me to live with, but none was ever found. Not only that, but my parents never spoke of any other family members.
This has to be a case of mistaken identity, right? Is there another Peyton Anderson running around out there? Or maybe the guy just had shit handwriting, and they guessed my name was the one written down?
This has to be fake. Or wrong.
I can’t help the little surge of hope in my chest, though. The idea that maybe I am not all alone in this world. I squash it, though.
If it’s true, then why didn’t they step up when I needed them? Why did my parents never speak of them?
