A thunderstorm was brewing in the west when Veronica heard a knock on her apartment door. 'Who the hell could need me at this hour?' she thought irritably as she meandered to the door. She glanced out her peephole and saw nothing but empty hallway. She was about to turn her head away, until something caught her eye. She unbolted the door and picked up a box shimmering in the dim light. She cracked open the lid, and inside was an old fashioned, Victorian-style key. She held the key gently between her fingers, as if it would disintegrate on contact. Lying almost out of sight, a note was sealed with wax underneath the key's previous location. She set the box on the table and cracked open the note. It read:
"Ms. James,
It pains me to inform you, but your mother and father were murdered. Their mansion was cleaned out, except for this. Of all things, they left the key to your ancestor's castle. In that castle, is your family's greatest treasures. Beautiful antiques and the likes. Seeing as you are the only living blood-relative, you are entrusted with keeping this treasure hidden from the world.
Yours Truly,
"
The name was smudged. Veronica leaned back on her couch, letting her new-found knowledge sink in. Her parents are dead, and she is now the proud owner of a four-hundred year old castle.
The next morning, she boarded a plane to Scotland. The key was her only carry-on, and a third of her actual luggage. She tried to pack lightly so she could get out of the airport as quickly as possible.
She was picked up from the airport by two men who claimed to work for her the lawyer her mother's best friend had hired. They drove her in a black Cadillac though breath-taking country-side. Her family's castle was hidden in a thick grotto of trees. The sunlight penetrated the thin patches where the leaves were falling, seeing as it was late September. Veronica nodded her thanks to her escorts and trundled up the drive with her luggage in tow and the key on a gold chain around her neck.
As soon as the oak door swung open, Veronica's breath was knocked out her. The foyer was stunning. The floor lined with snow-white tiles. A red silk rug ran from the front door to the grand staircase that forked off halfway through, then reconnected at the top. Off to the the side, the parlor sat alone filled to the brim with gorgeous Victorian furniture. Veronica, eyes wide, ran up the stairs and barged into the first door. As it happened, that room was the master bedroom. It had clearly been renovated, seeing as it had working showers, bathtubs and sinks, but it was still Victorian styled. The closet was walk-in and was filled with lacy Victorian dresses. 'It's amazing the moths haven't got to these over the centuries.' she thought, checking all the dresses for any signs of holes or tears. The bed was canopied and sky blue.
Veronica tossed her suitcase to the side, kicked back on the bed, and thanked her lucky stars that this now belonged to her.
