Twist

Denny went over the paperwork, line by line. It must have been the tenth time. He was losing patience. No matter how many times he examined the books and statements, all the numbers remained defiantly unchanged, and that proverbial something that he must have been overlooking remained as well hidden as a body in the Nevada desert. Huddled next to a dim lamp in his grubby single apartment, he rubbed his aching eyes and swore. This was getting him nowhere.

But then, nowhere was where he'd spent most of his life.

Ever since the funeral of his Uncle Charles, a man he had thoroughly disliked when he was alive, Denny had done nothing but search through the estate paperwork, looking for evidence of the fortune he knew his uncle possessed. One did not live in a mansion in Bel Air and buy a new Jaguar every year without having money, and lots of it. No way, Jose.