It was shortly after 4:00 p.m. when Ben arrived at the plain office building in the business district of the small town. He entered through the front doors and approached the building's directory. With the business card in his hand, he looked at the name once again, and then checked for it on the list. Saunders & Associates was located on the eighth floor.
Ben entered the old elevator and rode it to the top floor. The doors opened and he stepped out into a drab hallway with a low ceiling. Something about the place made his stomach churn. He felt claustrophobic, resurfacing painful memories from his childhood. He did not want to spend one moment longer than he had to in the place. He looked both ways, but was unsure which way to walk. At one end of the hallway appeared to be an office of some sort so Ben proceeded in that direction. There was a door with small black letters imprinted on the glass and when he came close enough to read it, he knew he was in the right place. Ben entered the office and looked around nervously.
"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked.
"Yes, my name is Ben Owen. I'm here to see Carl Saunders."
"Please have a seat, Mr. Owen. I'll let Mr. Saunders know you're here."
"Thanks."
Ben took a seat on the edge of the sofa, but never got comfortable. He looked as if he were about to bolt out the door at any minute. Being an orphan, Ben had major trust issues. He bounced around from different foster homes throughout his entire life. Even though he had been legally declared independent at eighteen, he never truly embraced that fact. Offices and authority figures made him nervous, but he was there to see what the process server wanted.
"Hello, you must be Mr. Owen," a portly man said.
"Uh... yeah. You can call me Ben."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ben. My name is Carl. Please, come into my office."
Ben rose from the plush leather sofa and followed the stout man into his tiny office. When they entered, the man apologized for the mess. Scattered papers and filing boxes covered nearly every surface, including the floor. Wall-mounted cabinets were filled with sloppy binders and overflowing dossiers. The desk was also completely consumed by what appeared to be countless case files.
The rotund man walked behind his desk and squeezed into an overused office chair that had been stretched to its limits. He invited Ben to have a seat.
Ben analysed the man's features and mannerisms, and stored the information away in his brain. He did this with everyone he met. He figured he may be able to use him as a basis for a character someday.
"So, Ben, how are you doing today?" the man started.
"Could be better," Ben replied.
"Well, I have some news that might cheer you up. I was contacted by a lawyer in Calgary who wanted me to get a hold of you regarding an estate settlement."
"Estate settlement?" Ben repeated. "What does that mean?"
"Did you have any relatives living in Calgary?"
"I don't have any known relatives," Ben said confused.
"You must have had someone, because from what I understand you are the sole benefactor of an estate. The lawyer will be able to provide you with all the details. Here's his information."
From a sitting position, the man's belly was pressed firmly against the desk. Even reaching over to hand Ben the lawyer's information was putting a strain on him. Ben rose from his chair slightly to accept the piece of paper before sitting back down.
"Just give him a call and he'll explain everything to you."
Ben looked at the note for a moment and then asked if there was a phone he could use.
"Certainly, follow me."
The small windowless conference room was about seven-feet wide by eight-feet long - just enough space to fit a small circular table with a couple of chairs around it. Ben sat alone in the room with the phone in his hand. On the table was a piece of paper with a name and a long distance number scribbled in pen. It was barely legible. Ben had received a few pieces of paper with numbers on them recently, but this was the only one he was eager to act upon. The mere thought of finding a relative trumped all other competing interests. He dialled the number, then held the phone to his ear. Within a couple of rings, a middle-aged women's voice came on the line.
"Epstein, Windsor, & Associates," she said.
"Hi, I'm looking for Barry Windsor," Ben said.
"May I ask whose calling?"
"Ben Owen."
"One moment please."
Ben waited on hold for more than five minutes. He grew restless, but since he had nowhere to go he continued to wait. At the ten minute mark, he was about to hang up. Just as he was about to do so, he heard a voice come on the other line.
"Barry Windsor here."
"Uh... hi, Mr. Windsor, my name is Ben Owen. I was instructed to contact you."
"Yes, Mr. Owen, thanks for getting back to me."
"Please, call me Ben."
"Alright, Ben, the reason I wanted to contact you is that I'm the attorney for Charles Gringer's estate. I'm sorry to inform you that Mr. Gringer has passed away."
Ben cycled through a lifetime of memories, searching for the relevant data. He finally came up with one word - "Who?"
"Charles Gringer," the lawyer repeated. Ben was still drawing a blank. "Mr. Gringer left everything he owned in your name."
"Are you sure you have the right Ben Owen?"
The lawyer confirmed some details with Ben, making it clear he was speaking with the right person, then discussed what Ben needed to do next.
"The good news for you, Ben, is that Mr. Gringer had no debt and there are no liens on his property. So, if you can come to my office in Calgary, we can take care of this for you. You just need to sign some documents and the estate will be transferred in your name."
"Did you say there was a house?"
"Yes, and it's in a decent neighbourhood too."
"And it's all mine?" Ben asked sceptically.
"It's all yours. You just have to maintain the property tax, otherwise you could sell it. If you do not claim it within the next sixty days, the house will be put up for auction."
Ben had heard all he needed to hear. Finally, something was going right for him. Receiving this news was a huge windfall, especially just days after losing everything he owned.
"Got it, I'll be there," Ben said.
Even if the plan was short term, Ben now had a reason to leave Cold Lake and would focus all his efforts on going to Calgary, Alberta. After writing down the necessary details, Ben hung up the phone and left the office. He practically ran down the hall in celebration and pounded on the elevator button impatiently as if he had somewhere important to go.
When Ben stepped outside, the wind was at his back and boundless opportunities lay before him. He flipped up the hood on his sweatshirt and kept moving. Although walking made him warmer, it also consumed more calories, something he could not afford at the moment. To appease his growling stomach, Ben reached into his sweatshirt pocket and took out his last banana. It was not much, like tossing a small log on a fire, but it would at least keep him going for a bit longer.