Reese’s hand emerged from the cushion holding a heavy, yellowed envelope. It was sealed with old tape and felt strangely dense, like a brick of solid paper.
Cally and Laura crowded around as he carefully tore the corner. Their breath caught in their throats. It wasn’t old mail or forgotten receipts. It was a stack of $100 bills so thick it barely fit in his hand.
“There’s more,” Laura whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief. She reached into the other side of the sofa, her arm disappearing up to the elbow. Another envelope. Then another. They began to systematically strip the fabric back, their hearts hammering against their ribs. The “lumpy” couch wasn’t poorly made—it was a literal vault.
By the time they reached the final corner of the frame, the coffee table was covered in mystery envelopes. The air in the room felt electric, heavy with the scent of old paper and the realization that their lives had just shifted. But as they started to count the cash, they found something else hidden at the very bottom.
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