Kitchen Remodel Gone Wrong

Sometimes found treasure gets you into more trouble than it's worth. Writer's Cramp Entry

Keith wiped the sweat from his brow as he set his hammer down, stepping back to admire their progress. He and Isabelle had spent the last few months turning their fixer upper into something livable. The kitchen was the final major project, and today, they were finally getting into the demolition phase.

"Not bad," Isabelle mused, standing beside him with her hands on her hips. "But we still have that back wall to do."

Keith sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah, yeah. Let's get to it."

They worked together, prying off the old cabinets, removing the grimy yellow tile backsplash, and hammering through the outdated drywall. Dust filled the air, coating their clothes as they tore through the years of neglect. As Keith swung his crowbar into the wall one more time, something unexpected happened. Instead of more drywall and insulation, a small, tightly sealed vanilla envelope tumbled from within the hollowed out space between the studs.

"What is that?" Isabelle asked, stepping closer, her brow furrowed in curiosity.

Keith bent down, picking it up and feeling its weight. It wasn’t empty. A strange chill ran down his spine as he peeled back the seal and pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills.

His breath caught in his throat. "Isabelle, this is... a lot of money."

She leaned over, eyes widening as she took in the sight of the crisp bills. "Oh my God. How much is in there?"

Keith thumbed through the stack, his mind racing. "At least twenty grand. Maybe more."

Isabelle sucked in a breath. "Where did it come from?"

Keith hesitated. "I mean... it was in our house. Maybe it’s ours now?"

The weight of the situation hung between them. The house was old, passed through several owners, and had been abandoned for years before they bought it. But money hidden in the walls wasn’t something people did without a reason.

"We should turn it in," Isabelle said finally, arms crossed.

"To who? The police?" Keith shook his head. "They'll just confiscate it. And what if...what if this was just forgotten?"

Despite their initial reservations, the temptation proved too great. They justified it easily maybe it was a secret stash from years ago, forgotten by whoever had owned the house before them. Maybe it had no rightful owner anymore. And they needed the money. Bills were piling up, the renovations were expensive, and this felt like fate handing them a break.

So they spent it. Not all at once, but enough to catch people's attention. A new refrigerator, a much-needed car repair, a weekend getaway. They basked in the relief of financial freedom, never once considering the possibility that someone might come looking for it.

Then, two weeks later, it happened.

First, Keith noticed a black sedan parked across the street, engine idling. The next day, Isabelle swore she saw someone standing at the end of their driveway, watching the house. By the time the third night rolled around, their unease had fully settled in.

The knock came at precisely 9 PM. Slow, deliberate, heavy.

Keith and Isabelle exchanged a panicked glance. Keith swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the doorknob as he cracked it open.

A man in a perfectly tailored suit stood on the other side, flanked by two burly figures. His eyes flicked to Keith, then to Isabelle over his shoulder.

"Nice place you got here," the man said, his voice smooth but carrying an unmistakable edge.

"Name's Frankie. Frankie the Fish. I think you may have something that belongs to me."

Keith’s stomach dropped.

The kitchen remodel had just turned into a nightmare.

Keith didn’t understand what Frankie was saying. Or at least, he tried to play it off as if he didn’t.

"You see," Frankie began, "a friend of mine left something hidden in the walls here of the house. Something very important to me. I’ve come to collect it. I would have done so sooner, but I got caught up with something before he sold the place off."

The goons with Frankie chuckled at that.

Isabelle just looked scared and exchanged glances with Keith.

"Are you not going to invite us in?" Frankie asked, then continued, "That’s the polite thing to do when you have visitors."

"It’s late, and perhaps we can talk about this more in the light of day," Keith said.

Isabelle nodded quickly in agreement.

Frankie smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. "Oh, I don’t think you understand, Keith. This isn’t a conversation for later. This is a right now kind of conversation."

Frankie and the goons pushed their way into the house making Keith and Isabelle back up.

Keith’s throat went dry.

"Look, we...we didn’t know the money belonged to anyone. We found it, and..."

"And you spent it." Frankie cut him off, his smile vanishing. "That’s the problem. You see, that money was part of an arrangement. And now, you owe me."

Keith’s pulse pounded. "How much?"

Frankie clapped him on the shoulder. "All of it. And since I know you don’t have it anymore, you’re gonna work it off. Starting now."

Isabelle gasped. "Wait, no, he..."

Frankie held up a hand, silencing her. "This isn’t a discussion. Either Keith works for me, or we'll have a much bigger problem."

The goons with Frankie cracked their knuckles menacingly stepping forward.

Keith swallowed hard, looking at Isabelle before finally nodding.

"Okay. I’ll do it."


Frankie’s grin returned. "Good man. I knew you’d see reason. Now, let’s talk about your first job."