Finders, Keepers

"So, what do you think?" Mr. Harris asked. He and Mrs. Harris had just taken their two teenagers, Ethan and Mia, on a tour of the house they planned to buy. It was a spacious four-bedroom colonial built in 1948.

Ethan shrugged. He was eighteen, three years older than his sister Mia, and not easily impressed. "It’s cool, I guess."

"Just cool?" Mr. Harris said, smiling. "Not awesome?"

Ethan had been more reluctant than Mia to get behind the idea of moving. But the family was staying in the same town, and their new home would be less than two miles from their old one. Ethan would still be near his friends, and that was what mattered most to him.

"It’s fine, Dad. No worries."

"How about you, Mia?" Mrs. Harris asked.

"I like it." She grinned. "Especially since my room is twice the size of my old room."

"Okay, then," Mr. Harris said. "It’s a done deal."

**

They moved in three months later, after packing their belongings into half a million boxes, or so Ethan estimated. Mrs. Harris, the family organizer, had carefully labeled all the boxes. Looking around his new room now, Ethan was amazed at how many ETHAN cartons there were to unpack. Did he really have that much sports gear and books and assorted junk? Of course, Mia’s room was even worse than his. She could probably fill a truck with just her clothes. And that was after Mom had made her donate the things she knew she’d never wear again.

Ethan was sprawled on the bed listening to his iPod when Mia strolled in. She glanced around at all the cartons, most of which were still unopened.

"Haven’t made much progress, have you?"

"I’m conserving my energy." His sister could be a royal pain, but most of the time they got along well. They generally laughed at the same things, liked much of the same music, kept each other’s secrets, and supported each other when needed. They even managed to share household chores without too much squabbling.

"You’ve had half the weekend. What are you saving yourself for?"

"Don’t tell me you’re already unpacked?"
She smiled. "Pretty much. I have some cartons that need to go up to the attic. Everything else is put away."

Ethan rolled his eyes. "When did you turn into Mom?"

Mia scowled at him. "If you help me carry the cartons up to the attic, I’ll help you unpack."

"Sounds like a plan, I guess," Ethan said, sighing.

**

The dimly lit attic ran the full length of the house. The cartons, suitcases, extra chairs, and various other items that their parents had already brought up barely made a dent in the large, unfinished space.

"Wow. This place is a cavern," Ethan said. He hadn’t checked out the attic before.

"Yeah," Mia agreed. "But it’s kinda creepy. So dark and musty."

The bare floorboards creaked as Ethan walked slowly from one end of the attic to the other.

"I guess we should rearrange some of this stuff before we add your junk," Ethan said.

"Excuse me? Junk?"

"Oh, pardon me, your Ladyship. I meant to say your priceless belongings."

They started pushing and sliding things toward the far end of the attic. Mia was about to start bringing in her cartons when she noticed Ethan kneeling in the darkest corner.

"Um . . . if you’re trying to hide, I can still see you."

Ethan didn’t reply. He seemed to be fiddling with one of the floorboards.

"Hello? Earth calling Ethan. What are you doing back there?"

Ethan looked up. "Do we have a flashlight?"

"What for?"

"I want to see something."

"If you found a dead mouse, we're definitely getting a cat."

"Can you just get me a flashlight?" He glanced up. "Also, a screwdriver."

"Something the matter with your legs?"

Ethan gave her a look. "Who drove you to soccer practice twice this week?"

She hesitated. "Oh, fine," she said with an exaggerated sigh.

Mia went downstairs, and returned a minute later with the two items. She walked over to where her brother was crouching and handed them to him.

"What exactly are you doing?" she asked, sounding annoyed.

"This board’s been forced into place. See how it doesn’t exactly fit?"

"Yeah, so? You’re a carpenter now?"

"I think there’s something under here."

Ethan worked at the floorboard with the screwdriver. Finally, he managed to pry it up.

"I knew it!" He reached down into the opening and pulled up a gray metal box. It was about half the size of a shoebox.

Mia kneeled down alongside her brother as he lifted the lid.

Ethan gasped. "Holy Suzanna!"

Mia stared down into the box. It was filled with paper money. "Omigosh.”

"Mia, these are $100 bills!" He riffled through the neat stacks, which were so old they fluttered like dry flakes of ash. "There must be a hundred of them!"

"That . . . that would be, like, ten thousand dollars!"

Ethan grinned at his sister. "I’m liking this house more and more."

"We have to tell Mom and Dad."

Ethan frowned. "What? Why?"

"What do you mean, why? It’s not our money."

"It is now."

"Ethan!"

"Finders, keepers."

"I hope you’re joking."

"I’m not. This is our house, Mia. Everything in it is ours."

"First of all, the previous owner probably left that money here by mistake. Second, even if Al Capone himself stashed the money, it still doesn’t make it yours. It would belong to Mom and Dad—not you."

"Mom and Dad have plenty of money. You know how much I have in my bank account? Two hundred and seven dollars."

"That’s beside the point."

"That is the point! I’ve been trying to save up for an iPad!"

They argued back and forth for the next half hour, but neither could persuade the other. Finally, Ethan reluctantly agreed to put the box back for the time being. He and his sister would both think things over. Then they would discuss the matter again the following week.

**

Mia was playing soccer when Ethan sneaked back into the attic. Quietly, he raised the floorboard and lifted out the box. He peeled off six $100 bills, stuffed them into his pocket, and replaced the box.

He chuckled to himself. Either way, no one will miss a few bills. There are plenty more in our little box.

**

A few days later, Mia knocked on Ethan’s door and stuck her head into his room.

"Hey, what was the song that--" She stopped when she saw him quickly put something behind his back. She stared hard at him.

"What's up?" he asked, trying to sound innocent.

"I hope that wasn't what I thought it was."

He shrugged. "Busted," he said, with a sheepish grin. He showed his sister his new iPad. "This is so cool."

"Ethan, you didn't!"

"Oh, lighten up. No one needs to know."

"I trusted you!"

"Mia, it's no big deal. That money was just sitting up there rotting anyway. I merely recycled it—kept it out of the landfill, you know?”

"I can't believe you did that!" Furious, Mia turned and stalked out of his room, ignoring Ethan when he called after her, “It’s not like I robbed a bank!"

**

Mia was still simmering two days later when the doorbell rang. Both her parents were at work. She peeked through the front door's glass pane and saw a man about her father's age. He was neatly dressed in a tan sports coat and tie.

"Hi," she said, opening the door. "Can I help you?"

The man smiled. "I'm Detective Mullins." He held up a shiny silver and blue badge. "Does Ethan Harris live here?"

Mia felt a chill creep up her spine. "Ethan? Um . . . yeah. He's upstairs."

"Do you think I might have a word with him?"

Mia let the detective into the house.

"Ethan!" she shouted up the stairs. "Someone here to see you!"

A minute later, Ethan trotted downstairs. He hesitated when he saw the stranger. Mullins introduced himself and showed his ID.

Ethan frowned. "What's this about?"

"Just a couple of questions," the detective said calmly. "Did you recently use your bank debit card to make a purchase at the Apple Store?"

Ethan glanced at Mia, who seemed to have stopped breathing.

"I did. Why?"

"Earlier that day, did you make a deposit to cover that purchase?"

Ethan slowly nodded. "Yes."

"You deposited cash? $100 bills?"

Ethan's throat suddenly felt very dry. "Yes."

"Was that your money?"

Mia started to say something, but Ethan silenced her with a look.

"Is there a problem?" Ethan managed to ask. He was stalling, trying to decide how to play this.

The detective smiled. "Was that your money?" he repeated quietly.

Ethan made his decision. "Sure was," he said, attempting to smile back.

The detective's expression hardened. "I'm afraid you're under arrest, Mr. Harris."

Ethan felt his stomach plunge. He looked at his sister, whose face had turned pale.

"Under arrest?" His heart was pounding. "For what?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"Passing counterfeit money," Mullins said, placing a hand on Ethan's arm. "You'll have to come with me."

“But, I didn’t know—. I mean, look . . .“ Ethan stopped himself. With one last look at Mia, he hung his head and left the 1948 colonial that his parents had worked so hard to buy.