Tip

Gray skies overhead didn’t distract Verena Gaster. She walked and tapped away at her smartphone a chapter of her young adult novel. A thud. She ventured to the front door and opened it. A whirring overhead showed a drone whisking away on the wind.

She shrugged. The box was heavy. She pulled it like a child would pull a clunky cardboard toy. She used a cutter to slice open the tape and she even hacked off one of the flaps with precision. She released the contents of the cube.

A note appeared at the top of the mass; she couldn’t quite make out the figure of it yet. She read the note first. The message read: “If you are reading this, your aunt has perished. As you know, I expired some time ago. Now, the trustees overseeing my will have left this device to you. I know you will take great interest in it.”

Verena scoffed. She noted that a stack of blank paper looked like a blob of white under the note. By lifting the paper out of the cardboard container, she found a shimmering, stainless steel manual typewriter. It featured red keys with white letters and everything from the carriage to the roller release looked pristine.

Verena was unimpressed. She sighed. Then, she picked up a piece of paper and placed it in the paper guide. She rolled. The sound seemed to tickle her ears. She smirked. She typed a single character. It was the sign of the dollar.

After that, it started getting good to her. She typed out a message to her uncle who had declared upon his wife’s death, she would possess this gorgeous machine. The message to a dead man read: “Thanks, Uncle Dartin, but I’ll be using my phone, laptop, and tablet from here on out. I don’t ever want to write using this thing.” The clacking continued. “It is the twenty-first century. I don’t need yesterday’s tools for construction to craft my tales. I’m going to miss Aunt Everene as much as I miss you. In fact, I’m going to attend her funeral and meet with the family and friends in the coming days.”

Just like that, she had filled a quarter of the page. The clacking was like a drumbeat tip, tip, tipping away in her mind. She continued. Laughter bubbled inside her throat. She searched for more items.

Once she got to the bottom of the box, she noticed a message in calligraphy. It read: “This typewriter was used by Janina Hempstead, the first writer from Delaware to sell over 100 million copies of her books. If you intend to keep writing on it, more power to you. But if you sell it, the value should still be three hundred and twenty-five billion dollars.”

Verena burst out laughing. She just knew this had to be a hoax. That figure was way too large for some old clunky typewriter. She then looked at a certificate under the note. It was legitimate. Her uncle backed up his words with this piece of writing.

She wanted to keep it. Not out of sentimental value but the fact that it could possibly grow in value to be worth a trillion dollars or more. Verena swore. The large house that she had bought with her own earnings as an author of children’s fiction. She flashed her platinum watch, a symbol of her wealth, but she was no billionaire. It was time for her to look into a professional to look into this situation.

A glare of understanding ran across her face. It was like a nuclear reactor had powered her thoughts. She looked at the typewriter. Its sheer elegance and curvaceous posture enticed her eyes.

She then looked at her phone to find someone online to appraise the mini metal monument.

Verena called a number. Nothing. She dialed again. Then, she just sent an email.

A response. Instructions to dial a number appeared in the email.

“Mr. Klingman, it’s a pleasure to talk to you. Can we meet at a café near my home in Newark?”

“That would be fine.”

They sat at an establishment where a few parents asked for signatures. Verena smiled and jotted her signature. The groups stopped asking for autographs soon thereafter.

“It’s completely legitimate,” Klingman mentioned.

“That much?” Verena asked.

Klingman nodded yes.

“Holy—I just can’t imagine…My uncle,” Verena grinned and shook her head.

“Now, we can definitely go through the auction house and see if the—”

“No, I’m satisfied with the original figure.”

“And you’re sure you don’t want to keep a piece of Delaware history? I’m sure you’re familiar with Miss Hemsptead’s work.”

It was her turn to nod, except she did it slowly with her eyes closed. She rocked as if possessed during a séance.

“It’s all on you but I’ll give you a tip: if you want to get the most satisfaction, don’t go with your heart but with your mind,” Klingman patted Verena’s hands and asked for the check.

“Oh I got it,” Verena said.

“I know. But I’ve got more than one tip this morning,” Klingman smiled.

Verena returned to her home and read her uncle’s note once more. She thought about the money. This would be overwhelmingly life changing, she thought. A tug at her soul said keep the damned thing. At the same time though, she knew that the cash would make her the wealthiest woman in the world.

She placed a page in the paper guide. She typed two characters: dollar signs.