Brenda hoped for 63 years that some money would just fall in her lap.

She worked hard at the mill ‘til it closed. And she was a mostly adequate mother – if you were coarse enough to mention her oldest’s record, she could at least reply that her youngest could represent him, having graduated from law school.

But it was the oldest who was the death of her, the day he made her lifelong wish come true.

You might blame A&E, airing that special about D.B. Cooper. Or the TSA man who let the boy on a plane with a knife.

Then again, hiding a 6” switchblade in your rectum is an act of free agency.

That the plane was flying towards her house when the boy jumped out the rear gangway with the bank bags, a coincidence.

That the boy didn’t know a parachute from a Boy Scout’s carry-on can be blamed on Brenda for not making the boy stay in school.

Anyway, millions just fell from the sky. Right into her lap after the boy got wedged in the attic rafters. You can do the math or just take my word for it:

It wasn’t pretty.