Gemotions

The attic, a forgotten space, had always been on the periphery of Thomas's mind. Now, standing at the base of the pull-down stairs, he felt a strange pull. The sun's slanting rays illuminated dust motes swirling in the air.

He found a collection of old paintings, their frames ornate and gold-leafed. He knew nothing of art, but the prices flashed in his mind, the potential earnings.

He moved them downstairs.

A small, wooden chest sat next to a stack of books. It was heavy, and made of walnut. The lock was simple, but robust. He felt the weight in his hands, then placed it in the back of his truck. He wasn't sure how to begin.