Miser Max was what they called him.

First behind his back and then to his face. He used public transport if and when he ventured out of his house. He used meal coupons. The pensioner was wearing the same clothes for as long as he, or anyone else, could remember. Strangely, he never flinched when paying for piano lessons for his favourite nephew.

When Max passed away a letter reached his now adult nephew. The only request that piece of paper held was, ‘Play the piano at my funeral’.

Max had taken his due for the lessons, everyone snickered.

His nephew began playing Max’s favourite song. As his fingers punched the familiar keys he felt something was different. And it was, with each punch and tune a panel near his feet slid open a little more. It opened fully to reveal bundle upon bundle of currency notes stacked neatly.

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