The vultures are starting to swarm ten weeks after Mrs. Charm’s passing from advanced cancer. Gathering their moldering black wings about them, they peruse the newspaper obituaries looking for grief-befogged suckers.
Their subsequent letters, like a recent one from a fellow Central Texan named Ignacio, start off with the usual meaningless condolences. Then they segue into a promise of quick cash for the house should a survivor decide to sell. At an extremely low-ball offer, no doubt.
Trouble is, Ignacio, you got the address correct to send the letter to but you got the address of the house you’re proposing to buy wrong.
Not sure how you did that. Unless, in addition to being a vulture, you’re also a moron.