An Inheritance of Ashes

The Moxley family was once the backbone of the small coastal town. Their legacy began with Adolphus Moxley, the only son of a destitute family of nine. Two years before the war began, he came up with the idea of starting a rental business. His modest venture grew far quicker than anyone expected, bringing in its first million in the first eleven months.

Out of duty to his country, Adolphus enlisted without hesitation. His business success, however, offered him no further protection. Twenty-four hours before the Armistice, he was killed by a random bullet. Buried with all military honours, he was survived by a thriving business and a grieving first-born son.

At his father’s grave, the son William took a vow to preserve the family business. But the economic crisis came after the war, and the inheritance was lost completely within months. The company began receiving threatening letters from the bank regularly.

With few options left, William split the property into two addresses, No 179 and No 181. Selling No 179 was a painful decision, but it was the only way to clear the debts pressing in on him. With a shaking hand, he signed the deed: ‘No 179 was sold to a large family that just arrived from Shanghai.’

Refusing to give up, William tried almost anything that might keep the shop alive. He introduced carpet shampooing, knife and scissor sharpening, a stock of waterbed supplies and, later, key cutting. None of these ideas attracted enough customers to make a difference. The financial strain wore him down, and he eventually suffered a fatal heart attack.

After his father’s cremation, William Jr promised himself he would rebuild what his family had lost. He expanded into photocopying and stocked moving boxes, barely covering the monthly utilities. To keep the bailiffs at bay, he covered the window with handwritten notices advertising every odd job he could think of. From the Oriental Bowl next door, Mrs Chang watched with quiet sympathy as another sign appeared.

One morning, another letter arrived. This time from the local council. It explained that the decorative lights on the lampposts outside would only remain if nearby businesses agreed to cover the annual maintenance costs. Failure to pay would result in the automated decommissioning of the mechanism.

For William Jr, it felt like the last straw.

Convinced his family was cursed, he turned to history for inspiration. If Emperor Nero could, according to legend, burn Rome in pursuit of something greater, perhaps he could escape his own ill fate the same way. He doused the waterbed repair kits and stacks of cardboard boxes with paraffin, struck a match and walked away.

The next morning, reality proved even harsher than he had imagined. The insurance policy had not been updated since Adolphus paid the final instalment in the 1940s; for decades, no one had cared to check.

Unlike the legend of Nero, there would be no other fresh beginning for the Moxleys.