The old man was a real Scrooge, guarding his wealth jealously, scathingly cruel to any who might come asking for a loan. The papers said he died with the key to his bank vault clutched in his hand, having refused to bequeath its contents to anyone. Even when rigor mortis relaxed, the key still couldn't be #pried from his grip, and he was buried with it.
On that autumnal day the aspens were shedding yellow leaves, a sea of golden coins above the dead man's head.