About this location
A few stories people tell about this place
1. At dawn, when most accountants were deep in sleep, an old delivery truck pulled up outside Wm. Briggs & Company’s dusty office building. The driver, a gruff man with a mysterious smile, hopped out and began unloading crates marked only with an ancient symbol. Inside each crate was a stack of old ledgers covered in dust and cobwebs. As the clerk flipped through them, he found entries from centuries ago, but every entry had the same note: 'To be paid by Mr. Jones.' When asked who this enigmatic Mr. Jones was, everyone just shrugged and said, 'Probably someone's great-great-grandfather.'
2. In the late afternoon, when kids were rushing home from school, a little girl stopped dead in her tracks. Across the street, an envelope had just fluttered out of Wm. Briggs’ window and landed with a soft plop on the pavement. No one inside seemed to notice. Curious, she picked it up and opened it curiously—just another bill, addressed to Mr. Smith down the block. Later that evening, as daddy came home from work, he casually mentioned over supper, ‘Did you know your accountant sends bills addressed to random neighbors?’ Everyone laughed, realizing that old Mr. Briggs must’ve dozed off again while typing envelopes.
3. Who keeps seeing the same man leaving Wm. Briggs' office with boxes of documents after hours? And why does he always leave through the fire escape? It turns out that every night it was just a regular delivering some old ledgers—turns out they were using him as an unofficial shredder service! The fire escape became his shortcut back to the parking lot, and everyone in the building thought he was up to something sneaky.
4. At midnight, when the city slept, a faint humming sound could be heard coming from inside Wm. Briggs’ office. Curious neighbors peered through their windows but saw nothing unusual—just an old lamp flickering eerily. One night, a delivery driver noticed the light and knocked on the door. ‘Anything I can help with?’ asked Mr. Briggs sleepily. The driver whispered, ‘You’ve got mail,’ pointing towards the ceiling. Turned out it was just an old fan playing tricks on everyone’s ears.’