“I don't have the slightest fucking idea.”
It goes downhill from there. Willie was totally drunk that night, with no memory of anything that happened. But he had never committed a violent act in his life, except for a few street fights. He wouldn't, couldn't, murder a woman.
We don't get very far, which right now is not a big problem, since we don't even know if we'll ever get another trial. The only fact that the conversation reaffirms in my mind is that Willie is never going to testify in any trial in which I am his lawyer. The “I was too drunk to remember if I did it” defense isn't generally a winner.
After twenty more minutes of getting nowhere, I head home, where I find Nicole preparing dinner. This is in itself a rare event; Nicole can make three types of food, the best of which is a tuna fish sandwich. But here she is making spaghetti, which means she's trying to “change,” which means I'm going to get stuck eating some really terrible spaghetti.
Outside the kitchen, things seem to be going reasonably well between us. We're both aware that we're testing the waters, which doesn't make for spontaneity, but I agree with her assessment that we're making progress. We haven't had sex yet, which shows how limited that progress has been, but I think we might be getting there.
If we had no history together, I'm not sure that we would fall madly in love. But we do have a history, and I'm just not ready to abandon it. I haven't mentioned this to Laurie yet, and I tell myself it's because I haven't seen her. I also tell myself that I don't owe her anything, that we have no commitment to each other, but I can't quite get myself to stop feeling like a shithead.
THE NEXT MORNINGI HAVE TO STOP AT Roger Sandberg's office. Roger is known as “the attorney's attorney,” and for years he has personally represented many of the top lawyers in the area. He and my father had been close friends for twenty years, and my father trusted Roger with his life. Since he doesn't have his life anymore, here I am.
The purpose of this visit is to go over matters of the estate and learn the terms of my father's will. I arrive ten minutes early and start reading one of the ancient magazines from the rack in the waiting room. For some reason, every doctor's, dentist's, or lawyer's office I am ever in only has magazines more than four months old. Where do the magazines go when they first arrive? Is there a publication purgatory that they are required to inhabit until their information is no longer timely?
I pick up the current one in the office, a six-month-old
The door to Roger's office opens and he comes out to greet me. Roger is a very distinguished-looking man, with a kind smile and smooth manner. He is the definition of “unruffled,” a neat trick to have pulled off since he's been married five times. I've had only one troubled marriage, and I am thoroughly ruffled.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Andy.”
Roger shakes my hand and then hugs me, just like he hugged me at the funeral. I'm not a big hug fan, but I hug him back.
“No problem.”
We exchange pleasantries about his wife and children, all of whom I vaguely know, and he inquires about my practice. I talk briefly about it, at which point his eyes start to glaze over. Criminal law is not Roger's thing.
We go into his office and he suggests that I sit on the couch. He goes to his desk and starts to gather the paperwork he is going to show me. He handles legal papers like a Las Vegas dealer handles cards … smooth, with no wasted motion.
“Roger, before we start, there's something I want to ask you. Did my father ever mention knowing Victor Markham?”
He seems surprised by the question. “Of course, don't you remember? He prosecuted that murder a few years ago … when the young woman was murdered in that bar. I believe the victim was Markham's son's girlfriend.”
“I know. I'm handling the appeal.”
“Really? Did your father know that?”
I nod. “Definitely. He encouraged it.”
“Anyway, as far as I know, that's how Nelson knew Victor Markham,” he says.
“I was talking about much earlier. Almost forty years ago. I'm pretty sure he was one of the people in a picture I found up in the attic. Dad was in the picture as well.”
“He never mentioned it to me. But there was apparently a great deal about your father that I didn't know.”
Roger has just lit a fuse; and all I can do is wait for it to reach the dynamite and explode. He doesn't make a comment like that unless he has something significant to tell me. I get a strong feeling that I'm not going to like it. I know for sure that I'm dreading it, so I take a breath so deep it sucks most of the air out of the room.
“What do you mean by that?”
He looks me right in the eye. “I was very surprised by the amount of money in your father's estate. Very surprised.”
It's exhaling time; I'm relieved to hear that it's about money. I'm comfortable enough, and I really have no need to live off an inheritance. But I'm still surprised.
“Really? Dad was always so careful with his money.”
He nods. “That he was.”
“How much is left, Roger?”
He takes a deep breath and presses the detonator. “Twenty-two million dollars.”
“And change.” He reads from the papers. “Four hundred thirty-two thousand five hundred and seventy-four dollars’ worth of change.”
My mind immediately registers three possibilities, listed in order of likelihood. One, Roger made an error. Two, Roger is joking. Three, I'm rich! I'm rich! I'm rich!
I find myself standing up, though I'm not sure why. “Can't be, Roger. It's an appealing thought, but it's simply not possible.”
“You had no idea he had this kind of money?”
“He didn't,” I say firmly. “I knew he made some good investments over the years, but not like this. He would have told me. He would have raised my allowance.”
“I don't know what to say, Andy. But it's all real.”
My legs seem to give out from under me, and I sag back down on the couch. Roger brings the books over to me and takes me through them, every square inch of them, and there is no doubt about it. I am, in fact, rich.
It isn't immediately clear where the money came from, but it doesn't seem to be the result of particularly shrewd investments. The money is sitting in long-term tax-free municipal bonds, earning much less interest than it could be elsewhere.
None of this makes any sense, so I decide to investigate, and make the logical decision to assign my investigator. I call Laurie from Roger's office and tell her what I've learned, and the extent of my wealth.
“You've suddenly become far more attractive, you big adorable hunk, you,” she gushes.
Since I haven't told her about Nicole, this doesn't seem to be a good time to engage in sexual/romantic banter. So I don't, and she promises to get to the bottom of this quickly. I have no doubt that she will.
When I get home I tell Nicole the news, and her astonishment matches mine. My father would be the last person you'd expect to keep a momentous secret like this from his family, and I have to assume my mother had been in the dark about it as well. She was biologically incapable of keeping a secret; she would have told me without any prompting at all.
There are ordinarily no circumstances under which I have trouble sleeping. My ability to fall asleep on a moment's notice is a blessing I have never taken for granted. But tonight I toss and turn for half the night.
I don't even have Tara in bed for me to pet; since Nicole's return Tara has been reduced to sleeping on a comforter on the floor. I could pet Nicole, but she might read more into it than she should. So I just lie there, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Becoming an orphan, a husband, and a multimillionaire in the same week must be
