The Will

The Will

By The Merry Farmer

He seemed very intent. "Ahem," Martine muffled, waiting for Andrew to look up.

“Oh. Hi yah, Martine. I didn’t see you. What’s up?”

Martine asked, “If you have a moment? Uh, she stammered, I could come back?”

“No, it’s alright. I need a break," said Andrew, pointing to the stack of papers. The Clarkson case." Smiling, he motioned to enter.

“It’s this letter. I think there’s been some mistake. Could you look at it?” Martine offered it to him.
Andrew took the letter. Pausing to arrange his glasses then scrutinizing the document he asked, “What makes you think this is a mistake?”

“For starters, I’ve never heard of this person. I have no idea why I'm invited to the reading of the will. How do they know me?” she responded, twisting the sleeve of her sweater. In just two weeks! I’d have to get time off and buy a ticket. It's so bizarre. What if I get there and it’s a joke? I’d be out time and money." She sighed, "I’d feel stupid."

“I see your point,” Andrew replied, drumming his fingers on the desk while he thought. “I could send a discreet inquiry to the attorney. Maybe get a clue as to the validity of this document. Sound OK to you?” He gave her a moment to think. She looked miserable. He could only assume anticipation warred with her natural inclination not to get too excited. Martine was known for her stability.

“I suppose so,” Martine responded, reluctantly. “But, what about the airline ticket to Chicago? It will cost a fortune if I wait until the last minute,” her voice trailing off. Nervously, she swept a few loose strands of hair from her face, curling them behind her delicate ear.

“Wait. Remember the Berger case I worked on couple of years ago? I racked up herculean frequent flyer miles. I’ll check on flights. What do you think?” he smiled genuinely wishing Martine would lighten up.

Martine bit her lip. She stood and thanked him. Andrew sensed her emotion bursting underneath the surface.

“No worries. We’ll get to the bottom of this,” he got up, coming around to her side of the desk. Patting her shoulder and walking her to the door, “I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Get Jim to sign off on your LOA. He’ll need time to find a temp.”

This could be huge or become a nightmare, he thought, rubbing his forehead in consternation. He’d recognized the deceased’s name. A direct descendant of a multi-billionaire railroad baron, who’d, made his fortune in the late 1800's. Andrew didn’t want to influence Martine until he knew more. Two weeks wasn’t much time and the Clarkson brief was due tomorrow. Ugh!

His research encouraged him: Grishom, Stadtler & Peterson. A long low whistle escaped his lips. A very prestigious law firm with presence in a dozen major capitals across the globe.

“Andrew? I need to ask a favor,” he breathed into the phone, hopeful.

“Charlie. I’m in the middle of something. E-mail me and I’ll get back to you if I can help. OK?” Charlie hung up without waiting for an answer.

Meanwhile Andrew arranged documents before him, intent on tackling the Clarkson brief, it was difficult to concentrate. Later, delighted at Charlie's e-mail response, "OK, to meet for dinner to help finish the Clarkson brief."

After a chain of transfers and holds, Andrew connected with a clerk who could give him the barest essentials about Martine’s letter. The baron’s descendant had an affair with Marie Baptiste Whitney, Martine’s mother. It had been hushed up. Marie had been packed off to the countryside with the stipulation she and the baby would be cared for as long as Martine never learned of her father’s true identity. Only upon his death would the truth be known and the baron's heirs would be split three ways. Fifty percent would default to Martine if her mother had passed on.

Andrew sat wondering what Martine’s mother had told her, growing up. How could he break the news to her? Where was her mother? More questions ran through his mind. One thing he was certain of, Martine had to go. Assuming she would be more comfortable if things were smoothed over for her, he called the airlines and arranged a hotel. He left the rest to fate.

That's it. Quiet, a perfect spot, he thought to himself! Andrew e-mailed Martine asking her to meet for a drink after court tomorrow: The Bradley at 3:00 pm.

Glancing at the clock, Martine was running late. Andrew, weary with tension, sipped his martini tying to relax. At least the
Clarkson brief was out of the way.

Martine’s voice was reticent, "Andrew."

“Martine, I’m so glad you're here. What would you like to drink?” He ordered and then took her hand in his.

“Gosh, what is it, Andrew?” drawing in her breath with anticipation.

“Martine, I have important news but I need you to grasp what I am saying, understand?”

Martine nodded, speechless.

Andrew said with the same authority he used in the courtroom, “I’ve booked your flight and hotel. I’ll accompany you, too.” As an afterthought, “Unless there is someone else you’d rather ask?”

Martine’s eyes grew wider than he’d ever seen them, making her appear more vulnerable than her 24 yrs.

Trying to soften the blow he continued, “Martine, I wish I could tell you more but honestly it's not my place. I don’t know all the facts. I can tell you, it’s urgent you go.” Andrew polished off his martini and ordered them another round.

Stunned, Martine said, “Ok. You can come but we must have separate rooms, you know?”

“Of course!” he laughed, raising his eyebrows in mock horror.

Then, they both laughed.

Andrew could visibly see Martine relax. Gradually she began telling him a little about herself.

Andrew listened intently. He knew that her life was about to change dramatically, forever.

[WC: 992]