“How generous of you to come,” Marlene said. “When do you plan to leave our father’s house?”
I folded my hands so they would not shake.
On the desk sat a small wooden box. No will lay in sight.
The lawyer set his glasses on his nose and looked between us.
“Russell asked that I follow his instructions in order.”
Marlene laughed softly.
Inside were no keys, no cash, no jewelry, only a folded letter and a worn photograph.
“The serving girl gets a souvenir.”
The lawyer slid the box toward me.
“He wanted you to receive this first.”
Inside were no keys, no cash, no jewelry, only a folded letter and a worn photograph.
Marlene snorted.
“There it is. Daddy’s last little joke.”
I picked up the photograph. It showed me at the charity dinner, holding a tray, mid-laugh. I did not remember anyone taking it, but the charity logo was stamped faintly in the corner.
The lawyer stopped her gently.
The letter was in Russell’s careful handwriting. I unfolded it with both hands.
“What does it say?” Marlene demanded.
