Chapter 2 - The Silence of Attorney Samuel Green
The words hung in the quiet bedroom, competing only with the ticking of Dad’s brass mantle clock.
“Samuel?” I gripped the phone tighter, staring at my father’s reading glasses resting beside his leather notepad. “Why would Dad exclude Mark? Mark has been his son-in-law for over two decades.”
“Because your father was an engineer, Clare,” Samuel replied softly. “He didn't build systems hoping that pressure wouldn't be applied; he built systems specifically to withstand the exact stress points he anticipated. Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. My private office at Broad Street.”
I didn't tell Mark.
When I walked downstairs the next morning dressed in dark slacks and a black wool trench coat, Mark was sitting on the living room sofa, watching morning sports highlights with a property listing catalog open across his lap.
“Where are you going so early?” Mark asked, barely looking away from the television. “If you’re heading by the florist, make sure they upgrade the standing wreaths to white calla lilies. Melissa said calla lilies look much more prestigious in the church photos.”
“I have an appointment with the probate clerk,” I answered, keeping my voice smooth as still water.
Mark smirked, tapping the real estate catalog. “Good. Ask when the primary liquid distribution clears escrow. I found a lovely three-acre lot near the country club for Mom. The realtor said if we put down fifty thousand in earnest money by Friday, they’ll hold the title.”
I paused with my hand on the front doorknob.
“Earnest money from what account, Mark?”
“Our checking account, Clare,” he replied casually, as if explaining basic arithmetic to a toddler. “We’ll just backfill it the second your father’s investment wire lands. Don't be so anxious. We're millionaires now.”
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I looked at him—really looked at the man I had slept beside for eight thousand nights. The casual entitlement, the complete lack of grief for a father who had co-signed our first mortgage, the eager hunger to carve up a dead man’s life before the earth had even settled over his casket.
“I’ll be back by noon,” I said quietly, and closed the heavy oak door behind me.
