Chapter 3
“You have my sincerest condolences, Peter. Your uncle was a very good man.”
Peter Hopewell slipped his hands into the silk-lined pockets of his trousers and looked out at New York City through the rain-flecked glass. “Thank you, Fred.” He turned to the lawyer. “What happens now?”
“We at Layton, Felder, Bach & Moore will handle the distribution of the inheritance per Mr. Hopewell’s instructions.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“We’ll mail the bequeathed items directly to the heirs, along with a letter explaining they are being willed to them from your uncle.
If for some reason a letter is returned as undeliverable, we’ll attempt to locate the heir.
If we’re unable to find him or her, the unclaimed inheritance will pass to you along with the rest of the estate. ”
Peter nodded and walked to a table full of items, his fingers running over the aged leather cover of a small red book. “Very well.” He opened the cover, his eyes falling on the familiar words.
“I wonder if she’ll realize what she has,” said Peter.
Fred laughed. “Knowing your uncle, he’d probably rather she just enjoy the story than know its value.”
Peter laughed, too. “That’s exactly right.” He closed the book and gritted his teeth. “Stupid old man. More money than God, and he had no idea what to do with it.”
The other man’s eyes widened, the only indication he’d heard the words at all.
“Well then, I guess there’s nothing left to be done.” Peter held out his hand.
The lawyer shook it. “I’ll be in touch if we are unable to locate any of the heirs.”
“Sounds good.” Peter moved to take his hand away, but Fred held it.
“I am glad you decided not to contest your uncle’s will,” said the lawyer. “Harold was of sound mind, and these are his wishes.”
“Yes. Controlling everyone from beyond the grave, just as he did in life.”
Or trying to.
Peter walked out of the lawyer’s office and into the rain as a plan came sharply into focus. His uncle was dead. He was in charge now.