Another Reminder

LAYTON

Like most people, I wasn’t particularly fond of lawyers. My father’s lawyer, specifically, was a piece of work. There was a reason the two of them got along so well. They were both stubborn and stoic men who believed the world belonged at their feet.

Going to the office of Clayton Reeve was not an errand I was looking forward to, but it had to be done. Dad’s estate had to be wound up and Clayton was the one entrusted with making it happen.

But apparently he needed my signature on a couple of things before he could do his job. When his assistant called me to set up the appointment, she told me to get there at ten sharp.

Glancing down at my watch, a bulky silver thing that was a gift to myself when I finished my first project, I saw I still had some time before I was expected at Clayton’s office. The financial district was the nerve center of business in downtown Boston, and naturally, it was where the lawyer’s office was located.

Given that half the people who worked in the area suffered from caffeine addiction or felt it a necessity to jumpstart their workday, there were at least a half dozen coffee shops I could go to in order to satisfy my own cravings for the stuff. If I was going to be spending the morning going over my dad’s final wishes with Clayton, I needed an extra strong, super big cup of the best coffee I could find.

Thankfully, I knew just the place. It was one of the smaller coffee houses with only about four tables inside and a counter with one barista named Paul. It was family owned, too. None of those commercial chains would do it for me this morning.

Finding parking near Turner’s was always a nightmare, but since it was around the corner from Clayton’s office, at least I would only have to attempt the feat once this morning. Somehow managing to snag a spot only about a block up from the Turners’ coffee shop, I thanked the parking angel and hurried to the warmth of the shop.

Paul grinned when I walked in, obviously remembering me from when I was a regular while Craig and I had a project going nearby. “Mr. Bridges. It’s good to see you. Can I get you a large filter just the way it is?”

This is why I preferred Turner’s to the other places. It had been at least a month since the last time I was here, yet Paul remembered my usual order. Not half bad, given the amount of people he served every day.

There was also the possibility that most people who frequented Turner’s took their coffee that way and as such, was a safe guess. But I preferred to think he remembered my order. Returning his grin, I nodded. “Please, Paul. Thanks.”

A young man darted away from one of the tables just after I finished my order. He left his empty cup behind, along with a coffee stained napkin. Paul made a move to clear the table for me, but I shook my head. “I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

Glaring after the guy, I picked up his trash and chucked it away in the marked bins near the door. Paul nodded his thanks, then handed me my coffee. As I sat down, I noticed the man left his newspaper on the seat beside the one that now belonged to me.

The front page advertised an article on the sixth page with a familiar name right there in the title. “Jeff Bridges: We celebrate his life and times.”

 With my heart becoming suddenly heavy in my chest, I picked up the paper. Morbid curiosity took over and I turned to the article, even though I needed no more reminders that my father was no longer among the living.

I was feeling strangely numb about it. My father and I hadn’t been the closest, but he was still my dad. It was terrible to have to keep staring that fact straight in the face without being able to blink for so much as a single damn minute.

First there was the hospital, then the worst happened and I turned to dealing with arrangements then organizing the funeral that served as a constant reminder. I’d started hearing from insurance companies and the likes right away and realized that was the tip of the iceberg and I’d have to end up canceling his subscriptions, his phone and cable before I was through. I hadn’t been prepared for all the administrative details there would be to deal with and I really hoped the lawyer wouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.

Work was already crazy, and with the amount of time I’d already had to be away from work with everything that happened, I was in danger of falling behind for the first time ever. There were sure to be a couple of late nights in my future.

When I reached the page of the newspaper article, I realized they had used one of the photos I’d used at the funeral. It was a good picture, one where he was wearing a gray pinstripe suit with an emerald green tie that brought out the color of his eyes.

 Scanning through the article, I knew he would have approved of the contents. It showed him in the light of being one of the most intelligent, hardworking men of his generation. There were several quotes from friends and industry leaders, some of which had been said at the funeral and others I didn’t recognize. The reporter must have called around to get quotes for her article.

 They weren’t wrong. He had been intelligent and hardworking, dedicated to his job and loyal to his friends. Articles similar to this one were a dime a dozen in his life. He was frequently contacted by reporters, mostly by those in his field, but this would be the last. It was a good one to go out with, at least.

For as many articles as there had been written about my father, I knew there would never be one published about me. Except perhaps to answer the last question posed in this one—what would happen to the billions my father left.

My phone vibrated on the table, a reminder that it was time for me to go find out what would happen to said billions. I had an uneasy feeling about my meeting with Clayton Reeve, not because I was afraid I wasn’t in Dad’s will—because I was afraid I was.