***
The lawyer’s office smelled of old paper and lemon polish.
Joe shifted beside me, his dusty sneakers leaving faint smudges of grass on the carpet. He’d mowed our lawn that morning before changing into the only button-up shirt he owned.
Richard and Daniel sat on one side of the long table. Their wives, Vanessa and Pamela, flanked them, purses clutched like shields.
“I don’t know if we have to.”
They all stared.
Vanessa’s eyes raked over us.
“Why is the neighbor’s kid here?” she muttered aloud.
“Probably looking for a handout,” Daniel retorted.
His family laughed.
Joe lowered his head. I squeezed his shoulder.
Mr. Bennett adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.
“Shall we begin?”
He opened a leather folder and started to read.
“To my children, who waited for my death more patiently than they ever waited at my door, I leave exactly $1 each.”
Even the air conditioner seemed too loud at that point!
“Probably looking for a handout.”
Pamela gasped. A chair scraped hard against the wooden floor.
Richard’s face went a deep, mottled red.
“This is a joke,” he snapped. “She wasn’t in her right mind!”
“She was, sir,” Mr. Bennett said evenly. “I’ll get to that.”
But Richard was already turning toward us. His finger came up, shaking.
