Boston, Massachusetts
Beacon Hill
Scrutinizing the scene, which was taking place in the dining room, Kinsey performed an eye roll of biblical proportion. She was unconcerned with a reprimand considering the two authority figures present were each sequestered behind their newspaper at opposite ends of the table. Choosing the halfway point between the two camps, Kinsey sat down and poured a cup of coffee.
The newspaper to her right spoke first. “Did you have a goodnight’s sleep, my dear?”
“Yes, very restful. Thank you for inquiring…Uncle Harlan.”
The newspaper to the left lowered slightly to allow a pair of icy blue eyes to momentarily peer over the top before disappearing again behind the morning headlines.
“Would you care for a muffin, Freckles?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Well, they’re right in front of you. Help yourself.”
Another one of Kinsey’s eye rolls went unnoticed.
“It appears beef prices are down slightly, Scotty. What a shame.” sympathized the newspaper on the right.
Silence.
“The Cape Cod Railway took a beating last week,” noted the newspaper on the left. “But I’m sure you will recover, Sir.”
Silence.
“I’m certain the recovery will be speedier than the cattle industry’s from the drought two years ago,” observed the newspaper on the right.
Silence.
“But not as lengthy as the flood damage to your south Boston properties three years ago.” noted the newspaper on the left.
Silence.
“The Napa and Sonoma Wine Company stock has doubled in value. How extraordinary!”
The two newspapers that had taken up residence at opposing sides of the table lowered to address the muffin muffled voice emerging from the third newspaper now participating in the breakfast conversation. Lowering her paper, Kinsey licked blueberry stains from her fingers. “I believe I will get dressed for the day. Gentlemen.”
By the time Kinsey returned, the breakfast sparring had moved to the parlor at which time was replaced with a heated discussion laced with sarcasm.
“Four days, Sir. We said we would stay four days to wait for the next train to San Francisco. One more day and we leave.” Scott struggled to remain calm.
“And I believe I mentioned, grandson, during this time we would discuss what options there were regarding my brother’s will and Kinsey’s trust.”
“That’s fine. Please do so in the next twenty-four hours.”
“I’m not positive I can assemble my lawyers that quickly.”
“Lawyers? Just how many of your lawyers are you calling upon?”
“As many as it takes to assist in what I need done.”
Scott raised his hand. “No. Not what you need, what you want.”
Harlan Garrett’s stoic posture spoke as loud as his words. “Yes, what I want. I want the right decisions to be made. I want my family whole again.” Retrieving his hat and cane, Harlan excused himself. “I’m late for the Union Club.”
The slamming of the front door accentuated the old man’s departure. Kinsey, sitting on the settee, heard the back door forcefully shut signaling Scott’s exit and sighed.
Scott walked off his frustration with no destination in mind. Hell, he wanted the same outcomes his grandfather wanted, the right decisions and his family whole again. Why was this so hard?
Glancing up at a familiar street number, Scott realized he was standing in front of the lawyer’s office recommended by Jonathon Masters, Esquire, of Philadelphia. This young lawyer, Thomas Simmons, was Masters’ nephew; guaranteed not to be in Harlan Garrett’s back pocket.
Even though Scott and Kinsey agreed to meet together with Simmons tomorrow, Scott felt it was fate that brought him here now. Turning the doorknob he entered the office of Mr. Thomas Simmons, Attorney at Law.
Thomas, being only a few years older than Scott, was the young, energetic, up-and-coming lawyer Boston was enticing to set up a practice. Simmons greeted his visitor with a warm smile and handshake.
“Mr. Simmons, Scott Lancer.”
“Yes! Hello! I received a telegram from my uncle to be expecting you. Please be seated and call me Thomas. I’m not quite as formal as my uncle.”
Scott smiled. He liked Thomas Simmons, Attorney at Law. “I know we were to meet tomorrow…”
“Quite alright. Let me review my notes…from the information I have gathered, Scott, Fletcher Garret left his estate to his granddaughter, Kinsey Furlong, and named you the trustee. However, that was not always the case I understand until two months ago, correct?”
“No. It was to be Fletcher’s brother, Harlan…my grandfather.”
Thomas smiled. “Interesting turn of events. Well, as I told Kinsey this morning…”
“What?”
Thomas Simmons glanced up. “Kinsey. Furlong. She met with me early this morning.”
Scott focused on keeping an even tone and neutral expression. “She didn’t mention it. May I inquire what was discussed?”
“Of course, but I’m afraid our discussion will be limited. You see, Kinsey hired me as her lawyer so I’m obligated to honor our client-lawyer confidentiality. I believe we are all scheduled to meet tomorrow, yes? I think a discussion then will be more productive.”
Seeing red, Scott managed a smile. “Of course. Until tomorrow.”
“Winifred!”
Winnie paused in her reading of Emerson to await the arrival of what sounded like a very angry young man.
“Where is she?”
“Where is who, ScottyGarrett?”
“Well, since there are only two females I’m associating with in this household and I’m looking at one of them, who do you think?”
Returning to her reading, Winnie continued. “Perhaps if you find the time to be respectful, perhaps I can find the time for your answer.”
Scott closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “Winnie, when you have a moment, could you please tell me where Kinsey is keeping herself?”
“The lass said she needed to go somewhere and reflect.”
“I see. And did the lass say what she was reflecting about?”
“She mentioned her independence and freedom.”
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