Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Once inside the building, I take the elevator to the tenth floor, where the law firm of Wolfram and Burke is.
“May I help you?” a receptionist asks.
Her nameplate says Lola Smiley. Seriously.
“I need to see”—I glance at the document—“Frederick Jolley.”
“Frederick Jolley?”
My God, did I stutter?
She wrinkles her brow. “He’s one of our founding partners.”
“Okay. So what? I need to see him.”
“I’m afraid…he’s dead, ma’am.”
I shove the folder at her, showing her the paper. “This is your firm, isn’t it?”
“Ma’am”—she scans the form as her eyes widen—“this is dated…twenty-four years ago. That’s longer than I’ve been alive.”
“All right, whatever. If Mr. Frederick Jolley isn’t here, then I want to talk to somebody about this particular trust.”
“Just a minute, ma’am.” She gestures to the seating area. “Have a seat, and I’ll try to find someone who can help you.”
A coffeemaker sits in one corner along with coffee pods. Sugar cookies with what I assume is the Wolfram and Burke logo sit next to the coffeemaker. Why serve simple Oreos when you can have personalized cookies baked to order? Maybe I need to add those to my repertoire. I laugh out loud. Who would buy those in Snow Creek?
I take the folder and plunk myself down on the clearly expensive brocade couch. Magazines are fanned out on the coffee table in front of me.
I wait for what seems like an hour before someone comes to get me. He’s an older gentleman, wearing a navy-blue suit and an oddly bright-red tie.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Duke Wolfram. I’m one of the senior partners here. I understand you have some questions about Mr. Jolley?”
“I do.” I hold up a paper. “This is a trust, apparently. And you see what it says there? For the benefit of Ava Lee Steel?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Ava Steel, and I don’t know anything about this. And I don’t know why it’s called the Steel Trust when my family had nothing to do with putting it together.”
“Come back with me to my office, Ms. Steel. Perhaps we can figure this out.”
I follow Mr. Wolfram to an elaborate corner office. Picture windows line both exterior walls, and I can see all of downtown Denver and the Rocky Mountains in the distance.
The Rocky Mountains are in the west here. Where I live, they’re in the east.
“Mr. Jolley was one of the founders of our firm,” he says, “along with my father, Brick Wolfram, and Leonel Burke.”
“Why wasn’t his name in the firm’s name?”
“Would you go to a law firm called Jolley and Burke?” He smiles.
I’m not in the mood for levity. “Look. My family is going through some major crap right now. People coming back from the dead, you know.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“I need to talk to this Mr. Jolley, so it would be helpful if he, like some of the members of my family, could come back from the dead.”
Wolfram raises his eyebrows. “Uh…ma’am…”
I slam the papers down on his desk. “Please. This trust is tearing my family apart. It’s tearing my town apart. You’ve got to give me something.”
“If you let me look at your documents, ma’am, perhaps I can shed some light on it. We may have a record somewhere.”
“Good. I want to see all the records.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Attorney-client privilege.”
I pick up the paper, pointing to my name. “My name is right there. I’m the beneficiary of this trust.”
“That may be true, Ms. Steel, but you’re not my client. You’re not the firm’s client. The firm’s client is whoever created this trust.”
I heave out a sigh, rub my hand over my face. “Please. Just please help me.”
“I’m going to try, Ms. Steel.” He turns to his computer and types. “All right. This is interesting.”
“What is?”
“Again, attorney-client privilege. I can’t tell you. All I can tell you is that this file has been active recently.”
I stand then. “Please. Please just tell me. Who’s behind this trust? Is it my grandmother? Wendy Madigan?”
“This is all I can tell you, Ms. Steel. I think maybe you need to talk to your grandmother.”
“I have been talking to her, Mr. Wolfram. She speaks in…riddles.”
“I really do wish I could help you.”
I rise. “Fine, then. I’ll figure it all out for myself. Like I always do.”
As I leave his office, I listen intently. Mr. Wolfram picks up his phone. “Dion, get the hell in here. Now.”
As much as I’d like to stay and eavesdrop, a woman with pink hair standing outside a senior partner’s office will stand out like a sore thumb.
I head back to the reception area, walk back past Ms. Smiley, and grab one of the cookies. I’m not hungry, but I feel like I have to get something for my trouble. I take a bite. The cookie is so dry I can barely get it down my throat. Who the hell baked these and charged up the wazoo for them?