Page 23 of Tell Me What you Think

Olga tells her everything. She talks about her grandparents' apartment where she lives, about her parents' deaths, about the inheritance arrangement discussed among her mother, her uncle, and her grandmother while they were all still alive. She goes over the paperwork she signed at the notary's office and her cousin's call the other night.

Andrea hasn't interrupted her once, just jotting down scattered notes in her pad.

"Am I going to lose the apartment?" Olga asks at the end, the anguish plain in her voice.

"I'll make sure that doesn't happen," Andrea says, "but let's take it one step at a time. First I'll explain what the law says, then what's going to happen, and finally what we're going to do. Sound good?"

"Yes, okay," Olga answers, eager and impatient to finally have real information and know where she stands.

"What we know for certain is that your uncle kept the house in the village and the money, and you kept the Barcelona apartment. If that was done — even if it was poorly documented — your cousin isn't claiming his inheritance: he's trying to collect twice."

Olga fills her lungs with air and almost forgets to let it out.

"So if his lawyer knows they already got their share, why send me this? I don't understand."

"Well, you mentioned he's going through a divorce and having money problems. When people are that desperate, they sometimes do stupid things." Andrea folds her hands on the table. "Look, the only bad news here is that your cousin doesn't have a case, but he does have the fact that the apartment is still in your grandmother's name — and that's something they can try to argue, which could mean two years of fighting it out in court."

Olga leans back, unsettled.

"Two years? Seriously?"

"If this goes to trial and he appeals and all the rest — yes. That's why letters like this exist," she says, nodding at the certified letter. "They're not written to win. They're written to scare people like you — someone with a job, an apartment you want to keep, and zero desire to set foot in a courthouse for months on end. The letter shakes you up, and then comes the friendly phone call to reach a 'reasonable' settlement."

"He said the call was just between us, to avoid lawyers."

Andrea raises an eyebrow.

"That's what he told you, but there's a lawyer behind it — I'd bet anything on it, because it's exactly what I'd do. Now, point two: what's going to happen. Next week I'll respond to this certified letter, notifying them that I'm taking over your representation and that any claim will need to document the full picture of the estate — including what your uncle's side received back in the day. In other words, we tell them you know how to play this game too, and that if they want a fight, the battle will include the village house and the money. That should take the wind out of their sails right from the start."

"And then?"

"Then there's what we'll actually do. To fight, I need ammunition, and you're the one who has to give it to me. Next week I'm going to request the property registry extract to find out exactly whose name the apartment is in and what encumbrances there are, plus your grandmother's last will certificate if one exists — that'll tell us whether she made a will and before which notary. That takes a few days, and given the time of year it'll take longer, so in the meantime I need you to dig up anything you have on that original division — the deed for the village house, and—"

"But he sold it," Olga cuts in.

"Even better, because then he shows up as sole seller, which also proves bad faith on his part — making sure his share of the inheritance was properly recorded while knowing you hadn't recorded yours. Even notes on a paper napkin work for me, Olga, but you have to find something."

Olga thinks of the small room in her apartment — the one that used to be her grandmother's sewing room and that she's been using as a storage room since she moved in. That's where she brought all her mother's things when she died, meaning to go through them once she'd had time to grieve, but time kept passing and she never found the moment.

"I might have something. I kept a lot of my mother's things, but I'll need time to look, and there's no guarantee there's anything there."

"Try anyway. I'll take care of requesting the deed of sale from the other party."

Andrea makes another note in her pad.

"I think that covers it. Any other questions? Ask me anything — don't be embarrassed. Marina told me you were really stressed out."

"It's my apartment. It's not just about the money — I love living there, I have so many good memories, and—"

"I understand. But if we can prove your uncle got his share, your cousin has nothing. I promise."

Olga lets out a slow breath, and as she exhales this time she feels part of the pressure that has been squeezing her ribs finally loosen.

"Thank you, really," she says as she stands. "I'm sorry for making you work overtime."

"Don't worry about it." Andrea walks her to the door with the same purposeful stride Marina moves with around the office, and Olga can't help comparing them.

The lawyer is also an attractive, self-assured woman — but with her, Olga can hold a conversation without stumbling over her words or blushing like a teenager whose hormones have taken over. It's Marina who triggers that reaction. Her presence clouds Olga's mind most of the time without her even having to say a word — just looking at her is enough — and Olga would give anything to be around her with the same ease she managed with this woman.