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By the end of the week, she had her own meeting with Marshall in his office. She’d been there before, of course, and enjoyed the leathery, old-world feel of his space.
But she’d never sat in one of those deep leather chairs as a client.
Marshall Tibbets had a shock of gray-flecked brown hair swept back—dramatically, she’d always thought—from a handsomely weathered face. He tended toward classic Armani suits, tailored to his broad-shouldered frame.
He sat back now, the dull gray winter sky behind him, and studied her out of his shrewd brown eyes.
“You’ve had a lot of upheavals in the last six months or so.”
“I think this one tops the rest.”
“It ranks. Before we get started, I want to ask how you’re doing. Really doing. And remember, it doesn’t leave this room. Attorney-client privilege.”
“I honestly don’t know how I’m doing. Some days I miss my old job. Other days—and that’s most days—I’m thrilled I’m running my own show. My own little show, but still mine. I have moments when I’m still incredibly pissed at Brandon, but days, even weeks, when I don’t think of him at all. I worry I’m not going to be able to pull in enough work to keep a business going, but I’m doing okay. Not spectacular, but okay, and that works for me.
“Now this?” She lifted her hands. “This sort of throws everything up in the air, and I don’t know where it’s going to fall.”
“Let me start off by saying the Doyle Law firm has a solid reputation, as does Oliver Doyle II. His father, who still practices, by the way, established the firm fully a half century ago. His handling of Collin Poole’s estate? Meticulous. There are unusual aspects to his client’s wishes, but the unusual is not unusual in estates. He’s covered those aspects, again meticulously.”
“So, that’s good?”
He steepled his hands, tapped his fingertips together.
“That depends, Sonya. If you wanted to contest the terms, unusual terms, of the will… we could get lucky, and I have some tricks up my sleeve. But it would be a long, protracted battle, and frankly, we’d most probably lose it.”
“I’m not considering contesting it. However strange it feels, these were my father’s brother’s wishes. I don’t have any right to go against those wishes and still try to take what he wanted to give me.”
“Do you understand the extent of your inheritance, if you accept it?”
“I’ve tried to take it in, but the appraisal on the house alone… it’s over eight million dollars. For a house.”
“The house, the land, the location, the historic value. The trust—and Mr. Doyle was shrewd there—will cover the taxes, the insurance, the upkeep.”
“I got that, but I have to admit, even the idea of being responsible for a house like that? It’s not just intimidating, it’s scary. Then there has to be estate taxes on it and the rest.”
“Which Mr. Doyle and his client factored in. Since your father’s death, Collin Poole gifted you the maximum tax-free amount annually. There’s a separate account in your name, well invested. In addition, the life insurance policy, Mr. Poole’s investment accounts not only cover the estate taxes, but will allow you to live comfortably.
“As executor, Mr. Doyle has already calculated the taxes. In point of fact, Sonya, the payout from the life insurance covers most of it.”
She understood, if she accepted the terms, she’d become—sort of instantly—a rich woman. In all of her life, she’d never imagined or dreamed of becoming a rich woman.
And for the life of her, she didn’t know how to feel about it.
“What do you think I should do?”
“That’s a choice you have to make, Sonya. That only you can make. But I’d be very hard-pressed to advise a client, not yet thirty, to turn her back on an inheritance of this size. If taking up residence in the house is the sticking point, I negotiated with Mr. Doyle. A trial period. Three months. You take up residence, and if during the trial period, you decide against, you walk away.”
“Three months.”
“Estates, especially estates of this size, aren’t settled overnight in any case. Even when they’re meticulously done. For three months you’d be a tenant—rent-free—while the wheels of the legalities turn. Mr. Doyle and I agree you deserve this time to decide if the house, the location, all the rest suit you.”
“If it doesn’t, I say thanks, but no thanks.”
“That’s right. If it does, you accept the terms of the will, and it’s yours.”
“That’s a good deal. That’s a really good deal. I was going to accept it because I want—I need—to know more of my father’s history. What he wasn’t allowed to know. But this takes all the pressure off.”
“I think you’ll find a steady advocate in Oliver Doyle.”
