A long black pickup rolled through the gate ten minutes later and stopped at the curb. Out stepped a man in a gray suit too expensive for that road, with polished shoes that already hated the dust. He introduced himself as Walter Greene, attorney for the estate of Evelyn Mercer.
Neither of us recognized the name.
He didn’t smile much. Lawyers on television always look like they know a secret. Greene looked like he was tired of carrying one.
He opened a leather briefcase on the hood of his truck and spread out a stack of papers. “You are the sole beneficiaries of a real property transfer,” he said. “The estate has no liquid assets of consequence. No trust disbursement. No annuity. No cash holdings available for immediate release.”
Caleb blinked. “In English.”
