“Abe Levine,” Annie said, in a voice that was not her own. “That was a cruel thing to say. Cruel, and stupid, and just not true”
The attorney’s office was perfect for sadness.
Somber brown-and-beige curtains, brown leather couch that looked as if no human being had ever sat upon it — or ever would. A dark-green ink blotter sat in the exact center of the heavy mahogany desk, with three thick law books carefully stacked up on one side and a sheaf of papers on the other.
It was those papers that had brought Dr. Abe and Annie Levine to the law offices of McCracken, Howard, and Chatham. McCracken and Howard had long since retired, and it was George Chatham, attorney-at-law, who was reading the last will and testament of Mrs. Celia Mayer.
Annie’s Aunt Cele.
“I will skip the introductory legalisms,” the attorney began, his voice measured and professional. “Basically, the entirety of your aunt’s estate, including all properties, investments, and personal belongings, is to be inherited by her niece, Mrs. Anna Levine.” His voice softened, became a little more human. “My congratulations, Mrs. Levine. Your aunt was a shrewd woman. She took her late husband’s considerable assets and invested wisely both in stocks and real estate. Once her holdings are realized, even after heavy inheritance taxes, you will be quite a wealthy woman.”
This one’s in print. Some of our best stories live in the magazine — subscribe to get Mishpacha every week.
