“Now you listen to me, Mr. Marshall.” She fixed him with a glare of defiance. “I have two things to say to you. Number one, I don’t want a single dime of Uncle Sam’s fourteen million dollars. I’ve gotten along quite well without his help and will continue to survive, I’m sure. And number two,” she raised an eyebrow, “if he’d wanted me to be married, barefoot and pregnant by age thirty he should have spoken a heck of a lot earlier than September twenty-three.”
For a long moment Marshall just stared at her, his lips pursed, then he nodded solemnly. “Well said, but let me implore you to think about it. You’re so concerned about doing good in the world, do you know how much more you could do with fourteen million dollars?” He paused as if to let that sink in. “And as for the timing, I think I know what happened.” He glanced down, shifted a couple of papers, then picked up the will. He reached for his glasses, put them on then peered at the document. “Yes,” he said with a sigh, “I was right. He miscalculated your age. When he updated this four years ago he had you down as twenty-four years old but you were actually twenty-five.” He looked up at her, peering over the top of his glasses like an old owl. “I guess he was planning to tell you but was biding his time, watching to see if things would work out. Probably thought he had at least a few more months before he had to tackle you on such a touchy subject.” He shrugged. “Who was to know he’d have been taken out by a heart attack at age sixty-six?”
Marshall’s speech had Indie staring at him in shock. She was so worked up she didn’t know what to say. Then she snorted. “Yeah, right. He thought I was a year younger? Do you realize if he hadn’t died when he did I would have soon passed his stupid deadline for me? I’ll be thirty in a month.”
“Yeah, well.” Marshall shrugged. “If he'd lived he probably would have updated the will. The pity is, he never got a chance to realize or correct his miscalculation. And with him being dead, you’re stuck with it.”
“This is so stupid,” Indie muttered as she began to pace the room. “Stupid, stupid.”
“I know. But it is what it is. Fourteen million dollars or zilch. Your call.” The lawyer began to slide the documents back into the case. “You know where to find me, Indiana. I leave everything in your hands. Just remember the date – October twenty-three, by midnight.”
And with that, Indie knew she was being dismissed. The man had other clients to deal with, other more pressing business. He was probably checking the clock to make sure she didn’t run over her portion of his ‘billable hour’ or whatever it was lawyers called it.
And at the same time he was dismissing her he’d thrown her normally well-ordered life into a whirlpool of indecision. Where in the world should she go from here? And if she did decide to fulfill Sam’s condition where the heck should she start looking for a man to marry…in thirty days?
******
Stone Hudson skipped channels, trying desperately to find a station with music that would keep him awake. The evening traffic was brutal, jamming up all the way from Oakville. He wouldn’t make it to Burlington for another thirty minutes at this rate. He heaved a sigh and surfed more channels.
He was one tired son-of-a-gun, up for the past twenty-two hours since leaving Johannesburg the day before. The valet had brought his car and he’d driven out of the Toronto Pearson Airport exactly thirty-eight minutes ago but still he was only a little more than halfway home.
Stubborn brute that he was, he’d insisted on driving his Maserati home. Now he could only shake his head in regret. This was one of those days when he should have let the chauffeur come and get him. Damn him for always having to be in control. He hated being in a vehicle where he wasn’t the one behind the wheel but that ultra-independent trait of his was certainly working against him this evening.
He shook his head and blinked to clear the cobwebs from his eyes then stifled a yawn. He turned the radio up as loud as he could stand it and the air conditioning to full blast. It was going to be rough going, trying to stay awake in traffic that was almost at a standstill.
Maroon five’s ‘One More Night’ was pounding in his ears when traffic got unplugged and began to move. Finally. A slight smile crept across his lips. The images were so vivid now – home, a soothing bath, bed, sliding under the cool sheets, his head sinking into the soft pillows, closing his weary eyes-
Wham!
Stone’s head jerked up and he slammed on the brake. What the-
He blinked. And then he groaned. He'd run into the back of an army-green Land Rover. Christ!