“I had no idea what was in this letter. Do any of you object to it?” She was willing to give up the bequest. They were his relatives, she was only his attorney, although she had genuinely loved him, which they hadn't.
“Of course not,” the women said in unison.
“Hell, no,” Jake, the cowboy, added. “You heard what he said, he said if we did, he'd come back and kick our asses. I don't need no ghost giving me a hard time. Ten million after-tax dollars will do just fine for me and my kids. I may even buy myself a sexy young wife.” The others laughed at what he said, and there were nodding heads of assent around the room. Tom Harrison spoke up, as he patted her hand. One of the women handed her a tissue to blow her nose. Sarah was so moved, she was almost sobbing. The best part was that he had said he loved her. Although he was almost a hundred years old in the years she knew him, he had been the father she'd never had, the man she had respected most in her life, in fact the only one. Good men had not been abundant in her life.
“It sounds like you deserve the bequest a lot more than we do, Sarah. You obviously brought him a lot of comfort and joy, and saved us a lot of money,” Tom Harrison said as everybody nodded and smiled. “I'm sorry for your loss,” Tom added, which only made her cry harder.
“I really miss him,” she said, and they could see she did. Several of them almost wished they could put their arms around her, but didn't. She was the attorney, and they didn't know her, although all their emotions were running high. Stanley had affected them all profoundly, and shaken their respective worlds to the core.
“You made his last days a lot happier, from everything he said in that letter,” one of the women said kindly.
“Hell, yes, and you're almost a millionaire now,” Jake added, and Sarah laughed.
“I have no idea what I'll do with the money.” She made a good salary as a partner, shared in the firm's profits, and had never had big financial needs. There was really nothing she wanted. She was going to make some good, solid investments, in spite of Stanley's entreaties to do otherwise. She was hardly about to quit her job and start buying mink coats and taking cruises, although he might have liked that. But it wasn't Sarah's style to indulge herself, even now that she could. She saved a lot of what she made.
“Neither do we,” several voices said around the room. “We'll all have to figure out what to do with the money. It's obvious he wanted all of us to have a good life,” a man next to Jake said solemnly. He was seated between the cowboy from Texas and the policeman from New Jersey. She hadn't put faces to all the names yet. “And you, too, Sarah,” he added. “You heard what he said. Use it. Don't hoard it. Follow your dreams.” She had no idea what her dreams were. She had never taken the time to ask herself that question.
“I'm more of a hoarder than a spender,” Sarah admitted, and then she stood up, smiling at all of them. There were handshakes around the room, and hugs. Several people hugged her. Everyone looked as though they were in shock by the time they left. It had been an overwhelming morning. The receptionist called cabs for all of them, to get to the airport. Sarah's secretary handed each of them a manila envelope, with a copy of the will and whatever additional documents there were, about their investments. Their last word on the house was to sell it as it was. They instructed Sarah to put it on the market immediately, and get whatever she could for it. Tom Harrison had agreed to see it with her only to be polite, but she could tell, he wasn't interested in it, either. No one was. It was a white elephant in another city, which none of them wanted or needed. And they hardly even needed the money. The house on Scott Street meant nothing to them. It only meant something to her because it was beautiful, and because her beloved friend Stanley, now her benefactor to an incredible degree, had lived in the attic. But even she, with her newfound fortune, had no use for the house, although she had no voice in how it was disposed of. The decision to sell it had been theirs.
She left Tom Harrison in the conference room, and called Marjorie from her office. She told her their decision, and asked if she would mind meeting her at the house in half an hour, to show it to one of the heirs. But she said it was purely a visit of formality. They had each signed a release, instructing her to sell the house, in the condition it was presently in, at a price Sarah and Marjorie agreed on. They had left it all up to her.
“Are we going to get to doll it up a little?” Marjorie asked hopefully.
“I'm afraid not. They said to get a janitorial service in, get rid of the debris, like boards on the windows and curtains, and sell it the way we found it.” Sarah was still trying to wrap her mind around the bequest Stanley had given her, and recover from the loving words in his letter that had gone straight to her heart. For once, she sounded less businesslike, somewhat shaken, and distracted. With his loving words to her in the letter, and the astounding gift, she missed him more than ever.
“It's going to hurt our price, if we do that,” Marjorie said sadly. “I hate to sell a house like that as a fire sale. It deserves better than that. It'll be a real steal for someone to get that at a bargain-basement price.”
“I know. I hate to do it, too. But they don't want the headache. It doesn't mean anything to them, and after you divide it nineteen ways, in relation to everything else, the money doesn't mean much, either.”
“That's really too bad. I'll meet you there in half an hour. I have a showing at two, fairly close by. It shouldn't take us long, particularly if it's just a token visit, with no real interest behind it.”
“See you there,” Sarah promised, and went back to find Tom Harrison in the conference room. He was on his cell phone, talking to his office, and got off quickly.
“This has been quite a morning,” he said, still trying to catch his breath. Like the others, he was in shock. He had assumed it was a modest estate, and had come out of respect for a relative who had left him a bequest. It seemed like the least he could do.
“Yes, for me, too,” Sarah admitted, still dazed by Stanley's letter and what it meant for her. Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. It was beyond amazing. It was breathtaking. Stunning. With what she had saved herself over the years of her partnership in the law firm, she now had well over a million dollars, and felt like a rich woman. Although she was determined not to let it change her attitudes or her life, despite Stanley's warnings. “Would you like a sandwich or something to eat before we see the house?” she asked Tom Harrison politely.
“I don't think I could eat it. I need a little time to absorb what just happened. But I have to admit, I'm curious to see the house.” The others weren't.
She drove him there herself. Marjorie was waiting for them. And Tom Harrison was as impressed with the house as they all had been. Once he saw it, though, he was glad they had collectively decided to sell it. It was a remarkable and venerable piece of history, but utterly unlivable, in his opinion, in today's world.
“No one lives like this anymore. I have a four-thousand-square-foot house just outside St. Louis, and I can't even find anyone to clean it. A house like this would be a total nightmare, and if you can't sell it as a hotel in this neighborhood, we're probably going to be stuck sitting on it for a long time.” The zoning in the area would not have allowed a hotel to operate there.
“That could happen,” Marjorie admitted. Although she knew the real estate market was full of surprises. Sometimes a house she thought she could never sell went five minutes after she put it on the market, and the ones she swore would be gone instantly and sell for their full asking price, didn't. There was no predicting taste or sometimes even value in the real estate market. It was all very personal and quixotic.
Marjorie regretfully suggested putting it on the market for two million dollars, given its condition. Sarah knew they didn't care if it sold for less, they just wanted to get rid of it, and Tom agreed. “We'll put it on the market for two, and see what happens,” Marjorie told them. “We can always entertain offers. I'll get a service in to clean it up, and then have a broker's open house. I'm not sure I can get it done by Thanksgiving,” which was the following week. “But I promise to have it on the market the week after. I'll have a broker's open house the Tuesday after Thanksgiving. It can go on the market officially the day after. Someone will probably buy it, and hope to win a battle with the city to change the zoning. It would make a gorgeous little hotel, if the neighbors will put up with it, though I doubt it.” They both knew a battle like that could go on for years, and the person who undertook it wasn't likely to win. San Franciscans put up a lot of resistance over commercial enterprises in their residential neighborhoods, and who could blame them.
Tom asked to see the part of the house where Stanley had lived, and with a heavy heart, Sarah walked him up the back stairs to show him. It was the first time she had ever seen it without Stanley. The hospital bed was still there, but he wasn't. It looked like an empty shell now. She turned away with tears in her eyes and walked back into the hall, as Tom Harrison patted her shoulder. He was a nice man, and seemed as though he would have been a nice father to his children. She had discovered, as they waited for the meeting to start, that his special needs daughter was blind and brain-damaged, from lack of oxygen when she was born prematurely. She was thirty years old now, still lived in his home, and was cared for by nurses. It had been particularly hard for him to manage her after his wife died. She had devoted almost all her time to her. But he didn't want the girl in an institution. Like many things in life, it was a major challenge. He looked like he was equal to it.
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