POOLE EVALUATED HIS guest. She wasn’t as sweaty as he expected for somebody who had just walked up thirty flights, but she was no prize in the appearance department. Her hair was blond, and it was a tangled mess. Her clothes were definitely secondhand. Over her shoulder, she held an antique metal scooter.
“You carried that thing up thirty floors?” asked Poole.
“Versus leaving it downstairs and having it sold for scrap?” said Maddy. “I sure did.” She stepped past Poole into the outer office. Then she caught a glimpse of the view outside. She set her scooter down on the carpet and walked to the window, pressing her hands and nose against the tinted glass.
“Whoa!” she said. “You’ve got a crazy view from up here!” She looked to her left. “And a balcony?” Sure enough, Poole’s office wall had a sliding glass door leading onto a small cement platform edged with a thick iron railing. Maddy reached for the door handle.
“Don’t open that!” said Poole sharply. “You’ll let the smoke in.”
“As opposed to the smoke that’s already here?” said Maddy, waving her hand in front of her nose to clear the cigar fumes. She turned and flopped herself down in a chair. Poole made a show of walking behind his desk and taking a power position, back straight, head up, arms folded. He tapped his cigar ash into an antique ceramic bowl.
“Maddy Gomes,” he said, like an official pronouncement. Then, more casually, “Is Maddy short for Madelyn? Or maybe Madison?”
“Just Maddy, as far as I know.”
“I see.”
Maddy considered herself an expert judge of character, and she instinctively distrusted Creighton Poole. Her eyes darted to the exit, planning her getaway in case the need arose. She was pretty sure she could get the jump on this dumpy lawyer. If he even was a lawyer. But for now, she decided to play along. Just in case he was for real. It would be a shame if she’d climbed Mount Everest for nothing.
“Somebody left me something, right? That’s what you said in the letter.”
“That’s what we’re here to discuss,” Poole confirmed. Maddy scooted forward until she was literally on the edge of her seat.
“Okay, I’m hooked. What is it?”
“Miss Gomes,” he began. Then, with a smile, “Maddy.” A little trick. Implied intimacy. I’m on your side. You can trust me.
Maddy didn’t. Not for one second.
“Maddy, your inheritance is somewhat unusual, to say the least, and I want to be certain that you fully comprehend the implications and responsibilities it may entail. After all—forgive me—you are still a teenager.”
She’d thought about this angle, and she was ready for it.
“The age of majority in New York is still eighteen,” she said. “General Obligations, Section One, Domestic Relations, Section Two, Public Health Law, Section Two-Five-Zero-Four. I’m legally an adult. So let’s get on with it.”
Poole studied his guest with new interest. He tapped another ash into the bowl. “Indeed,” he said. “You seem like a very self-possessed young lady.”
And a bit more knowledgable about the law than he had anticipated.
“I can take care of myself,” said Maddy, “and whatever it is you still haven’t told me about.”
Poole decided to plunge ahead. He needed to find out how much Maddy knew about her past. He was gambling that she didn’t know as much as he did.
And knowledge, as always, was power. He was hoping to use his position to gain some advantage. But for now, he knew the object of the game was to just keep talking. And he was a world-class talker. “Let’s start with some background so I can fill in some details on you. I know where you go to school, obviously. That’s where I sent the letter. Let’s review a bit about your family history.” He picked up an expensive-looking pen and pulled a sheet of paper in front of his belly. “Then we can get into the specifics about your inheritance.”
He settled in his chair as if he expected this to be a lengthy and cordial discussion, mostly one way, guided by him.
Maddy felt a flicker in her gut. One thing she knew for certain is that when people started writing things down about your family, it never led anywhere good. Enough. She stood up and leaned forward, her hands pressed hard against the front edge of Poole’s massive desk. It was her turn to talk. She looked through Poole’s bloodshot eyes and directly into his mind.
“I want my inheritance now,” said Maddy. “Where is it?”
Maddy thought Poole might produce a check or document from a drawer, or write down the number of a safe-deposit box. Instead, he looked back at her, blinking slowly.
“Water Street,” he said. “Last warehouse on the left. East River side.”
“Good,” said Maddy. She walked out of the office, scooping up her scooter on the way. She turned back to Poole, sitting numbly at his desk.
“You stay right there,” she said, opening the outer door. “Have a beautiful day.”
“And you as well,” replied Poole. For once in his life, for reasons he did not understand, he had absolutely nothing else to say.