Found Money - James Grippando [120]
The phone rang on the nightstand. Liz rolled across the bed and answered. It was Sarah.
She sat up quickly, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She listened in shock as Sarah told her about Brent.
“Sarah, I had no idea.”
“Then why was your lawyer down here this morning?”
“Phil was in Piedmont Springs?”
“Came right to my house to offer me a deal. He wants me to help you squeeze more money out of my brother. Says you’ll give me a cut of whatever I can get you.”
Her mouth fell open. “Sarah, I swear to you, I never even talked to my lawyer about this. I wouldn’t. I would never try to turn you against Ryan. All I’m looking to get is my fair share. I’m not looking to destroy you guys.”
“I’d like to believe you.”
“You have to believe me. Please. Let’s work this out.”
Sarah fell silent for a moment. Finally, she said, “I’ll make you a deal.”
“What?”
“The way I see it, that snake you hired is going to cost us all a fortune. You’re going to spend a lot of money trying to get your share, Ryan is going to spend a fortune trying to protect the estate.”
Liz nodded to herself, seeing the logic. “Okay. I’m listening.”
“I think Jackson uses people. He used Brent. He’ll use you. And he won’t stop until every dime my father stashed away is lining the pockets of his three-piece suit.”
“He is aggressive.”
“He’s a shark, Liz. And he’s circling all of us.”
“What are you proposing?”
“From what I’ve been able to tell, it seems Dad wanted you to share in the family fortune. I’m willing to honor those wishes. On one condition. Fire Phil Jackson.”
“You want me to fire my lawyer?”
“Immediately. Jackson is going to screw everything up for everybody. And in the end, the only winners will be the lawyers.”
Liz said nothing, but she couldn’t disagree. For a split second she was nine years old again, thinking of that twenty-dollar skirt she’d ruined to get the twenty-dollar prize. One Pyrrhic victory was enough for anyone’s lifetime.
“Let me think about it,” said Liz. “This might just work.”
Amy drove nonstop back to Boulder, returning just after noon. Taylor was having a tea party in her room with Barbie. Amy was just in time to join them, but she was able to convince Taylor that the affair was much too formal for someone who had traveled clear across the state without showering. Taylor pinched her nose, hugged her as if she were covered with garlic, and sent her mommy marching off to the bathroom.
Amy had just about made a clean getaway when she heard Gram’s voice.
“Not so fast, young lady.”
Gram was leaning against the headboard, reading in bed. Amy was almost too tired to talk, but that was irrelevant to her grandmother. She wasn’t about to settle for the Reader’s Digest version, let alone a simple “Tell you later.” It took thirty minutes, but Amy sat obediently at the foot of the bed and recounted every detail. She even let Gram read the letter. At first it was difficult, but telling the story seemed to energize her. By the time she’d finished, her second (or perhaps third) wind had kicked in and she was ready to brainstorm.
“Why would Marilyn make the whole thing up?” asked Amy.
“Why does any woman make a false accusation of rape? Maybe they had sex and he dumped her. Maybe she got pregnant and couldn’t tell her parents she’d engaged in consensual sex. This was the 1950s, after all. Marilyn did come from a very proper family. Her grandfather founded the biggest law firm in Colorado.”
“But the letter doesn’t explain any of that.”
“Probably