I leaned forward.
“It means war.”
He studied me carefully.
“Against your own family?”
I thought of Danica laughing while I begged.
My mother sipping champagne while calling me dramatic.
My father deciding my leg wasn’t worth five thousand dollars.
Then I thought of Theo selling Grandpa’s tools with tears in his eyes.
“Yes,” I said.
“Dig until you find everything.”
The attorney slowly opened a file.
Then his phone rang.
He listened for three seconds.
His face changed.
“Ms. Whitfield,” he said quietly, “I have to stop you, and then I have to tell you exactly one thing and ask you to leave, and I want you to understand that the second part is the favor.”
“What?”
“That was our conflicts desk.
This firm cannot represent you, because this firm represents Whitfield Marine.”
“I’ve never heard of Whitfield Marine.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“Ma’am,” he said, “you own nineteen percent of it.”
PART 2
My grandfather was Curtis Whitfield.
