Page 76 of Welker

“Moira’s boyfriend,” Welker repeated, unable to keep the chill out of his voice as he took two steps in Tom’s direction.

The man opened his mouth, but Moira spoke first.

“Why are you really here, Father?” she asked, and Welker paused his forward momentum. He’d been ready to escort the normally-absentee-father out, but he’d hear what the guy had to say first.

“I…” Tom cleared his throat. “I didn’t know exactly what state you’d be in, so I came to see if you could use one of my attorneys.”

Bette, who’d been unusually quiet up until this point, finally spoke.

“To sue someone for shooting her?” she asked acerbically.

Bette hadn’t hesitated to question the prick, and Welker relished her back-up.

Moira made a choked noise and answered before her father could come up with his next, polished line.

“I don’t think that’s what he had in mind, Bette.”

But before Moira explained further, she did the polite thing. “First, Father, this is Bette Vestore, Welker’s mother. And the woman next to her is my good friend, Margaret.”

Color had moved up into her father’s face, and Welker couldn’t wait to find out why.

Bette wanted answers, too. “Then what, exactly, do your father’s attorneys have to do with anything, Moira dear?” she continued, acknowledging the introduction with a dip of her head while still skewering the man with less-than-warm and fuzzy vibes.

Moira narrowed her eyes.

“He wanted to make sure that if I was on my death bed, the powers of attorney regarding my estate would be tidily in place.”

Now Welker really was in danger of punching the guy, but Moira was still talking.

“What you don’t know, Father, is that a few years back I took you off my will as sole heir and beneficiary, and my fortune is currently slated to go to several area charities.”

The man’s face went from red to…relieved?

Odd. But clearly Moira wasn’t finished.

“Last night, however, after Welker and I became clear on what we meant to each other, making plans to move in together, I’d already decided to add him to my will first thing Monday morning. So, considering my incapacitated state,” she added, tongue in cheek, “if you’re still willing to lend me your lawyers, that would save me a trip to my attorney’s office. I’d love to have your people draft new documents leaving my estate to not only those women’s shelters and animal rescues, but to Welker, as well.”

Welker thought his eyes might pop out of his head. Say what?

Making him…? No way. He wasn’t going to contradict Moira in front of her father, but he didn’t want her money. He’d let her know, later. The cats and dogs could have it. All he wanted was her.

Tom was speaking again, seemingly ramping down his controlling personality. “You think you’ve got things figured out, but Moira, I don’t need your money. I have more than enough of my own. I’m actually…” he cleared his throat, “a bit…meticulous these days, and don’t like…leaving things at loose ends. I really was just here to offer you…assistance if your affairs needed to be tidied. That being said, if you need my attorneys to draw up your new will, they’re yours. If you don’t want them…or me, I won’t bother you again. I only wanted to help.”

Was that true? Welker had no clue, but Margaret had clearly made up her mind.

“How about you help yourself right out of the hospital; you and your odd change of heart?” the older woman stepped up.

Tom regarded her, a natural arrogance returning to the man who was clearly always in charge. “Seriously, woman? I’m speaking to my daughter. What business is that of yours?”

Margaret straightened up to her full five-foot-nothing height. “Mr. Bliss. Does the name Henry Lattery mean anything to you?”

Tom looked taken aback, but after a second, he nodded. “Yes. He was a major stockholder and a board member in my company before he passed away, oh, ten years ago or so.”

“And what happened to Mr. Lattery’s shares upon his death?” she continued, unrelentingly.

“He, um… I don’t know. The current person who owns his shares votes via proxy, through their attorneys.”

Tom looked suitably muddled, but Margaret looked like she’d just swallowed one of Moira’s stuffed canaries.

---