Page 98 of Forgotten Deeds

The bailiff announces, “All rise,” and we stand.

The judge enters and takes a seat behind the bench, instructing us to be seated. A few cases are called before it’s our turn. “In the matter of The Estate of Thomas Harrison, Junior,” the judge announces.

I walk up to the podium with my lawyer, who introduces me and gives a brief summary of the case. “There’s no will, your honor,” she informs the court, “and my client is requesting to be named personal administrator on behalf of the decedent’s and her minor daughter, the sole heir.”

“Judge, I’m Thomas Harrison. This is my son’s case, and I have his will,” a voice sounds from the back of the room. Craning my neck, I spot Harrison’s dad holding a piece of paper. “My son left everything to me,” he announces.

“Your honor, this is the first we’re hearing about a purported will,” my lawyer says.

“I’m going to call the next case; give you time to speak to this gentleman,” the judge tells my lawyer, and we step down.

I follow her out in the hall, and Thomas hands over a document. She reads it before passing it to me. It’s a copy of a handwritten note with today’s date file-stamped with the court.

I, Thomas Harrison, Jr., being of legal age and sound mind, herein intend this handwritten note to be my Last Will and Testament. I leave the entirety of my estate to my father, Thomas Harrison. Iris Grant is not my daughter, and I do not wish to leave anything to the child, or her lying stripper mother. I hereby appoint my father, Thomas Harrison, Sr., as the Executor.

My entire body vibrating with anger, I shove the paper back at Thomas.

“Paternity can easily be established postmortem, Mr. Harrison,” my lawyer tells him, and I fucking seethe. I never took his deadbeat son to court for child support, and this is the thanks I get? “And so you know, Mr. Harrison, New Jersey law doesn’t allow for a parent to disinherit a minor child, regardless of what a will says,” my lawyer informs him.

“That may be true, but she’s not handling my son’s estate.” He sneers, pointing at me. “No way I’m letting a money-grubbing stripper be in charge. Over my dead body.”

I know a man who could make that happen. And as soon as I catch that thought, I realize I’ve taken about three steps down from my ivory tower.

* * *

I arrive at the hole-in-the-wall diner Ethan suggested. Finding him seated at a booth, I make my way over. “Hey, Lily. You’re dressed sharp,” he tells me as I take a seat across from him.

“Thanks,” I say, straightening my blouse. “I just got out of court.”

A waitress appears, and I order a cup of coffee with cream and sugar.

“Coffee. Black,” Ethan says politely.

The waitress leaves, and I comment, “Only a cop orders black coffee.”

“Cop or serial killer,” he jokes. “How did court go?”

“Not great.” I explain what went down, pulling up a copy of the will on my phone and passing it to him. “Harrison pouring salt on the wound from the grave.”

Ethan examines it before shaking his head adamantly. “No way that is Harrison’s handwriting.”

“You don’t think?” I ask.

“I don’t think; I know. I’ve looked over enough reports written by my partner. Former partner,” he corrects himself somberly. “His old man forged this,” he says, handing me back my phone.

“Honestly, if Harrison’s dad needs the money that badly, maybe I should just let him have it and be done with him,” I muse.

“You know Harrison hated his old man, and I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty he wouldn’t want Thomas to get a penny,” Ethan tells me.

I sigh. “The last time I went to Harrison’s house, it was broken into. The television and gaming system were stolen. I’m not sure what else; I didn’t hang around to look.”

“Harrison’s old man did it; I guarantee,” he spits.

“That’s what I’m thinking,” I admit.

“Did you report the break-in?” he asks.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I just had someone fix the door.”

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