My stomach churned waiting for the lawyer, Ronald Eggbald, who was already fifteen minutes late to our afternoon appointment. The office reaked of antacid as I popped a Tums into my mouth. I wondered if Eggbald used Tums or some other brand. What would he do if I lighted the joint hiding in my shirt pocket?

Brushing back fine black hair that always fell across my eyes, I couldn’t help noticing and reaching for the cold metal picture frame. It clattered to the floor when the office door opened behind me. Ronald Eggbald stood with the door open to secretaries typing in the other room. I could see him ponder the fallen picture, my torn worn blue jeans, and striped western shirt with pearl snaps. Crossing to his desk, he sat, and placed suit covered elbows on the tabletop in front of him. His fingers formed a triangle at his mouth. A large diamond gold ring indicated that he was a married man. I picked up the frame. It held a middle-aged woman who smiled softly. I placed the picture near where it had sat before on Eggbald’s burled maple desk.

Eggbald cleared his throat, “I’ll asseverate your claim to your step-father’s will if you bring in the correct documents. Check with my secretary for all of that information.” With that Eggbald swept his left hand to indicate the door. As I stood up to leave, Eggbald continued, “You do realize that the will outlines several conditions that will need satisfaction within a week before the 4.2 billion can be released to you? I knew your father when he worked in Chicago for more years than I want to count, Edward. Or, do you prefer Ed?”

“Ed’s fine. How’s my mom?”

Ronald Eggbald looked at the framed photo then at Ed, “You should call her. She has information that I’m sure you’ll want to know about. She hasn’t heard from you for ten years.”

I tossed the stack of paper that Eggbald had given me onto his immaculate desk, “You know, this is going to end up in a big family fight. I have no idea why dad left it all to me instead of mom and the others. Tell you what, it’s just money. Let the other’s have it.” I opened the door in a hurry to escape, but the secretary ran to the elevator. I held the door for her.

“Sign these.” She said.

I noticed her blue eyes, blond hair tamed off her face, and flawless makeup in an interesting face. She wasn’t beautiful. She weighed forty pounds past beautiful. I felt pulled to trust her and that irritated me.

“Why?” I said.

“Your father stipulated that in the event you turned down the will, the money was to be donated to help in the cost of organ transplants to children whose family otherwise could not afford it.”

I read the note held out to me, and signed. Stepping out of the elevator and onto the Chicago streets never felt as freeing as at that moment.