by Jack Crawford
"Hey, Tim," hollered one of the other boarders on Tim's floor at the Bristol and Boyleston Academy for boys. "You have a phone call."
The twenty boarders on his floor shared a community phone. It was only three days to graduation for 18-year-old Timothy Witten and then he would be free of his home for the last eight years. Bristol and Boyleston was a popular (meaning it was comparatively inexpensive) boarding school and had earned the sobriquet 'Bed and Breakfast'. The students all came to realize it was simply a dumping ground where parents sent boys they didn't want to bother with.
As Tim hustled down the hallway his fellow student yelled again, "It's some guy named Colston."
Of course it is, thought Tim. J. Russell Colston was his father's attorney. Tim had been waiting for the inevitable excuse from his father that he couldn't make it to Tim's graduation. Tim continued thinking uncharitably, My dad can't even call with some story himself... coward. He has Mr. Colston for that.
Taking the phone, Tim answered into the mouthpiece, "Hi, Mr. Colston." He added bitterly, "What's Dad's issue this time?" Tim hadn't seen his father in two years. The bitter memory of being shipped off to Bristol and Boyleston right after Tim's mother had died in a car crash only became worse over time. Tim's father continually strung out visits and returns home for Tim. Like all the other students at B&B, Tim was clearly unwanted.
"I am sorry, Timothy," the familiar voice on the other end of the phone line replied. "Something has happened to your father." Tim fought back a biting comment. It wasn't Mr. Colston's fault Tim's dad was an unloving jerk. The attorney then clarified his statement. "I am sorry to have to tell you that your father died yesterday afternoon."
The office of J. Russell Colston was located in a fashionable, gentrified area of Westport, Connecticut. Even though Tim's father had sold the Westport home shortly after his wife had died, he had continued using J. Russell Colston no matter where he lived - and he'd moved around the world a lot in recent years.
Waiting in the outer area of the attorney's office, Tim went again through a familiar cycle of anger and regret. It was a common theme for him over the years and this time he was angry that his father had one again planned to permanently keep him at a great distance, then he felt horribly guilty about feeling like that. His father had suffered a heart attack and was now dead. It was clearly not a deliberate avoidance of his son and no doubt was not something the father had been looking forward to achieving.
Sitting and sulking in the outer office, Tim looked up as a woman entered. She appeared to be in her mid-40's and was fairly attractive, though not specifically so to an 18-year-old boy. Her dark hair was parted slightly to one side and hung down to her shoulders. The woman was smartly dressed, but what caught Tim's attention were her slate blue eyes that seemed to peer right into his soul. She looked familiar, but he could not put a finger on who she was.
Mr. Colston suddenly burst from his office and went immediately to Tim and offered his heartfelt condolences. Then he turned to the woman who had just entered the law office. "Mrs. Langston, I presume. I am so glad you could come with such short notice. You know Tim, of course."
The woman smiled at both the attorney and Tim. "I haven't seen Tim since his mother's funeral when he was ten."
No wonder the woman looked familiar; she was his mother's sister... Tim's aunt! She stepped across the outer room to close the distance with her nephew and immediately wrapped him in a warm embrace. "I'm so sorry it has been so long, but your father made me promise not to contact you on the threat of shipping you overseas." She leaned back, continuing her embrace by holding Tim's upper arms in her hands. "Oh, your mother would be so proud that you graduated high school!"
The appearance of his long distant aunt wasn't the only shock for Tim that day. He and his aunt followed Mr. Colston into his office where they sat in comfortable leather chairs in front of the attorney's desk. After a short preamble, Colston explained he was going to read to them Tim's father's Will.
Looking over his reading glasses, the attorney addressed Tim, saying, "I briefly explained the details to your Aunt Kay, Tim. She needed to know why it was important for her to be here today."
Tim turned his head towards his aunt and looked questioningly at her. She put out a hand and laid it on his wrist, giving him a soft smile as she said, "Let's let Mr. Colston continue. We can deal with questions when he is finished." This proved to be a common action and comment that would be repeated more than a few times that morning. Her words were soothing and tinged with a Southern accent, giving her words an even greater consoling affect. However, her piercing slate blue eyes also conveyed a message of their own: pay attention and be quiet. At that moment, her eyes seemed out of kilter with her mouth. Oh, there was a smile alright, but there was a determined seriousness in those eyes that shone so vibrantly.
Despite a growing anxiety, Tim managed to sit through the reading of the Will. Every time Tim felt the need for clarification or more information, his aunt would place her hand on his wrist, smile and remind him to be patient. Now that the reading was over he had lots of questions.
"I will, of course, provide both of you with a copy of the Will," Mr. Colston said in conclusion.
"Wait a minute," interrupted Tim. This time, when his aunt tried to put him off, he pulled back his arm from her and he snapped at her. "No! I have a right to understand all this." Turning back to the attorney he said, "That was a lot of words and I can't pretend to know the legal jargon, but I think I get the gist of the situation. Would you please give me a summary, Mr. Colston? I mean, like, how much money is involved?"
The attorney gave a benign smile and summarized for the boy. This wasn't the first odd Will Mr. Colston had to deal with and he knew what a shock the entire set of circumstances had to be for young Tim. "There are three things you need to understand, Timothy. First, it will be a month or so to get a complete and accurate number on the value of the estate, but it is going to be at least eight figures."
"What's that mean?" asked Tim.
"Eight figures," explained his aunt," starts at ten million dollars." Tim's mouth dropped open in astonishment.
"That's not all," continued the attorney. "As you know, your father changed careers and there is now a steady income in residual earnings that is quite substantial."
"Wait a minute," retorted a confused Tim. "My dad was an investment banker or stock broker or something like that. What do you mean he changed careers?"
This time, Mr. Colston gave a glance to Tim's aunt. "Your father," she said, "became a writer, an author of fiction, Timothy. We can get into that later. Why don't we let Mr. Colston finish?"
That tactic was really starting to annoy the young man who was about to explode with a mouthful of what an 18-year-old would consider to be pithy comments, but fortunately Mr. Colston continued and Tim turned to pay close attention. He simmered slowly as he listened; the stalling tactics bad enough, but the words now stoked the fires of annoyance, distrust and frustration.
"Everything goes into the Witten Family Trust," explained the attorney. "That is important for tax purposes, but what is most practical to you, Timothy, is that your aunt, Kay Langston, is the Trustee until you turn 25 years of age. That is when you become Trustee, assuming, of course, that you have earned a college degree by then."
"What?" asked the young man.
"According to the terms of the Trust which is established by your father's Will, you must be 25 years of age and possess a valid college degree to take over as Trustee. Otherwise, your aunt will continue as trustee in perpetuity."
"You mean I can't access what is really my money?" complained Tim.
"I'm sure you'll get along just fine with your aunt," deflected the lawyer. "Just ask her when you need something."
His aunt managed to find Tim's wrist and placed a hand on it. "I booked flights back home to Alabama, Timothy," drawled his aunt in her fine Southern accent. "It's a grand old plantation house with plenty of room. Why don't we just spend a few days trying to figure out all of this?" Those slate blue eyes told Tim that her words were more command than suggestion. She seemed kind and interested, certainly more so than he ever felt from his deceased father, but when she spoke Tim noticed a cold shiver run up his spine.
Besides, he figured he had little choice. Tim would go along for now while studying his copy of the Will as well as the details of the Witten Family Trust. He could always find his own lawyer and fight this. People fight Wills all the time, he reasoned.
Jefferson, Alabama
It's hot in Jefferson, Alabama during late June. And with the Gulf of Mexico being less than 50 miles away, and Mobile Bay much closer, it was hot and humid. There was a limo waiting for Tim and his aunt at the airport and they took the long drive out to her home, with Tim's aunt pointing out local items of interest along the way. Those things may have held his aunt's interest, but Tim was yawningly bored.
"The plantation was named Heaven Struck way back before the War Between the States and it is known as such to this day," explained Kay. "I inherited it from my late husband when he died five years ago. He had no other family."
"Do you mean the Civil War?" asked Tim.
That earned Tim his aunt's hand on his wrist and a somewhat dismissive smile. "Down here, polite company refers to that conflict as The War Between the States." She removed her hand, cleared her throat and went back to the family topic. "Speaking of families," she said with that penetrating gaze of hers, "you and I are the last of our family. No one remains related to us other than you and me, Timothy."
Settling back in the seat, Kay assumed a far off stare through the windshield. "I suppose Heaven Struck will be yours one day as well."
"Me? A plantation owner?" asked the incredulous young man.
Kay laughed. "I only live in the house. The fields - I do own them - are rented out to others who work them. I have nothing to do with the agriculture!" As she explained that, the limo pulled into a long drive that was lined with huge, old oak trees. Spanish moss hung from the branches and the thousand-yard drive really gave the impression of an old Southern plantation. Of course, it did; that is exactly what it was.
As they pulled up to the front of the mansion, an old, distinguished looking black man appeared through the front door. He opened the car door for Tim's aunt saying, "It's good to have you back, Miss Kay."
"Thank you, Benton," beamed the woman. She motioned to her nephew and said, "This is young Master Timmy. I hope you have his room prepared."
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.