The Mourning Mail (FINAL)

Chapter 6

Morning broke as a clammy, dismal, and drizzly day, more like what passes for winter here in San Diego than the middle of spring. Clouds hung low to the ground as the early fog rose into them. Stepping outside, I felt surrounded by the dreary gloom.

The weather might have irritated me any other day. But somehow, it seemed perfectly appropriate for meeting with the probate attorney for Dad's estate.

I ran to my Uber at the curb, holding a newspaper over my head, and my ride took me downtown to an older, three-story, brick office building. While waiting in the anteroom, I pondered the floor-to-ceiling dark walnut paneling and matching solid-wood trim. I considered the deep maroon, leather-upholstered chairs, indirect lighting, and copies of nineteenth-century oil paintings. I idly contemplated whether the attorneys had chosen the solemn, almost depressing décor on purpose to suit the nature of their business. Or perhaps the lawyers had inherited these offices as they were and thought they were attractive. Was it verboten or considered in poor taste to cast a more positive vibe?

Meanwhile, I nibbled on a Ferrero Rocher hazelnut ball. A chocoholic as long as I could remember, I had often wondered how I'd stayed so trim. By rights, I should weigh three hundred pounds. Jessica, my then-BFF, once accused me of selling out my virginity for a Dove chocolate bar. She wasn't wholly wrong. I can only say in my defense that he was smoking hot, and it was Valentine's Day.

Fortunately, my musings were cut short when the administrative assistant defending the entrance to the attorney's office turned to me and said, "Ms. Wynn, Mr. Hanniquet can see you now."

William Hanniquet had been Dad's lawyer for many years, providing for his corporate legal needs. He was one of Dad's most trusted associates in his construction enterprises. I'd visited here many times as a child when Dad had business with him. Hanniquet was an older, slender, white-haired gentleman with a mustache and goatee, wearing a quaint bowtie with his dark suit. Colonel Sanders would have been proud. He rose to his feet, stepping around the end of the desk to take my hand as I entered.

"Well, Debra Ann, it is good to see you again. I am sorry it must be under these circumstances. Please, have a seat," Hanniquet said motioning me to the chair in front of his mahogany desk.

"Before the funeral, I think the last time we saw each other was at my graduation from USC Annenberg," I replied as I settled into the comfortable, tufted leather seat. "Your daughter and I both got our masters' that day—we shared a lot of classes because mine was journalism and hers was public relations. I've always thought it was nice that you stopped by to share in our family's congratulations, Mr. Hanniquet. I heard she's with the governor's office now."

"Please, just call me Bill. Yes, she's doing really well. I remember your father was so proud. I know it gave him great pleasure to tell others about your career. I still have the draft he gave me of your Fat Leonard piece. Great work."

"Thanks, Bill, that's good to hear. I thought it was one of my better articles. Still, you always secretly wonder what real people think," I said with a little laugh.

"I was glad to hear you'd moved on from the paper after that," Bill said with a nod. "You wouldn't have been able to find and push the limits of your talents in that environment."

"I appreciate you saying that. The timing could have been better, something I probably should have considered when it happened," I said, raising an eyebrow and lifting a corner of my mouth. "I hated to leave a situation that provided a weekly paycheck. But I needed to do other things. It was something that had been building for a while."

"I don't know how much Alex shared with you," Bill said as he returned to his chair on the other side of the desk. "But that was exactly the situation your father wanted to address once he knew his time was short. He thought it important that you have the financial support you need to pursue your work without worrying about your day-to-day survival."