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up outside
beyond the French doors, easily accessible for some indoor/outdoor shooting
practice.   A golf
putting device perched in front of the French doors.   And there was a ping
pong table, a pool table, a 72 inch TV, a miniature bowling arena, and several
antique pinball machines.
    No
books anywhere though there was a staggered file stand -- used to store
wrestling magazines -- perched on the end of the pool table.     Not one sign indicating anything of an office/work nature
occurred in the room.   Denise let
her legs swing slightly, and leaned back, bracing herself with her palms.   She may have had a wee bit more to
drink than was wise.
      Tullamore and Lawrence came in a moment
later.   They had little faith in
Millicent’s ability to withstand a barrage from Dorothy’s sisters and immediately
propelled a wheeled cart containing free weights into place in front of the
double doors, stamping down the brakes before beginning to pace.   Mr. Millicent looked around the room,
sheer distaste written on his features.  
    Setting
his briefcase down on the pool table he shrugged out of his coat, deftly turned
it outside in, and laid it reverently across the felt of the table before
snapping open the case.  
    “I
have rarely been involved in such a poorly planned estate.”   He peered at Denise from over his
fashionable horn rimmed glasses.  
    “Only
the staggering fees mitigated my natural hesitation to be involved in such a
proceeding.”
    Denise
stared in disbelief. Her pseudo-uncles shot her a sympathetic glance and stood
shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped behind their backs.   Lawrence rocked slightly on his heels.
    “I
will read the damn thing -- of course.” Millicent stalked along the perimeter
of the pool table.   “But it boils
down quite simply.   Denise and her
brothers inherit everything, with all held in trust for various periods of time
until conditions are met -- graduation from college etc.   You two are the executors and will receive
significant salaries based on Denise and the boys achieving goals set forth.”
    Denise
and her co-executors stared at each other, some relief on their faces.      Nothing seemed too
horrible under the circumstance so far, with the exception of how to break the
news to the expectant buzzards squawking outside the door of the library.   Denise eyed the French doors.   She could leave that way and hide in
one of the barns.
    “There
is one significant qualifier,” Millicent intoned. Denise felt the hair on the
back of her neck prickle.   She met
her uncles’ eyes.     They both looked nervous.
    “Denise
must marry the fiancé.”
    Denise,
in the act of polishing off a single malt scotch, snorted it thru her nose instead.   Tullamore and Lawrence, with little if
any understanding of the matter, didn’t judge this to be a problem –
people usually married their fiancés – and they returned to visions of
their salaries.
    “Impossible!”
Denise was floored.    Never in
her wildest nightmares would her mother have done this to her, or to her
darling boys.
    “Otherwise
the boys go to Lucille.”
      “And all of the money goes to various
obscure charities with the exception of two million which will be held in trust
until the boys graduate with at least a B cumulative from a 4 year accredited
university.   No truck driving
school.”   He glared at Denise to
make sure she understood the irreversible nature of this stipulation.
“Benson-Mr. Lucille, I believe? Is executor under this scenario?”
      Granted she had never expected her
parents to die at any point in the immediate and foreseeable future.    
    “Oh?”   Her uncles queried as one.   Lawrence stood straighter and Tullamore
slapped his chest with one pale, well-manicured hand.
    “Makes
no difference to me.”   Millicent
tossed the document into his briefcase.   “Shall I read this to Lucille?”
    “Wait!”   The uncles clutched each other.   They looked at Denise,