on the counter. “Stop by school this afternoon, just for a few minutes. Then it won’t be so hard tomorrow. Okay?”
“I guess.”
“Flora should be here soon.” He took his suit jacket from the chair. “I’ll see you later.”
“Jeremy?” she called after him.
“Yeah?” He stepped back into the kitchen. She had picked up a piece of toast.
“You look really good without the beard.”
Dwight rented office space from a law firm in a shabby North Miami neighborhood. The small, one-story building would have been considered modern in the ’70s, when it had probably been built, but now its featureless concrete shell and small windows gave it the appearance of a prison. This was reinforced by the chain-link fence around the parking lot and the uniformed security guard who sat on a folding chair beneath an awning, eating what looked like an over-sized Cuban sandwich.
Jeremy rolled down his window. “I’m here to see DwightStroeb.” His uncle’s black Buick was parked on the far side of the lot. The reserved spots contained a Jaguar and a Mercedes.
“Do you have an appointment?” the guard asked.
“No,” Jeremy said.
The guard waved him into the parking lot.
On the side of the building hung a large sign with embossed gold letters naming the law firm. Beneath it, a much smaller plaque read “Law Offices of Dwight C. Stroeb.”
“Mr. Stroeb’s not in,” the receptionist told Jeremy, without looking up from her magazine.
“His car’s in the lot.”
She shrugged.
“I’m his nephew.”
She studied him, a long red fingernail in her mouth.
“If you could just tell me which office is his, I’d really appreciate it.”
“All the way back. Next to the bathroom.” She buzzed him in.
Dwight was leaning cardboard posters against the wall of his small office, pulling on his mustache absently as he studied the sincere-looking face on the poster . Judge for Yourself. Elect Dwight C. Stroeb County Court Judge. His uncle was wearing his suit jacket and his tie was perfectly knotted. Jeremy had left his own jacket in the car.
“Good morning, Dwight.”
Dwight glanced up, his face losing color at the sight of Jeremy. “My God. Jeremy. For a moment I thought you were … Well, come in. Come in. Big change from a couple of days ago.”
“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
Dwight waved at his empty desk top. “I have a lot to do, but I can always make time for you.” He held up one of the posters. “How do you like it? I just got them from the printer. Too bad you won’t be around much longer; I could have used your help with the campaign.”
“Yeah. Sorry I won’t be able to help out.” There was an absence of photos or other items that might have reflected his uncle’s personal interests. Only Dwight’s diplomas and certifications hung on the wall. Jeremy remembered his father once remarking that Dwight didn’t have time for children of his own— he was too busy admiring himself.
“Why don’t you sit down?”
“Thanks.” The seat of the guest chair was low. Jeremy found himself looking up at his uncle in his own oversized, padded executive chair.
“I imagine you’ll be heading out of here soon,” Dwight said. “I envy you, Jeremy. A young man with an opportunity to see the world. But just so you know, your aunt and I wish to make the minimal amount of disruption in Elise’s life. She’s certainly been through enough without more upheaval. So we’ll be moving into the house on Lotus Island.”
“I read my parents’ wills.”
“Yes. And they provide that your aunt and I may live in the house with your sister until she attains majority.”
“As well as a generous stipend to take care of all related expenses.”
“That’s right.”
“My parents did a good job of providing for us. Life insurance, wills that tried to consider all contingencies.”
“You and Elise are very fortunate. As an attorney, I can’t tell you how many stories I hear about
“I guess.”
“Flora should be here soon.” He took his suit jacket from the chair. “I’ll see you later.”
“Jeremy?” she called after him.
“Yeah?” He stepped back into the kitchen. She had picked up a piece of toast.
“You look really good without the beard.”
Dwight rented office space from a law firm in a shabby North Miami neighborhood. The small, one-story building would have been considered modern in the ’70s, when it had probably been built, but now its featureless concrete shell and small windows gave it the appearance of a prison. This was reinforced by the chain-link fence around the parking lot and the uniformed security guard who sat on a folding chair beneath an awning, eating what looked like an over-sized Cuban sandwich.
Jeremy rolled down his window. “I’m here to see DwightStroeb.” His uncle’s black Buick was parked on the far side of the lot. The reserved spots contained a Jaguar and a Mercedes.
“Do you have an appointment?” the guard asked.
“No,” Jeremy said.
The guard waved him into the parking lot.
On the side of the building hung a large sign with embossed gold letters naming the law firm. Beneath it, a much smaller plaque read “Law Offices of Dwight C. Stroeb.”
“Mr. Stroeb’s not in,” the receptionist told Jeremy, without looking up from her magazine.
“His car’s in the lot.”
She shrugged.
“I’m his nephew.”
She studied him, a long red fingernail in her mouth.
“If you could just tell me which office is his, I’d really appreciate it.”
“All the way back. Next to the bathroom.” She buzzed him in.
Dwight was leaning cardboard posters against the wall of his small office, pulling on his mustache absently as he studied the sincere-looking face on the poster . Judge for Yourself. Elect Dwight C. Stroeb County Court Judge. His uncle was wearing his suit jacket and his tie was perfectly knotted. Jeremy had left his own jacket in the car.
“Good morning, Dwight.”
Dwight glanced up, his face losing color at the sight of Jeremy. “My God. Jeremy. For a moment I thought you were … Well, come in. Come in. Big change from a couple of days ago.”
“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
Dwight waved at his empty desk top. “I have a lot to do, but I can always make time for you.” He held up one of the posters. “How do you like it? I just got them from the printer. Too bad you won’t be around much longer; I could have used your help with the campaign.”
“Yeah. Sorry I won’t be able to help out.” There was an absence of photos or other items that might have reflected his uncle’s personal interests. Only Dwight’s diplomas and certifications hung on the wall. Jeremy remembered his father once remarking that Dwight didn’t have time for children of his own— he was too busy admiring himself.
“Why don’t you sit down?”
“Thanks.” The seat of the guest chair was low. Jeremy found himself looking up at his uncle in his own oversized, padded executive chair.
“I imagine you’ll be heading out of here soon,” Dwight said. “I envy you, Jeremy. A young man with an opportunity to see the world. But just so you know, your aunt and I wish to make the minimal amount of disruption in Elise’s life. She’s certainly been through enough without more upheaval. So we’ll be moving into the house on Lotus Island.”
“I read my parents’ wills.”
“Yes. And they provide that your aunt and I may live in the house with your sister until she attains majority.”
“As well as a generous stipend to take care of all related expenses.”
“That’s right.”
“My parents did a good job of providing for us. Life insurance, wills that tried to consider all contingencies.”
“You and Elise are very fortunate. As an attorney, I can’t tell you how many stories I hear about
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