Missing Mom
Mr. Patterson sits across my kitchen table in his finest suit. He has a manila envelope tightly gripped in his clenched liver-spotted hands. He’s my mother’s lawyer. He usually deals with all her incriminating affairs behind the scenes. But today is different for some odd reason unknown to me.
I scratch my brow and smile. When I was a kid, I told this fucker what his client, my mother, did to us, in hopes he would somehow rescue us from our never-ending hell. He simply laughed it off and dismissed me without a second thought. He was supposed to be a good guy, a model guy that followed the rules and laws. I stood out in the corridor when he asked my mother about my accusation. She smiled and shook her head, handing him an envelope of his own. He stuffed it inside his suit jacket and never spoke of it again. It’s funny how greed can make tragedy seem less serious and quite amusing. “Mr. Patterson, would you like some coffee?”
His bushy brows knit together and he clears his throat. “No, thank you. This won’t take much of your time.” He touches the small golden cross that hangs off a thin chain around his neck. “Hunter, as you know, your mother has been missing for three years now. She had, a while ago, presented me with her will.” He slides the large manila envelope across the table.
I rip the top off the envelope and take out documents. Upon further observation I don’t like what I find. My eyes dart up to Mr. Patterson’s dark brown ones. “She left her entire estate to me.”
He frowns and touches his cross again. What a devout Christen he is. “Yes. You have the responsibility to split everything with your siblings. I can offer to help you setup trust funds, if you like.”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I no longer need your help with anything.”
“I understand, but that is an extensive about of money. It can be very overwhelming. I just want you to know that I’m here if you need me for any reason at all.”
He elicits a smile despite the anger boiling inside of me. I want nothing more than to rip the old man’s head off. But I can control my impulses, at times. “Mr. Patterson, this is no time for jokes. This is a very serious matter, don’t you think?”
He clears his throat. “Absolutely, forgive me for being insensitive. I just thought—”
“It’s best to leave the thinking to the scholars and philosophers. You are a lawyer. You should stick with the facts.” His gaze lowers and he smooths invisible wrinkles in his designer jacket sleeves. “Like the fact that my mother isn’t missing at all. The fact that she can’t face the ugly truth so she hides to indulge in her filth. The fact that you’re getting ten percent of,” I look back down at the number circled in red ink on the document, “two hundred point nine million. You should stick to the facts, because you know very well where she is.”
Mr. Patterson looks out the window. I follow his gaze. Out the pristine glass windows is a spectacular view of the side of my green yard on a warm spring afternoon and there happens to be a black crow on an old oak branch nearby. “When the crows appear, the devil is near,” I say.
He jerks his head back and glances at me. “I’ve never heard that one before.”
“Just a little saying my grandpa told me.”
He looks down at the shiny face of his Rolex. “Well, it seems you have everything figured out here. It will take a few weeks for that sum of money to be wired to your account.” He stands and I walk him to the door. He stops and turns to say, “Hunter, you know, Brazil is fine spot to visit around this time of year. The beaches are beautiful.” I cock my head to the side as I watch him stroll to his Bentley.
Brazil?
And then it dawns on me: that’s where my mother must be. Did he feel guilty enough to divulge her whereabouts?