Part 3 — The Family Account
Tillie did not even look at her notes. She said it out loud in the conference room, calm as a church secretary.
“The twenty-two thousand six hundred went to an account called Keene Family Holdings, LLC. It paid for a boat slip at Ocean City, a membership at the golf club, and a Buick lease for his daughter.”
Mr. Keenes partner, a thin man named Mr. Lawson, put both hands over his face.
“Mrs. Tull,” he said, through his fingers, “I had no idea.”
“I believe you, Mr. Lawson. That is why you are going to help.”
He stood. He walked around the table, lifted the box from Tillie, and carried it out of the room to the copier. When he came back he held the original of every page.
I had been told that grief makes people bad at math, and it turned out to be true; it had made me patient enough to let a woman who was good at it do the counting.
The Orphans Court in Frederick County moved quickly. The judge reviewed Tillies records, the golf course sign-in sheets, and the account statements. She ordered the firm to refund the twenty-two thousand six hundred dollars within thirty days, plus the four thousand one hundred fifty dollar retainer, plus interest.
The Attorney Grievance Commission opened a file the same week. Mr. Lawson wrote a letter in support of my complaint, and he resigned from the partnership by the end of the month.
Mr. Keene did not fight it for long. He asked to speak with me privately, and I let him come to my kitchen. He stood on the mat and did not take his shoes off. He apologized to me and to Vernon.
I told him that the best apology was a certified check, and he delivered it two days later.
Vernons good fishing reel came back in a padded box. A hundred and twenty dollars of golf cart rental was deducted from the final figure, and he returned the rest with a note.
Tillie started working for the new lawyer I hired, a young woman in Walkersville who charged by the hour and kept honest time. She told me she had never been so happy to type a bill.
On a Friday night, the first one in months, I preheated the oven.
The crust came out like a roof shingle. I cut myself the burnt corner, the way he always did, and I ate it standing at the counter.