I didn’t celebrate.
I didn’t scream.
I didn’t call anyone.
I just stared at it.
And then I thought about the hallway.
The towels in my arms.
She lives here for free.
I know.
The first thing I did was call an attorney.
Not Daniel’s attorney. Not anyone he knew.
I looked one up. A woman in downtown Phoenix. Estate planning and asset protection. Her name was Lorraine Vega. Sixty-two. She’d been practicing for thirty-four years.
I called her from the casita. With the door locked.
Ezoico
Se lo dije.
Estuvo en silencio durante mucho tiempo.
“Mrs. Briggs,” she said. “Have you told anyone?”
“No.”
“Don’t,” she said. “Not yet. Not your son. Not your friends. Not your pastor. Nobody.”
The second thing I did was call another attorney.
Lorraine recommended him. A tax attorney named Harvey Chen. And a financial advisor named Diane Okafor.
