Free Sheer Gall by Michael A. Kahn Page A

college and medical school. “Someday you’ll be somebody,” she would whisper fiercely as she kissed me good night, “and not a doormat like your poor father. ‘Dr. Gold,’ they’ll say. ‘Please help me, Dr. Gold.’” Those plans changed my junior year in a course called organic chemistry. So it goes.
    â€œMeanwhile,” my mother was saying as she came back to the kitchen table, “what are you doing for that trust company?”
    â€œBasically two things,” I explained. “First, I’m going to help wrap up her personal affairs. Second, I’ll wrap up her law practice.”
    â€œHow do you wrap up a law practice?”
    â€œSally was a solo practitioner. Her assistant’s name is Amy Chickering. Jacki called over there this afternoon to tell Amy to put together a status report on all of Sally’s cases. I’m assuming there are at least two hundred active cases that need to be transferred to new attorneys. I’ll meet with Amy tomorrow. The whole process may take two or three weeks. We’ve assured Amy that she’ll get paid her full salary for as long as it takes plus two months’ severance pay.”
    The teakettle started to whistle. As my mother got up to turn down the gas, she asked, “How do you wrap up her personal affairs?”
    â€œThe police have her house sealed off. The trust company will take an inventory of the contents of the house. They’ve already assumed control of her bank accounts. They’ve also arranged to have all her bills sent directly to them for payment. Tomorrow morning I’m going down to her bank to have her safe deposit box drilled.”
    The doorbell rang.
    â€œI’ll get it,” I said as we both stood up. “I’ll talk to them in the living room.”
    Jonathan Wolf had obviously stopped by his house on the way over, perhaps to have dinner with his children. He had changed out of his courtroom costume and into a navy turtleneck made of heavy cotton, a pair of baggy tan corduroys, and brown leather moccasins.
    â€œHello, Rachel,” he said, stepping into the foyer. “This is Neville McBride.”
    McBride was even dumpier in person than in his newspaper photo. His lower teeth were crooked, he was bald, and he wore thick wire-rim glasses. The nose pads of the glasses cut into the flesh on either side of his nose, which seemed even more bulbous up close. His gray hair and extra weight made him look at least a decade older than his fifty-five years. Although his glen-plaid suit had probably been made by a London tailor, it was rumpled and lumpy and overdue for a pressing.
    But as every lawyer learns early in her career, appearances can be deceiving. Indeed, Neville McBride’s rise to power within his law firm and the community was all the more impressive when you realized that he had obtained that success despite his nondescript, almost goofy appearance.
    There was nothing nondescript or goofy about his firm handshake and deep voice. “I am honored to meet you, Miss Gold,” he said in a subdued, self-possessed tone, “and quite grateful that you are willing to meet with me.”
    â€œThis is my mother, Sarah,” I said, turning toward her. “Mom, this is Jonathan Wolf, and this is Neville McBride.”
    After everyone shook hands, my mother asked if they wanted tea.
    â€œNone for me,” Neville said.
    â€œI’ll have a cup,” Jonathan told her.
    â€œWould you like lemon or sugar?” my mother asked.
    â€œI’ll come help you fix it,” he said.
    â€œNo, you go with the others,” my mother said. “I’ll bring it to you.”
    Jonathan smiled and shook his head. “I’ll come with you, Mrs. Gold, if you don’t mind the company. Rachel and Mr. McBride should meet alone.” He glanced over at me. “Right?”
    I was a little surprised, having assumed that Jonathan was the sort of