I pull into the fairly long driveway, just to the right of a small red car already there. I still can't believe how big this place is. No wonder Sam didn't seem to care about my house. It's only half the size of here.
"Get your stuff out. There should be more people here," I say to Sam as I get out of the car. Just after I open the door, I hear it. I smell it half a second later.
"Dude, did you just cut one again? Couldn't you have waited another second until you got out. Now it's going to smell."
"Sorry. I guess it was nerves," Sam tries to apologize, his voice squeaking a tad more than average. "I couldn't do anything this morning, but I've been feeling weird since lunch."
Serves you right for putting mozzarella sticks on a Whooper. And marinara sauce.
As we get our things, a woman steps out of the other car. She is wearing a navy pantsuit, a tad too pressed for a weekend visit. Her short red hair matches her car, as do the freckles lining her cheeks. In her hand is a huge folder with a tablet on top. A smile graces her face as if she is happy to be here.
"Hello," she says a she extends her hand, "I'm Carol Mulhoney. I work for the law firm that handles the Burton family matters, mostly financial. You must be Sam and Chris." Her eyes dart from me to my brother.
"Uh, I'm Chris. That's Sam," I reply as I take her hand. "Shouldn't there be a social worker or someone else here. We had a meeting all set up."
"He left almost two hours ago. Said he couldn't wait any longer on a weekend," Carol responds.
"That was an hour or so before when we were to meet."
"He left some paperwork for you. I'm not just a paralegal, but I'm a notary as well. I can make sure everything is on the up and up. I am also handling the sale of the property. Your father, I guess had been thinking about putting it up on the market for a while. I have a key here and everything." We are walking up to the front door as she talks. "I'm sorry for these circumstances. There really should be an assistant here, at the least, but everyone was out of town, and I was the closest one."
"That shouldn't be a problem. How much do you know about the case?"
"I really only know about the house. That's odd. The key won't fit."
"It's for the back door," Sam piped up. "We'll have to go around the house to get in. Follow me. This way's quicker." Sam practically ran as he turned left up the side of the house. Maybe he's having more than just a little tummy trouble.
"So, about the house."
Carol takes a brief look at some of her notes before she responds. "It's got quite a history. It was built in the 1920's for the head of Spritzer and Sons construction. Your great-grandfather Lionel Burton, was the manager. First Spritzer died, then his sons in War World II. Lionel was given permission to buy out the company from the widows on the cheap, including the house. He was one of the few to survive the Great Depression in making a profit. Things went even better after the war. While others went for public work projects, he focused on smaller, private works. Mostly homes. He turned Burton Manufactures into a regional powerhouse. They quickly went into the pre-manufactured home business, and things took off.
"After the war, Lionel merged with two other firms and they became Crittenden, Fitzhugh, and Burton Manufacturing, or CFB. It now owns the patents on multiple small home manufacturing techniques, as well as a few architectural blueprints as well. They are now international, with a focus on the home market. They might not make the gigantic skyscrapers that make the news, but they make homes the workers stay in."
My father's family was rich. Huh.
"What happened? My father wasn't part of the company, I guess," I ask as we make the back yard. Before me, there is a pool connected to a large patio on the right side of the yard. We would have problems getting to the door if we had went that way. Sam is already by the door, just off to the side of the patio.
"Lionel wanted a large family, hence this place. Unfortunately, he only had one son, but he was as smart as his father. When the companies merged, Lionel made sure his son was on the board. That was fortunate, because Lionel died a year or so later. Even now, your father controls about a 25% stake in the company, even if he has never been a part of it. He takes in about a million dollars a year on those dividends alone." Carol gushes.
"I bet that is before taxes, though.
"No, actually that's after," she responds as she turns the key in the door. It opens easily. Sam runs by her, with barely an "Excuse me" before bounding off to the right.
A million a year, after taxes. Just from his grandfather's company. What have I gotten myself into?
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