“My high school friend who’s a lawyer in Bend now. Family and estate. If anyone knows Oregon estate and probate law, it’s him. Between us, we’ll come up with something. I won’t let you down.”
“What about when it’s Tucker’s turn?” she asks. “What if he doesn’t—you know, come through?”
I know why she’s worried. Tucker hasn’t exactly been easy to pin down recently. And he’s the only brother who hasn’t gotten a letter from our grandfather, which means he’s definitely up next. My grandfather had a fairness kink, so there’s zero chance he’d let Tucker off the hook.
“He’ll come through,” I say.
Like my previous promise, it’s not something I actually have the ability to commit to, but I’ll do everything in my power to make it so. And no matter how miserable Tucker is, I can’t imagine him letting us down. I can’t imagine him lettingHannadown.
“Doesanyoneknow what’s up with Tucker?” she asks.
“He won’t talk about it,” I say.
“Have you tried? Like, really tried?”
I sigh. “The last time I tried was six months or so ago. I can give it another shot?”
“I think you should.”
“I will.”
“And in the meantime, you’ll talk to Matias?”
“Yup.”
I drop in on Matias,and we sit down in his office in Bend, which is in a white Victorian on the corner of two streets near downtown. His office furniture matches the Victorian vibe, which I bet the small-town clientele loves.
Matias shakes my hand, then pulls me into a hug. When I step away, he says, “I thought you were never coming back to Rush Creek.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
Matias and I have been in touch since we each found out the other had gone to law school. Every once in a while, he reaches out to me with questions, always ribbing me about how since I’m the “baddest-ass lawyer in New York City,” he can trust I know my shit.
I spin out the whole story of the will and Eden’s woes for Matias—the amended version, of course, and he listens carefully and takes notes.
“I’m not sure yet we want to go ahead with anything legal,” I caution. “But I want to know what our options are.”
“I know you know this, but since you didn’t contest in the first four months, this is going to be way more of a long shot.”
“I have some ideas,” I say. “For one thing, we didn’t get all the terms up front.” I explain exactly how my grandfather has trickled the letters out via Weggers on a mysterious time frame.
“Interesting,” he says. “That might be a possible loophole argument.”
We talk more about the vulnerabilities of the will—and of Weggers’s execution of it—and Matias tells me he’ll start preparing and let me know what he finds.
“You said you rescheduled the wedding for a month out. Have you canceled that yet?”
“Not yet, but we need to.”
He nods. “Definitely call off all the wedding guests, return presents, all that jazz. But if I were you, I’d keep the vendors in place for now. Can’t hurt, might help. I’m looking at this language here.” He points. “All of them must actually culminate with the planned ceremony.It’s vague. Let me do some thinking. I’ll work both angles—how to contest the will when we’re outside the four-month window and whether there’s room for interpretation in the wording of the stipulations.”
“I can’t fail my sibs,” I tell him.
He gives me a sympathetic look. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.” He sighs. “Your best bet maystillbe kneeling and groveling for Weggers.”
“You have no idea how shitty that sounds.”
“Shittier than losing the land and your sister’s business?”
