A.J., Calder and a man George assumed to be Armstrong the solicitor had already arrived and were sitting in a conference room in the hotel. A.J. suggested George help himself to coffee and biscuits pointing to a table on which was a jug and cups but no biscuits. The guilty look on Calder’s face and the crumbs on the table where he was sitting suggested he was the one responsible for the lack of biscuits.
Armstrong, wearing half-framed glasses, a grey pinstripe suit and a golf club tie, opened his briefcase and took out various pieces of paper and envelopes that he laid out on the table.
“Before I start,” he said, looking over the tops of his glasses and trying to sound officious but not quite succeeding, “there is a complication with your mother’s will.” He paused for effect and looked at A.J. who didn’t respond other than a gesture to suggest, “Well get on with it”.
“The contents of the will refer to her oldest son, George Waterson, who as you know was tragically killed in the war. The wording of the will bequeaths all her estate to George.”
A.J., becoming slightly irritated with Armstrong’s manner, laughed and slapped the table. Whenever a solicitor mentioned a complication, this normally meant they would need to spend more time on the issue and consequently their fees would be higher.
“I’m sorry Mr Armstrong,” A.J. replied still with a smirk on his face, “there is no complication, the man sat opposite me is my brother, the man you have referred to as George Waterson. I’m happy to report he is fit and well and did not perish in the war.”
Armstrong looked over the top of his half-rimmed glasses at George then to Calder, who both nodded in agreement with A.J.’s pronouncement. He took off his glasses and started to clean them nervously. He was losing his composure.
“Before you continue,” A.J. said to Armstrong, “when did my mother make this will?”
“She dealt with my father; I believe it was in the nineteen fifties. Yes here’s the date 1955.”
A.J. was now the one to appear unsettled. His mother believed that George had died 11 years earlier, why did she include George in her will believing him to be dead. A.J. thought for a few moments and then as if waking from a deep sleep looked at his watch and suggested they continue, he had other appointments that day and they needed to move on.
Armstrong picked up one of the pieces of paper and rather slowly and deliberately announced that Mrs Waterson’s estate had left the whole of her estate to her oldest son, Mr George Waterson, and he nodded in George’s direction.
A.J. started to tap the table impatiently and said that, as his mother did not have any estate, the meeting was effectively over.
“On the contrary Mr Waterson,” Armstrong interrupted, “your mother had a considerable estate.”
A.J.’s tapping grew louder as he said that was ridiculous. The only person who had any money was his father and A.J. had inherited that when he died. He had all the money and the property, there was nothing in his mother’s name.
“I’m sorry to contradict you,” Armstrong replied with beads of perspiration starting to appear on his forehead and nose, “your father, before he died, setup a trust for your mother. She had money in a trust for a number of years.”
The tapping grew louder as A.J. became increasingly agitated. If mother had money in a trust, why had they been so poor? He knew his father had refused to use grandfather’s inheritance, but why had mother not used her money? Moreover, even after father had died why had his mother never mentioned it? It really could not be very much.
“How much are we talking about?” A.J. asked glancing at his watch again.
“Well, I don’t have all the figures yet,” Armstrong was perspiring even more and ran his finger round the inside of his collar, “there are a number of accounts and I don’t have the latest balance.”
“Oh for goodness sake man just give us an estimate!”, A.J. was practically shouting and banged the table with flat of his hand.
“Well, of course there will be taxes and duty to deduct and some have bonuses, but the overall amount should be about six hundred thousand pounds, possibly more.”
The banging stopped and the room became silent. The first to speak was George,
“I believe Mr Armstrong you will need to repeat the amount, I’m not sure we heard you correctly.”
“Well, as I said I don’t have the final numbers, but it will not be less than six hundred thousand pounds.” Armstrong blew out a breath as if it was his last and slumped into his chair. He took off his glasses and producing a handkerchief mopped his brow.
No one spoke for some minutes and to break the silence Armstrong explained that the trust had been set up in Mrs Watersons’s name but the conditions of the trust was that her estate would only receive the money at the time of her death. She could not access it during her lifetime. A financial institution had managed the trust, very well he thought, and it had increased in value considerably since the original investment in the 1940s.
A.J. looked at his watch, more out of habit, as he knew it was only a few minutes since he last looked at the time.
“Is that it then?” he enquired, is there nothing else mentioned in the will?”
“There is just one more thing,” Armstrong replied searching through his papers, “your mother wanted you to have this,” and handed a large brown envelope to A.J.
“Good,” A.J. stood up and poured himself another cup of coffee. “Give the details of the people managing the trust to Calder, and a copy of the will. Calder you work with Armstrong to sort this out, the sooner the better.”
Calder was about to remind A.J. of all the other things he was working on that also had priority but decided against it. He had known A.J. long enough to realise that would be a very short conversation and only result in A.J. reminding him that discussing it was only wasting valuable time.
“If you two gentlemen could leave us now there are things I want to discuss with George?” A.J. had dismissed them and the two solicitors left the room already in discussion about the complexities of trusts.
George had not really taken in what he had just heard. In simple terms, his mother had left him some money, a considerable amount of money. He was now a very rich man, but somehow he didn’t believe it, he was not the sort of person that won prizes. He read in the newspaper of people winning the pools or ERNIE picking their premium bond numbers. He, George Waterson, was not one of those people. He was the sort of person that worked all his life, retired on a basic pension, never well off, never really poor, just mister average, the average man in the street they called him. He was not the sort of person that had rich relatives receiving an inheritance from a deceased family member. But it was only a short while ago that he discovered his real name was George Waterson, he still did not know this man, he was still learning and maybe he was the sort that would appear in the newspaper holding a king size cheque. A.J had said, “There are things I want to discuss with George”, was he already plotting to get his hands on George’s money. “A.J shall not have a penny of it,” thought George with a feeling of determination, “it’s all mine, mother intended it for me.” He suddenly felt a sense of shame, within minutes of becoming wealthy he was already showing signs of greed and avarice. No matter how much money was to come his way he must not lose who he was; he must not find himself hating what he had become; he must be able to look himself in the mirror without flinching at the image he saw.
A.J poured George another coffee and placed it on the table.
“Where are all the biscuits?” A.J. asked looking around the room until he spotted the crumbs where Calder had previously been sitting, “Mm, might have guessed,” he mumbled.
“Aren’t you going to open your envelope?” George asked looking at the brown envelope that was still on the table.
“Oh, I’d forgotten that, I’ll look at it later, there are more important things at the moment.”
“Like how can you get your heads on my money,” George thought and then immediately scolded himself for allowing himself to think it.
Rather than mention the money A.J. explained that he was involved in a number of projects and he was hoping to receive an important call before the end of the day that would determine the success or failure of these ventures. He was also expecting to meet someone later that he hoped would have an important part to play in his plans. George found it all very mysterious and again could not help himself thinking this was all leading to some suggestion that the money would be better in A.J.’s hands to finance his grand schemes. He knew from the conversation with Calder that A.J. had financial problems and perhaps this was the soft sell to persuade him to part with his newfound wealth.
He could not delay it any longer and decided to ask A.J. about his intentions.
“I know you have been having financial problems and I was thinking that it might have been better if mother had left the money to you.”
“Stop, stop,” A.J. blurted, “do not for one moment think that I want your money. That money is yours, in fact the money that father left should also have been yours, I do want one penny of your money. It is yours to do with as you like. It is an awful lot of money and you should take advice how to manage it, but none of it should come my direction.”
George was shocked at the passion in A.J.’s voice and found himself believing that he had no designs on the money. He was about to apologise for any suggestion he might have made that A.J. was after his money, when their meeting was interrupted by one of the hotel staff knocking on the door informing A.J. there was an urgent call. A.J. rubbed his hands together in excitement like a young child first seeing Father Christmas.
“Right, if I’m not mistaken the game has started,” he practically squealed as A.J. followed the young girl out of the room still rubbing his hands in glee. As an afterthought, he turned to George and asked, “don’t leave, promise you will not leave until we have spoken again, you promise?”
“I promise,” George replied completely mystified.
Armstrong, wearing half-framed glasses, a grey pinstripe suit and a golf club tie, opened his briefcase and took out various pieces of paper and envelopes that he laid out on the table.
“Before I start,” he said, looking over the tops of his glasses and trying to sound officious but not quite succeeding, “there is a complication with your mother’s will.” He paused for effect and looked at A.J. who didn’t respond other than a gesture to suggest, “Well get on with it”.
“The contents of the will refer to her oldest son, George Waterson, who as you know was tragically killed in the war. The wording of the will bequeaths all her estate to George.”
A.J., becoming slightly irritated with Armstrong’s manner, laughed and slapped the table. Whenever a solicitor mentioned a complication, this normally meant they would need to spend more time on the issue and consequently their fees would be higher.
“I’m sorry Mr Armstrong,” A.J. replied still with a smirk on his face, “there is no complication, the man sat opposite me is my brother, the man you have referred to as George Waterson. I’m happy to report he is fit and well and did not perish in the war.”
Armstrong looked over the top of his half-rimmed glasses at George then to Calder, who both nodded in agreement with A.J.’s pronouncement. He took off his glasses and started to clean them nervously. He was losing his composure.
“Before you continue,” A.J. said to Armstrong, “when did my mother make this will?”
“She dealt with my father; I believe it was in the nineteen fifties. Yes here’s the date 1955.”
A.J. was now the one to appear unsettled. His mother believed that George had died 11 years earlier, why did she include George in her will believing him to be dead. A.J. thought for a few moments and then as if waking from a deep sleep looked at his watch and suggested they continue, he had other appointments that day and they needed to move on.
Armstrong picked up one of the pieces of paper and rather slowly and deliberately announced that Mrs Waterson’s estate had left the whole of her estate to her oldest son, Mr George Waterson, and he nodded in George’s direction.
A.J. started to tap the table impatiently and said that, as his mother did not have any estate, the meeting was effectively over.
“On the contrary Mr Waterson,” Armstrong interrupted, “your mother had a considerable estate.”
A.J.’s tapping grew louder as he said that was ridiculous. The only person who had any money was his father and A.J. had inherited that when he died. He had all the money and the property, there was nothing in his mother’s name.
“I’m sorry to contradict you,” Armstrong replied with beads of perspiration starting to appear on his forehead and nose, “your father, before he died, setup a trust for your mother. She had money in a trust for a number of years.”
The tapping grew louder as A.J. became increasingly agitated. If mother had money in a trust, why had they been so poor? He knew his father had refused to use grandfather’s inheritance, but why had mother not used her money? Moreover, even after father had died why had his mother never mentioned it? It really could not be very much.
“How much are we talking about?” A.J. asked glancing at his watch again.
“Well, I don’t have all the figures yet,” Armstrong was perspiring even more and ran his finger round the inside of his collar, “there are a number of accounts and I don’t have the latest balance.”
“Oh for goodness sake man just give us an estimate!”, A.J. was practically shouting and banged the table with flat of his hand.
“Well, of course there will be taxes and duty to deduct and some have bonuses, but the overall amount should be about six hundred thousand pounds, possibly more.”
The banging stopped and the room became silent. The first to speak was George,
“I believe Mr Armstrong you will need to repeat the amount, I’m not sure we heard you correctly.”
“Well, as I said I don’t have the final numbers, but it will not be less than six hundred thousand pounds.” Armstrong blew out a breath as if it was his last and slumped into his chair. He took off his glasses and producing a handkerchief mopped his brow.
No one spoke for some minutes and to break the silence Armstrong explained that the trust had been set up in Mrs Watersons’s name but the conditions of the trust was that her estate would only receive the money at the time of her death. She could not access it during her lifetime. A financial institution had managed the trust, very well he thought, and it had increased in value considerably since the original investment in the 1940s.
A.J. looked at his watch, more out of habit, as he knew it was only a few minutes since he last looked at the time.
“Is that it then?” he enquired, is there nothing else mentioned in the will?”
“There is just one more thing,” Armstrong replied searching through his papers, “your mother wanted you to have this,” and handed a large brown envelope to A.J.
“Good,” A.J. stood up and poured himself another cup of coffee. “Give the details of the people managing the trust to Calder, and a copy of the will. Calder you work with Armstrong to sort this out, the sooner the better.”
Calder was about to remind A.J. of all the other things he was working on that also had priority but decided against it. He had known A.J. long enough to realise that would be a very short conversation and only result in A.J. reminding him that discussing it was only wasting valuable time.
“If you two gentlemen could leave us now there are things I want to discuss with George?” A.J. had dismissed them and the two solicitors left the room already in discussion about the complexities of trusts.
George had not really taken in what he had just heard. In simple terms, his mother had left him some money, a considerable amount of money. He was now a very rich man, but somehow he didn’t believe it, he was not the sort of person that won prizes. He read in the newspaper of people winning the pools or ERNIE picking their premium bond numbers. He, George Waterson, was not one of those people. He was the sort of person that worked all his life, retired on a basic pension, never well off, never really poor, just mister average, the average man in the street they called him. He was not the sort of person that had rich relatives receiving an inheritance from a deceased family member. But it was only a short while ago that he discovered his real name was George Waterson, he still did not know this man, he was still learning and maybe he was the sort that would appear in the newspaper holding a king size cheque. A.J had said, “There are things I want to discuss with George”, was he already plotting to get his hands on George’s money. “A.J shall not have a penny of it,” thought George with a feeling of determination, “it’s all mine, mother intended it for me.” He suddenly felt a sense of shame, within minutes of becoming wealthy he was already showing signs of greed and avarice. No matter how much money was to come his way he must not lose who he was; he must not find himself hating what he had become; he must be able to look himself in the mirror without flinching at the image he saw.
A.J poured George another coffee and placed it on the table.
“Where are all the biscuits?” A.J. asked looking around the room until he spotted the crumbs where Calder had previously been sitting, “Mm, might have guessed,” he mumbled.
“Aren’t you going to open your envelope?” George asked looking at the brown envelope that was still on the table.
“Oh, I’d forgotten that, I’ll look at it later, there are more important things at the moment.”
“Like how can you get your heads on my money,” George thought and then immediately scolded himself for allowing himself to think it.
Rather than mention the money A.J. explained that he was involved in a number of projects and he was hoping to receive an important call before the end of the day that would determine the success or failure of these ventures. He was also expecting to meet someone later that he hoped would have an important part to play in his plans. George found it all very mysterious and again could not help himself thinking this was all leading to some suggestion that the money would be better in A.J.’s hands to finance his grand schemes. He knew from the conversation with Calder that A.J. had financial problems and perhaps this was the soft sell to persuade him to part with his newfound wealth.
He could not delay it any longer and decided to ask A.J. about his intentions.
“I know you have been having financial problems and I was thinking that it might have been better if mother had left the money to you.”
“Stop, stop,” A.J. blurted, “do not for one moment think that I want your money. That money is yours, in fact the money that father left should also have been yours, I do want one penny of your money. It is yours to do with as you like. It is an awful lot of money and you should take advice how to manage it, but none of it should come my direction.”
George was shocked at the passion in A.J.’s voice and found himself believing that he had no designs on the money. He was about to apologise for any suggestion he might have made that A.J. was after his money, when their meeting was interrupted by one of the hotel staff knocking on the door informing A.J. there was an urgent call. A.J. rubbed his hands together in excitement like a young child first seeing Father Christmas.
“Right, if I’m not mistaken the game has started,” he practically squealed as A.J. followed the young girl out of the room still rubbing his hands in glee. As an afterthought, he turned to George and asked, “don’t leave, promise you will not leave until we have spoken again, you promise?”
“I promise,” George replied completely mystified.