Sycamore Row

Fortunately, your father had significant assets. Few estates do. If he’d died with nothing, then his probate could be complete in ninety days.”
    “In Florida the average probate takes thirty months,” Mr. Larkin said.
    “This ain’t Florida,” Ian said with a cold stare.
    Stillman Rush added quickly, “And there is a provision in the law for partial distributions; that is, you might be allowed to take some of your share along the way, before the actual closing of the estate.”
    “I like the sound of that,” Ramona said.
    “Can we talk about taxes?” Ian insisted. “What’s the ballpark figure?”
    Mr. McGwyre leaned back and confidently crossed his legs. Smiling and nodding, he said, “With an estate of this size, with no surviving spouse, the taxes would be brutal, slightly more than 50 percent. But, because of Mr. Hubbard’s foresight, and our expertise, we were able to arrive at a plan”—he lifted a copy of the will—“and by the useof some trusts and other devices we have reduced the effective tax rate to about 30 percent.”
    Ian, the number cruncher, did not need a calculator. Twenty million and change in the net estate, minus 30 percent would knock it down to about $14 mill. Forty percent of that for his dear wife and their share would be around $5.6 million, give or take. And clean, no taxes since all of those nasties, state and federal, would be slapped onto the estate. At that moment, Ian and his various partners and companies owed a plethora of banks in excess of $4 million, about half of which was past due.
    As Herschel’s internal calculator stuttered along, he caught himself humming under his breath. Seconds later, he too arrived at something around $5.5 million. He was so sick of living with his mother. And his kids—no more worries about tuition.
    Ramona turned evil and cast a vicious smile at her husband. She said, “Twenty million, Ian, not too bad for, what did you like to call him, an uneducated logger.”
    Herschel closed his eyes and exhaled while Ian said, “Come on, Ramona.” The lawyers were suddenly interested in their shoes.
    She pressed on, “You won’t make twenty million in your entire life, and Daddy did it in ten years. And your family, with all the banks they once owned, never had that kind of money. Don’t you find that unbelievable, Ian?”
    Ian’s mouth fell open and he could only stare at her. Alone, he would have certainly gone for her throat, but he was helpless. Be cool, he told himself as he fought his anger. Damn right you’d better be cool because that smirking bitch sitting five feet away is about to inherit several million, and though the money will probably blow up the marriage, there will be something for me.
    Stillman Rush closed his briefcase and said, “Well, we need to be moving along. We’ll run by the courthouse and kick things off, and we’ll need to meet again very shortly, if that’s okay.” He was standing as he spoke, suddenly eager to leave the family behind. McGwyre and Larkin bounced up too, slapping closed their briefcases and making the same phony farewells. They insisted on showing themselves to the front, and were practically scrambling when they disappeared around the house.
    After they left, there was a long, lethal vacuum of silence on the patio as all three avoided eye contact and wondered who would speak next. The wrong word could start another fight, or something worse.Finally, Ian, the angriest, asked his wife, “Why’d you say that in front of the lawyers?”
    Herschel jumped in: “No, why did you say it, period?”
    She ignored her brother and snarled at her husband, “Because I’ve been wanting to say it for a long time, Ian. You’ve always looked down on us, especially my father, and now, suddenly, you’re counting his money.”
    “Aren’t we all?” Herschel asked.
    “Shut up, Herschel,” she snapped.
    She ignored him and didn’t take her eyes off Ian. “I’ll divorce you now, you know that.”
    “Didn’t take long.”
    “No, it didn’t.”
    “Come on, guys,” Herschel pleaded. This was not the first divorce threat he’d witnessed. “Let’s go inside, finish packing, and get out of here.”
    The men stood slowly and walked away. Ramona stared at the trees in the distance, beyond the backyard and into a forest where she played as a child. She had not felt such freedom in years.

    Another cake arrived before noon and Lettie tried to decline it. She eventually sat it on the kitchen