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“Victor! Of course. Lovely man. Great agency. My wife and I used them when we bought our house. The agent’s name was Sharon…Stephanie…”
“Stephanie Pickering.”
“Yes. Right. Pickering. Terrific agent. Could sell coals to Newcastle, or whatever that expression is. She still with the agency?”
“Our top earner,” I said.
He nodded, as if he were truly impressed. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen your father. I take it he’s well.”
“Very well.”
“He got married again,” Tracy said, clearly impatient with the prolonged small talk. “We think she’s a gold digger, and we want to know how we can protect our inheritance.”
“Well,” I qualified quickly, watching the smile fade from Ronald Miller’s face, “we really just want to find out what our options are.”
“Ladies,” the lawyer said, holding up the palms of both hands. “I sympathize. I really do. But I’m afraid I have to stop you right there.”
“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Tracy said.
“Which is why I have to stop you,” he said. “This is what we call a classic conflict of interest.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tracy asked.
“It means that your father is still a client of this firm and I’m not at liberty to discuss his business…”
“This isn’t about his business,” Tracy corrected. “It’s personal.”
“I’m afraid that it would be unethical for me to discuss your father’s business, personal or otherwise, with anyone without his expressed consent or written permission.”
“Fat chance of that,” Tracy scoffed.
“Exactly,” the lawyer agreed. He rose to his feet, indicating the meeting was over.
“Is there someone else at the firm we could talk to?” Tracy asked.
“I’m sorry, no. It would still be a conflict…”
“…of interest. Yes, we get it.” Tracy turned and marched from the room without so much as a backward glance.
“It was nice meeting you,” Ronald Miller said, extending his hand across the desk toward me. “Good luck.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Looks like we’re going to need it.”
