I was carrying a manila folder with the four blowjob photos in it, when Bridget escorted me into a second conference room. On one side of a large table sat Mr. Dodd, in the middle of three chairs. Bridget took the chair to Mr. Dodd’s right.

On the other side of the conference table sat a brunette woman in her forties; a disgustingly fat man filled the chair next to her; and next to him sat the “dead cell phone” blonde. If the brunette was my Aunt Esther, I didn’t recognize her at all. Her expression was a mask. The fat man was looking at me with eagerness, whereas the twenty-something blonde looked like she was about to endure a tax audit.

I’d walked maybe five feet into the room when the fat man said loudly, “Young man, if you’re going to surf internet porn, please do it on your own time and on your own computer. You’ve kept us all waiting, which is inconsiderate, don’t you think?”

I gave him an amused smile. “Internet porn, is that what you think I was doing?”

I took the empty seat to Mr. Dodd’s left. As Bridget was handing me a legal pad and a pen, Mr. Dodd said, “Marvin, let me introduce you to the people on the other side. You already know your aunt, Esther Flint. Sitting next to her is her attorney, Wayne Northcutt. Sitting next to Mr. Northcutt is his legal assistant, Cassandra Farnetti. Folks, this is Marvin Harper, the heir designated in Warren Harper’s will.”

I stood up, leaving the manila folder on the table unopened, and walked around to the other side of the table, my hand out. As soon as my intentions became clear, Northcutt and Cassandra stood up.

Aunt Esther did not stand up. I walked to her chair, my hand out to shake hers, and said, “Aunt Esther.” I was not about to say Aunt Esther, it’s good to see you again.

Aunt Esther looked at my hand like I’d just pulled it from a septic tank. “This is not a social call,” she said coldly.

Surprised, I moved my gaze from Aunt Esther to Northcutt. He was pulling his outstretched hand away from me. “Sorry, I have to follow the client’s lead.” His sassy grin told me that he was anything but sorry.

I shrugged, and walked back to my seat. As I walked past Cassandra, she averted her gaze.

Once back in my seat, I said, “Aunt Esther, I don’t recognize you. Have we ever met?”

She said, “Yes, Christmas of ‘97, Granny Flo was hosting a Christmas dinner. You were a child, and you kept chasing her poodle through the house.”

I nodded, recalling a poodle with pink nail polish. I then asked, “And when did Florence die? It had to have been before Christmas 1999.”

Northcutt said, “Young man, if you want to catch up on family history, please show some consideration and do it later. We have more important things to discuss.”

I looked at him coldly. “Number one, I’m asking questions that I’m the most qualified person here to ask. Number two, doesn’t your whole court argument come down to blood relationships?”

Northcutt said pompously, “I will allow such questions.”

Aunt Esther said, “Granny Flo died in July 1998.”

A few more questions by me, and the pattern became clear. Aunt Esther and her children had come to the Christmas dinner in 1999 that Herbert (my great-grandfather) and Minnie had hosted—but after 1999, Esther and her children had skipped all events hosted by Flo’s relatives. I thought it better not to tell Fat Boy that the Steve Harper family and Uncle Walter kept bumping into each other every Christmastime and Fourth of July.

I then turned to Mr. Dodd and said, “I have nothing more to ask them.”

Mr. Dodd then asked Aunt Esther a few bland questions about traffic tickets, arrests, finances, and credit history. I suspect that he had already gone online and pulled up the answers.

Mr. Dodd looked at Northcutt and said, “Wayne, your turn.”

Northcutt turned his fat face toward me and said, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, ”Mister Harper, please tell us about your one visit with Warren Harper in the hospital.”

I ignored the sarcasm; I figured it was a tactic to get me angry and make me do something stupid.

I calmly answered, blah-blah, “...Aunt Claire, actually, she’s my mom’s aunt. Anyway, I was visiting her and she told me that Uncle Warren also was in the hospital. I suppose he and she met at one of Dad’s Fourth of July barbecues...,” blah-blah, “...I walked over and visited him. Then four days later, he died and I was in the will.”

“You went to the hospital with no plans to visit him, only your Aunt Claire?”

“Yes.”

“The decision to visit him was spontaneous?”

“Yes.”

“So what happened during the visit?”

“Beats me. I’m going to a party day after tomorrow, and I told him about that. He told me how he got his war injuries. And pretty much, that was it. We were never ‘buddies,’ so we didn’t talk long, or about anything deep. Correction: he mentioned the fact that Eisenhower started the interstate system, which gave us the Smith Freeway. Uncle Warren was a big fan of Eisenhower.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Northcutt said. “But do you see the problem that a jury will have with what you just said?”

I said testily, “A jury won’t have any problem with what I just said, because it’s the truth.”

“We have only your word that nothing else was said, nothing else was done during that visit.”

“Not so. Sherry Benson was there the whole time, heard every word.”

Aunt Esther said, “Is she one of Warren’s little whores? Spare me.”

Northcutt nodded, and started looking through his own manila folder. “Sherry Benson, she works as an ‘exotic dancer,’ at ... Club Physique.”

I said, “Nimfo Club, actually. She started work there Monday.”

Northcutt gave me a shark smile. “Thanks for the correction. Cassie, make a note.”

Cassandra didn’t say anything, but she gave me a pitying look. You fool, don’t you see that you’re making things easier for him?

Northcutt continued, “And if you disregard the words of a stripper—which I think I can easily convince the jury to do—then what’s left as the explanation? You’re a big, muscular boy—maybe you threatened to hurt the sick old man, hm? Or since I can easily establish that Warren Harper was a pervert, maybe you offered him a little quid pro quo, hmm?”

I laughed. Jeez, this guy is so transparent.

Then I said, “So that’s your big legal strategy, shyster?” I put on a Marlon Brando Godfather voice and continued, “Boy, you do me a favor, I do you a favor. You suck my cock, I put you in my will, capisce?”

Aunt Esther said to me, “Marvin, remember that there are ladies present.”

I replied, “You’re right. My apologies to Bridget and Cassandra.” Cassandra giggled at this, then quickly silenced herself.

Then I said to Northcutt, “What can you beat me on? And by ‘beat,’ I mean prove with facts, not spin ‘maybe this, maybe that’ theories. Genealogy, that’s all you got. But genealogy works both ways. You better pray to God that Uncle Thomas doesn’t try to horn in—because Thomas Harper is Herbert’s son and thus Warren Harper’s nephew, which beat’s Esther’s claim.”

I held up a finger to indicate Time out, then I slid the blowjob folder over to Mr. Dodd. I wrote on the legal pad, “OK to show to Fat Boy?”

Mr. Dodd looked at the printouts, then wrote, “Relevance?”

I wrote back, “Two examples that undue influence doesn’t get you in the will.”

He wrote back, “BRILLIANT!!!”

Seconds later, the open folder laid on the table in front of Northcutt, and I was retaking my seat. Aunt Esther had turned away, pretending to be offended; but Cassandra (with Fat Boy’s permission) was studying the photos.

Northcutt sneered at me. “Young man, I want to thank you for further impeaching your key witnesses.”

I said, “I guess you’re not as smart as Aunt Esther is paying you to be. Sherry and Virgilia are poster girls for ‘undue influence,’ but neither of them will inherit a dime.”

Cassandra said, “Mr. Northcutt, he has a point. These pictures are facts, and his facts trump your theories.”

Northcutt said, “Ah, Cassie, that’s why you’re the legal assistant and I’m the lawyer. Juries decide facts, and I decide what juries think.”

I said, “Then you’re definitely not as smart as Aunt Esther is paying you to be. Because so long as the news is ‘Two relatives are fighting over a rich man’s will,’ the news media won’t get interested. But bring in cocksucking strippers, and every TV station will be doing hourly updates. Too bad for you. Because not only will you lose the case, but you’ll be hated nationwide. I bet I’ll see a ‘Northcutt is scum’ page on Facebook.”

Cassandra said, “Again he has a point, Mr. Northcutt. Losing a case is no big thing, but losing a case amid a firestorm of adverse publicity, that could be disastrous for the firm.”

Northcutt shrugged. “Then I’ll just have to be even more creative with the facts when I tell the jury about your darling Mr. Harper, won’t I, Cassie?”

The conference-room door opened then, and a pizza-delivery man stepped in. Looking at him, I got a strange feeling.