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Part 1
It was only thirty minutes into Dr. Thurston’s Cultural Analysis of Ancient Languages lecture and the urge to sleep was already clawing at the edges of my mind. I’d been his Teaching Assistant for three semesters and grading during class had ceased to be interesting long ago. As I scanned through yet another paper of uninspired dross, my mind began to wander. The work that these students were asked to analyze fascinated me when I first read it five years ago, and the thought that I was using these ancient words to learn about a society that disappeared thousands of years ago was thrilling to the point of near-eroticism. Even more amazing to me at the time was the enigmatic gentleman who had personally found the runes now transcribed to the thin sheets of printer. Dr. Thurston and his work were the main reason I’d chosen to come to this university deep in the heart of Louisiana, where the climate, culture, and history all seemed so stifling. Now, the slight drone of his deep baritone voice was both comforting and numbing.
While I contemplated the idea of skipping this paper and just giving the student a B, it occurred to me that the monologue about the ancient Mesopotamians (one I had long since memorized) had stopped and the room had become uncomfortably silent. I looked around the room at the exact moment Dr. Thurston coughed loudly to get my attention. Next to my mentor was a man in his late twenties, though he probably looked younger than I did courtesy of his clean-shaven baby face and statuesque facial features. I, on the other hand, hadn’t shaved in nearly a month and my ponytail was now reaching my shoulder blades. It seemed so strange to me that this young man, with eyes like steel and every hair in place, wanted to talk to me about anything. In my still fuzzy state, I quickly stuffed everything in my book bag, unconcerned about folded papers or a laptop cord poking through the zipper and hurried down to escort this young stranger out of the lecture hall. When I looked over my shoulder to nod goodbye, Dr. Thurston’s analytical eyes attempted to convey some sort of emotion from above his horn-rimmed glasses. I’d never seen him so much as crack a smile, which was one of the main reasons I’d come to respect him so much. It was always facts, dates, and analysis without that messy pervasiveness that ‘friendship’ entailed. I was a student, he was my mentor, and he always maintained an easy distance. As such, I had no idea how to respond to the strange softness in his eyes and I now dreaded this strange vanguard of an adulthood I’ve been avoiding, as well as whatever news he had to share.
The hallway outside of the lecture hall was flooded with sunlight, and our reflections in the floor-to-ceiling windows showed just how starkly different we were. He was tall and athletic, wearing a perfectly fitted suit and he looked as though he was yanked out of a fashion magazine. I was wearing rumpled khakis and a flannel shirt, looking more homeless than anything.
“Mister…” he began, digging through his briefcase to find my last name, “Wharton?”
“Please, call me Nathan.”
“Ah, yes.” He seemed uncomfortable with how casual I treated him, but I was more frustrated than anything, as I knew whatever he was here for would surely cut into my personal work and my research. “Nathan. I am Jonathon Briggs, and I’m a lawyer. I regret to tell you that I’m here to deliver some rather sad news.” His delivery, though, sounded less sympathetic and more robotic and bored. “It seems as though your uncle, Mr. Thomas Wharton, has passed away unexpectedly.”
“Are you sure you have the right person? I don’t even have an uncle, or at least I haven’t heard of one.”
“Your father was Edmund Wharton of Baltimore, yes?”
“He was, yes. But I was under the impression that all of my family on that side was dead. If he had a brother, why didn’t he show up to the funeral? Why was I put in foster care instead of his care?”
“Ah, well, yes. Thomas had some… psychiatric issues and I suppose he was not capable of caring for a child.” I’d obviously caught him off guard, and a part of me was happy about that. I mean, he could have called me. He must have had my contact information if he was able to interrupt that lecture.
“Oh? Then I’m guessing he has some debt that got passed on to his next of kin?” This came out snarkier than I’d intended, but I was already up to my hips in student loans and I couldn’t handle the idea of any more.
“Actually, Mister – Nathan, I mean, it’s quite the contrary.” At this, my eyebrow perked up visibly, and the machine-like gaze of the lawyer seemed to judge me coldly. “But, may we go somewhere a bit more private to discuss the details?” I agreed that would be best, and led him through the labyrinthine campus to my TA office. Along the way, he maintained the generic small talk that has always seemed so dull. What am I studying? How would ancient linguistics and archaeology translate to a career? I tried to answer as generically as possible; these kind of people go to school for ages, just as long as I would be going. But they went to learn facts and make money, not to attain real knowledge. It just seemed so shallow.
After what seemed to be forever, we arrived at my office and I was fortunate that my office mate was out for some reason – probably a private tutoring session with some attractive student. He and I both knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything if the opportunity arose, but he always tried. I grabbed his chair and pulled it up to the opposite side of my cluttered desk. Piles of books seemed to frame the young man as he got settled and opened his high-end leather briefcase.
“Anyway, Mister Wharton, I am here to tell you about the assets that are being transferred to you as the next of kin.” I was interested enough in what he was saying to let his continued insistence on using my last name slide, but I did need to get one question out, regardless of how rude it would seem.
“How did he die?”
“Oh. Well, I’m not sure I’m the one who- “
“Just tell me. Stop being so straight laced and professional. I don’t really enjoy all this dancing around the issue.”
“Okay,” he said, still hesitant and pausing, as if trying to find the words. “It seems he committed suicide. His body was found yesterday, but the police are saying he’d been there for at least a week. He was a bit of a shut-in.” I had not expected this, even with the comment about his psychiatric history.
“How old was he?”
“Seventy-two.” This seemed strange to me, as I’d never considered the idea that a person that age would be strong enough to kill themselves. But then it occurred to me that there were pills, guns, all sorts of methods.
“May I ask how he…?”
“Oh, I’m really not at liberty to discuss it, but I’m sure you could get any details from the local police.”
“Local police? Does that mean he lived here?”
“Not precisely. He was just south of the city limits, but their police force deferred to the police here in Baton Rouge because of your proximity. It didn’t hurt that the police force here is more than ten times the size, though.” I couldn’t tell if this was a strange sort of joke or just a fact that he felt was necessary for some unknown reason.
“But,” I was lost for words for a second, as none of this made any sense. I had family? And he was this close? Why would he not reach out, unless he didn’t know about me? And how did they find out about me so quickly? I mean, google alone must show at least a couple dozen Whartons in Baton Rouge alone. “How did they know to find me so quickly? This just isn’t really adding up for me.”
“Well, that’s actually the strange part. See, I’d assumed you two were moderately close because, how do I say this? Because, though you say you didn’t know about him, he sure knew about you.”
“What?”
“His library had a stack of research articles. All of them co-authored by, well, you. He also had newspaper clippings from your parents’ deaths. It seems he had been keeping an eye on you.” Now my head was spinning. The papers I’d worked on were all written here at this university, so he knew I was living in Baton Rouge. But why wouldn’t he just reach out to me? “But I guess that’s all beside the point, Mr. Wharton. What is relevant is that, with a valid ID and a couple signatures, you stand to inherit everything your uncle owned. He never wrote a will, but you are the only living relative, making you next of kin.”
My mouth was dry and words seemed to have difficulty coming out, not because of any profound emotion, but simply out of confusion and surprise. “So, what does that include?”
“Ah, yes. I believe I mentioned he lived just south of the city?” I nodded, thinking about what that could mean. If he lived to the southeast, I could have a pretty hefty inheritance. This thought made me feel guilty, but then it occurred to me that I didn’t even know the man, so I had no reason to feel guilty.
“Yes, you did.”
“Good. Well, we will need to take a tour of the property before everything is settled, but he has an estate near Oak Hills Place as well as a large plot of land. We can talk finances later, but I must say, you are about to receive quite the windfall.”
My mind wasn’t processing this information as quickly as it should have and I sat there dumbfounded for a couple of moments. “What sort of windfall are we talking about here?”
“Well, the house itself is about ten thousand square feet, and it sits on four acres of land.”
The idea that I was receiving this felt unreal, and more like a cruel joke than something that could actually happen. I’d never even heard of a home that large that wasn’t owned by some celebrity or foreign prince, and now a previously unknown family member was leaving that to me. I considered the idea that it could be some elaborate prank, but decided that would make even less sense. “Well, should I go to see the property? Or the police?”
“Are you sure you want to go now? Did you need to- “
“Go back to that lecture? No, I have all of his talking points memorized, and I can grade papers later tonight.”
“Understood. Then yes, I can take you there right now if you wish.”