Quinn
“THANK YOU FORworking me into your schedule, especially on such short notice,” I say to my attorney as his assistant escorts me into his office at ten Thursday morning.
The nameplate on his desk says,Martin Stephen Schiller, Esq., but everyone calls him Marty. He has a slight paunch, a nearly bald hairline, and bushy gray eyebrows that look like caterpillars, but the brown eyes under them are warm and intelligent, and he has a fatherly way about him that puts me at ease. He has photos of his wife and two grown daughters on his desk. Every time I come to his office, I wonder if they realize how lucky they are to have such a great guy as their dad.
I first met Marty, as I met practically everyone else I now know in New Orleans, through Brooke. He handled her will and other legal affairs. When I first became interested in moving to Louisiana, she referred me to him, and he helped me set up my business.
Margaret and I went to his office together shortly after Brooke’s death, and he gently guided us through her will. Brooke had considerable assets from her late parents’ estate and life insurance benefits, and she carried a large life insurance policy herself. She left Lily well provided for. Among other arrangements, she set up a trust to pay Lily’s guardian a generous monthly stipend for her care.
Marty rises from behind his desk and walks around in front of it as his assistant leaves the office and closes the door. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Quinn.” He shakes my hand in both of his andwe exchange pleasantries. “I was so sorry to hear about Margaret’s health problems,” he says. “How’s she doing?”
I’d explained the situation to his receptionist when I made the appointment. “She’s better, but she’s in for a long rehabilitation, and she’s had some permanent damage to her heart. The doctor calls this a ‘life-changing event.’”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Marty says. “I assume that means it’s a life-changing event for you and Lily, as well.”
I nod. “It looks like it. I have a few questions about Brooke’s will.”
“Of course, of course.” He gestures for me to sit down across from his desk in a navy armchair printed with tiny fleurs-de-lis, and he seats himself next to me in an identical one, eschewing his desk chair. “This seems to be a day for that.”
I lift my eyebrows. “What?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say anything if it were the other way around, but you’re my client.” He puts his left ankle over his right knee, revealing navy-and-white-polka-dot socks. “An intern from another law firm came by asking for a copy of Brooke’s will this morning.”
Goose bumps rise on my arms. “What law firm?” I ask, but I’m afraid I already know.
“Schoen, Roberts, Moreau, and Associates. I was in court when he dropped by, so he talked to my assistant. He said a member of his firm had asked him to get a copy of the will from the courthouse. It isn’t yet on file there—I’m afraid my office is a little behind on paperwork. My assistant knew it would soon be public record, though, so she gave him a copy.”
I suddenly feel ill. I move my hands from my lap to my stomach.
“Are you all right?” he asks. “You look upset.”
I draw a deep breath and tell him about Zack entering the picture.
“I see.” His forehead creases like corrugated cardboard. He steeples his fingers together.
“There’s more.” I clasp, then unclasp my hands in my lap. “I’m pregnant.”
His eyes go wide. “Well, congratulations.”
“Thank you. The baby...” My mouth is suddenly dry. “The baby—well, I wanted to use a donor, like Brooke, and Brooke had some extra, um...” I hate to use the wordsperm; I don’t know why I’m so prissy about it. “Donor material frozen at the cryobank.” I draw a deep breath. “So the fact is, I’m pregnant with Lily’s half sibling. It—it’s also Zack’s child. Zack Bradley—that’s the name of the father. He’s an attorney with the law firm you mentioned. So I want to make sure...” I stop and swallow. “I’m afraid, especially after what you just told me about someone from his firm getting a copy of Brooke’s will, that Zack might try to get custody of Lily.” My heart patters hard. “And—and of my baby, once he finds out about it.”
“Oh, my. Yes, I can see how that’s concerning.”
“I brought a copy of the donor contract he signed. The cryobank said that the same terms would apply to me as applied to Brooke if I were inseminated at a physician’s office. I was, of course.” I reach into my leather tote by the chair, pull out a file folder, and hand it to him. “I also brought a copy of my medical records.”
He takes the papers from me and looks at them. “This is the same donor agreement that’s in Brooke’s files, I assume?”
“Yes.”
“I looked at that again when I pulled out her will.” He leans back and taps his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Has Mr. Bradley said anything about wanting guardianship?”
“No, but why else would he want a copy of the will? I happen to know that he and his wife are having fertility issues, and I don’t want him to think he can swoop in and grab up a ready-made family. And Margaret—well, I don’t know her reasoning in contacting him right after Brooke’s death. She maywanthim to have custody.” I tell him about her odd comments about the importance of family and her desire for me to tell Lily that Zack is her father.
“I see. I see.” He frowns and sits forward. “Well, I’ll have to research this, but my understanding is that donor contracts are almost always upheld, although, of course, he can challenge it. If he decides to mount a legal challenge, your biggest problem will be that he’s an attorney.”
My brow knits. “But he specializes in corporate mergers.”
“Yes, but regardless of his specialty, he can stretch things out and file suit after suit until you’re financially exhausted.”
