Page 4 of The Inheritance At Bourton

Mr. Whitfield was sixtyish, silver-haired, with reading glasses hanging from a cord around his neck. He reminded her of a retired grandfather, not at all like the polished attorneys she’d seen on billboards.

He shook her hand and said he'd known her father for a long time and was sorry for her loss. He greeted Rowan with a handshake. Leah gathered they knew each other. Of course they did. Everyone was connected to everyone, whether she liked it or not.

"I received a letter from Mrs. Hargrove's solicitors last week," Whitfield said, once they were seated. "I was going to write to you this week. You've saved me the postage." He settled his glasses on his nose and opened a folder. "They've raised a query regarding the succession language in the deed, and they've requested documentation concerning your parents' marriage."

"What exactly is the language?" Leah asked.

He turned the folder so she could see.

"It was written in the eighteen hundreds," Whitfield said. "It's been carried forward in every transfer since, because nobody ever wanted to pay a solicitor to redraft what had always worked without trouble." He took the glasses off again. "Your grandfather never questioned it. Your father never questioned it. Until recently, no one had questioned it."

"What does ‘legitimate’ mean?" Leah asked. "Legally. In 1983. Not 1883."

"That is precisely the argument." For a moment, he almost looked approving. "A marriage valid where it was celebrated—Nevada, in this case—is generally recognized in England. But recognized is not the same as registered. A challenge doesn't have to succeed to do damage. It only has to survive long enough to exhaust you. And your finances."

"There it is," she said. "She doesn't have to win. She just has to make it expensive. She knows I drained the account to pay off her husband."

"It is a tactic as old as litigation itself," Whitfield said. "Particularly when one party has money and the other does not."

"Can she win?"

Whitfield was quiet for a moment.

"I don't believe so," he said. "The will names you. The trust names you. The deed transfer names you. I arranged the trust myself. The plane ticket. Everything. He was not a man guessing at his own daughter." He paused. "But I'd be lying to you if I said a challenge was impossible.”

She forced herself to stay calm. She thought about all her plans and how she might finally be settled, only to have it all taken away again.

“What do I do?” she asked.

“Get proof.”

“How? A DNA test? He’s…dead.”

"The marriage certificate—you have it?"

"I found it in the library."

That earned her a faint smile. "Registration. British nationals marrying abroad could register the marriage with the consulate. It wasn't required, but it created an official record here. If your father registered it, the record would have been forwarded to the General Register Office. I can make that inquiry."

"And if he didn't?"

"Then we’ll need to find another way to prove the marriage. Now for the harder question." He looked at her over his glasses. "Does your birth certificate list your father?"

Leah opened her mouth to say yes and then closed it.

She didn't know.

She had a birth certificate. She'd used it her whole life.

“I have one, but I don’t know if it’s real. I never knew I was born in England. Or who my father was. I’m not sure if it would hold up.”

“If it doesn't, we need to know that before they do." He made a note. "And there's one more avenue. This firm has served your family for three generations. If your father ever sought advice about the marriage—registering it, your mother's immigration status, anything at all—there will be a file note. The old files are in storage. I'll have them pulled."

"How long do we have?" she asked.

"A query isn’t the same as a claim," he said. "They've only asked questions so far. Filing a real challenge takes longer and costs them money. It’ll be weeks at least, probably months.” He closed the folder. "Don't spend that time just hoping, Miss Ellsworth. Use it to dig for answers."

She asked the question she'd been dreading since the waiting room. "What is this going to cost?"