Blood Rivalry

“Mr. Atkins, the Gastons are here. I put them in the small conference room.”

“Thank you, but I prefer to meet them in my office,” he said, setting the article aside and extracting a new legal pad from the top right drawer of his desk. “Could you show them back?”

“Of course. Can I bring you a cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

“Very well.”

Walker had tried to get Mrs. Beasley to take the formality down a notch and had asked her, time and time again, to call him Walker, but she insisted on calling him Mr. Atkins. She was close to sixty and very traditional. She had attended secretarial school years ago, before women were offered many options in the working world, and she’d never veered from her upbringing. Walker felt awkward calling her by her first name, Catherine, when she was so formal, so they stuck with last names. At times, Walker wished he had a younger secretary, one more relaxed around the office, but Mrs. Beasley was excellent at her job, and she protected and took care of Walker like he was her son.

A minute later, an elderly couple entered his office, and Walker stood, walked around his desk, and greeted his guests.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gaston, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

They shook hands, and Walker asked them to take a seat. Walker’s office was large enough for his desk and a seating area with a small sofa and two chairs around a coffee table. He motioned them towards the couch, and as everyone was getting comfortable, Mrs. Beasley returned and placed two cups of coffee, a pitcher of water, and three glasses on the coffee table.

“So, Mr. and Mrs. Gaston, what can I do for you today?” asked Walker.

“Please call us Hugh and Loraine,” said Mrs. Gaston. “We’re simple folks.”

“Of course, and please call me Walker.”

Walker sat across from them, assuming he did not have to ask the question again and that, eventually, one of them would explain why they wished to speak with an attorney. Walker saw a beaten man sitting across from him; Hugh was slumped in his chair, head down, holding his well-worn trucker’s hat with both hands in his lap. He’s embarrassed, Walker thought. He won’t look me in the eye.

Walker’s patience was rewarded. Loraine shifted to the front of her chair and sat at an angle so she could face her husband. She gently took her husband’s hand, smiled at him, and then turned towards Walker. “Mr. Atkins, we need your help. We’re about to lose our home and everything we’ve worked for.”

Walker looked at Hugh, who remained silent, nodding at Loraine to continue.

Loraine reached into her purse and pulled out a notice of default from the lender holding the mortgage on their home. “We received this in the mail a little over a week ago. Ella and her husband Roger dropped by for a visit before heading to their reunion where she ran into you. Ella could tell we were upset. I was crying, and Hugh was fit to be tied. So, we showed her the notice. That’s how come she knew to ask you about helping us.”

Walker gave Lorraine a neutral, non-judgmental nod. He’d learned that was an important aspect of being a lawyer—receiving sensitive information without judgment.

“Understood,” he said, and then turned to Hugh. “So, Hugh, your wife says you were fit to be tied. I assume you weren’t expecting the notice. Is that right?”

Hugh looked like he’d rather be anywhere else on the planet than sitting in Walker’s office, discussing this subject. “That’s right,” he grumbled. “We’d signed a piece of paper when we bought the house so that the bank could take the money we owed them each month right out of our bank account.”

“So, I’m guessing there wasn’t enough money in the account to cover the payment.”

“We received this notice in the mail the same day,” said Loraine as she pulled another envelope from her purse. Walker leaned forward to take it from her. He removed a single sheet of paper from the envelope.

“An overdraft notice,” he announced.

Hugh mumbled something in response.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t make out what you said . . .”

Hugh sat up straight in his chair and Walker was sure this was the first time the man had looked him in the eye. “I said that I’ve never been overdrawn in my life.”

“Understood,” replied Walker.

“We pay our bills. Those bastards stole our money!”

Loraine patted Hugh’s hand. “He’s talking about the bank, Coastal S&L.”

“I’m talkin’ bout all of them. Coastal, the folks who sold us the home, and those bastards who put us in the loan in the first place. Bunch of crooks—the whole lot of ’em. I apologize for my cursin’, but not for bein’ angry. They stole our money.”

“Apology not necessary, sir. Let’s see if I can’t help you folks get on top of this. But first, I’m going to need some more information. Why don’t you tell me how you came to own the house located at 72 Crestline Road in Pawleys Island,” he said as he read the address off the Default Notice.