Wilfred Graeme-Hughes folded his newspaper and moved his dirty breakfast dishes from the coffee table, making room for Terry. Jeantrine sat him down and propped a pillow behind his head.

"What happened?"

"He just started to hyperventilate in the coffee shop. I have no idea what's wrong."

"I say, Terry. Bit of stomach bother, have we?"

He shook his head and winced. "My head- I- I feel dizzy."

Wilfred stood up and laughed, turning to Jeantrine. "It's a massive hangover, old girl. Something set it off or a combination of somethings. Make him one of your cure-alls."

A full hour later Terry was able to sit up and drink the coffee prepared by Jeantrine. She sat beside him on the sofa, her hands folded in her lap. Wilfred, now dressed in casual pants and a mauve golf shirt, sat across the room sipping a cocktail and reading through some papers.

"Whew, that was not fun at all."

"You really reacted to last night's wine, I think." Jeantrine said.

"But I felt okay at home." He faced her and smelled the honey-scented perfume.

"Do you feel well enough to have that talk?"

He looked at Wilfred and jerked his head.

"Don't worry about him." She stood and walked over to Wilfred, bent down and whispered something in his ear. He looked up at her and then at Terry and did a facial shrug, gathered his things and left.

"I wish I could get rid of him that easily." Terry complained.

"He's not so bad, Terry." She came back and sat beside him. "Actually he's very nice... and generous."

"Yeah, okay." He leaned back and did a long, slow blink. "What did you want to say to me?"

"I wanted to state a case for Wilfred's plan and if you'll listen without getting upset or interrupting I think you might want to reconsider your position."

"Fine. Go ahead and talk." He closed his eyes and concentrated on her soft, throaty delivery.

Thirty minutes later Terry opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Apparently he'd slipped down while listening. Jeantrine was stretched out with her feet on the coffee table. Her argument drifted about in his mind like sand in the wind. His role, as she described it, seemed pretty simple. All he would be required to do was essentially tell the truth, slightly embellished, but mostly true. As Wilfred had said earlier, his own background patterned the Trasker heir quite closely. Still it was a scam and illegal as well. He sat up and found Jeantrine watching him closely.

"Well, any questions?"

"Yes. One. Do I look nuts?"

"Oh, Terry. This is an amazing opportunity. The trust is worth millions."

"What about the real heir, don't you think he might be entitled to it before us?"

"He has no idea who he is nor do the people who raised him."

"Oh gee, well in that case..."

"He's happily married with a baby, a lovely home and working away at a decent paying job."

"So you know who he is. Why not tell him, maybe he'll offer you a share."

She sat up and leaned forward, hands clasped. "Terry, Wilfred has worked very long and very hard on this. He has left nothing to chance and the reward is staggering. The trust has been in effect for twenty-six years, sitting in a bank and doing nothing but gather interest. It was huge to begin with if you know anything about Carleton Trasker."

Visions of unrestricted living dappled the pool of interest lapping at the edge of his thoughts. It was tempting... very tempting.

"What about DNA or fingerprints? Where do I get proof of who I am supposed to be?"

The questions sent a charge into Jeantrine. He was leaning and she hurried to assure him that everything was researched and ready. She stood and went to the room bar, holding a glass out in question. He hesitated and then nodded.

"Wilfred has a few hair samples from the real heir; he managed that during his research. Any DNA request is covered." She looked at the drink in her hand. "The people who started the litigation are all gone. The judge is gone. The principals are gone. All that remains are the old files... and the money." She returned with a drink and handed it to him and stayed standing in front of him. "To a deal?" She held out her glass.

Terry looked at the drink and then up at Jeantrine. "How trustworthy are you and Wilfred if I agree to go along?"

"Would believe my answer?"

"I don't know. Should I?"

"Yes."

He nodded and looked at his drink again. Her scent reached his nose and he lifted his eyes enough to take in the stretch of material across her thighs. Jeantrine was very well constructed, he mused distractedly.

"Well?"

His eyes traveled up to hers, past the tiny bump of tummy and the much larger bumps of bosom. "When does school start?"

Her mouth stretched into a huge smile and she clicked his glass with hers, tossing the contents down in one gulp then she pulled him to his feet and gave him the most unbelievable kiss he'd ever experienced. This was hot... hotter than hot and Terry had to pull away before humiliating himself.

Wilfred closed the bedroom door softly, clapped his hands and did a little spin, punching a fist into the air. He went to the closet and took out a large leather satchel and hoisted it onto the bed, flipping the catches and pulling it open. He stared inside at the long months of accumulated paperwork and smiled with satisfaction. Jeantrine would be moving into her own room down the hall and Terry would be moving in here; the game was afoot!

******

Elora pranced past the mirror and raised one long leg up onto the barre. She bent at the waist and stretched her fingers out to her feet, held the position and then repeated the moves with her other leg. Next she held the barre with one hand and rose up onto her toes, lifting one leg at right angles out parallel to the floor. Several exercises later she grabbed her towel and strutted past the mirror again to the showers. The workout had lasted two hours and she was slick with sweat.

Another thirty minutes and she was refreshed, dressed and putting the finishing touches to her hair, she was ready for whoever was calling on her cell phone.

"Hello."

"Elora? It's Darcy, I have an update on that report you requested."

"You realize, Darcy lad, it's Saturday."

"You said fast as I recall... and something about your gratitude?"

She could almost hear his leer running down his chin. "Actually, Darcy I said, soon, and yew're quite cor-r-rect about my gr-r-ratitude."

"Should I come over?"

"I don't think so. I'll meet yew in thairty minutes in the Miller Park Teahouse."

"Oh..."

"Don't be late." She hung up and smiled. Amazing what the vaguest hint can stir in the wee minds of wee men.

*****

"That's a nasty looking nose, Mr. Ditchburn." Hoyte hit the screen saver on his computer and moved away from his desk.

"No thanks to you, Boorland." Hoyte lifted his arms in confusion. "Never mind that now. You've been sending unauthorized memos on a closed file, a file that is supposed to remain closed."

"Memos are company policy, sir, as I told you."

"Never mind company policy; I didn't give you the job of organizing old files to start opening them up. Now the damn thing is in the system and we have to justify our reason with the board. Stuff like this costs money, Boorland." Ditchburn huffed and flapped around the tiny office.

"Shall I send a cancellation memo... an error incident form?"

"Good God, no! Then we'd have to justify that as well! Do not do anything more, Boorland. Put the file back where it was and forget about it. Are we clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

*****

"Sounds like panic, doesn't it, old boy." Wilfred bit into his toast and chewed happily. "Good work, Hoyte; your efforts won't be forgotten."

"Did I hear you say, Hoyte?" Jeantrine drifted into the room in a pink, diaphanous cloud of swirling negligee. She reached down and took Wilfred's second slice of toast.

"Yes it was, darling. It seems our little ploy has stirred the nerve endings at JGD&S. Poor old Hoyte just received a tongue lashing from the new partner, Chris Ditchburn, whom I trust got his from the infamous Elora George."

"You like her, don't you?"

Wilfred slipped a hand into the silky material around her bottom. "I adore all women, darling, particularly those of your shade. He squeezed and grinned his boyish grin.

"Just don't let that adoration cloud your mind... darling."

He laughed and released his grip, returning to the paper he'd been reading when Hoyte called.

"How's our heir this morning?"

"Still sleeping. He doesn't hold his liquor very well."

"Disappointed?"

"Only you would think that, Wilfred." She poured some coffee from the carafe and sat across the table from him. "What's the next step?"

"We send the draft of our letter to JGD&S with the outline of our claim. Do you think you can behave lawyerly when we meet with them?"

"You can do the lawyering, I'll just play the dutiful assistant... and Elora George alarm."

"C'mon now, love, this is business, not that I would forsake you in any event, my darling."

"How reassuring, Wilfred." She finished her coffee and went to the sink. "I guess I should wake, Terry and tell him the plan. He'll need some schooling before we let them at him."

"I shall be downtown picking up our new stationery. I like the idea of being a company, don't you?"

"Graeme-Hughes and Twilly. Sounds veddy, veddy British, Wilfred."

"And the colours we chose are perfect. Charcoal grey and burgundy, just screams class."

"We'll also need a colour printer, that other thing is shot."

"I shall see to all our corporate needs, Jeantrine."

"Good. And I'll manage the personnel." She kept her back to him but she could sense the discomfort her comment caused by the shuffling of his paper. "Will you be long?"

"I shall see that I'm not."

*****

The Miller Park Teahouse stood beside a paved jogging trail on one side and a fabricated duck pond on the other. Darcy sat at a small round, tile-covered table overlooking the pond. His old Panama hung on the corner of the iron chair; at least he'd removed in the teahouse, Elora thought as she made her way toward his table. A man snacking with his female companion lost many points when he halted mid chew to ogle her strut through the little restaurant. Darcy hadn't waited to order and was idly stirring a large clear glass filled with blueberry tea when she slipped into the chair opposite.

"Early in the day for that, no?"

"It's not that alcoholic," he fussed.

"I'll have a wee pot of rose hip, please." She said to the waitress that quickly appeared and departed.

"Rose hip tea?"

"It's my vitamin C source, Darcy. You should try it."

"I'll stick to blueberries thanks."

"Yew do realize that there aren't really any in that tea."

"Did I come for chemistry lesson?"

Elora squinted at him. Did he not realize she was partner in the firm that employed his wee ass? "Nae, Darcy, yew came to provide my update so let's gi' to it."

Elora's tea arrived and she made a ceremony out of adding a tiny dab of honey from the condiment container on the tray. When she finished she sipped it and closed her eyes for a second then set the cup down and looked at him. "Well?"

"Hoyte has been making calls to a cell phone number that has no registration and he's received a couple at work from the same phone."

"Can't you trace it?"

"No, and don't ask why. Just accept my expertise in the matter. And before you ask your next question, no, I can't access any text or e-mail messages he may or may not have received. Hoyte Boorland is actually very clever, technologically."

"So what is it I've learned then, Darcy?"

"Well the fact that he's making and getting calls on a throw away phone should ring a warning bell or two." He tasted his own tea and smacked his lips. "Also, I noticed that the dates of the calls coincided with the first time he accessed the Trasker file and again when he sent the inter office memo. My own observation is that Hoyte is plotting with somebody outside to fiddle that file."

"How could he do that? The base trust account is password locked."

"Like I said, Hoyte's pretty clever apparently."

Elora sipped her tea and ran an absent tongue over her lips while she thought. "Can yew hack that file?"

"Possibly. It'd take a while because of the lock. It's not just guessing the password. You have to use it a certain way to unlock the file."

"So it's possible that's what he's up to then?"

"I think he's doin' something with it. Course it might not be that at all; without proof it might be letters to his mom."

"Well then, Darcy, yure job is to find that out then."

"And your gratitude?"

She looked him, at the thinning hair, the ruddy cheeks from too many blueberry teas and the weak blue eyes and thought, uh-uh. Maybe another time if absolutely necessary. Besides, what would he expect as gratitude considering his orientation? "It will be monetary, Darcy. A wee extra in your pocket on payday. From me... personally."

"Oh... yeah- well that'll be nice too."

"I'll get this," she said, business concluded. Darcy gulped the rest of his tea and left.

Several runners left the jogging path and curled down to flop on the grass by the pond and Elora watched the men in the group, flexing and stretching and she felt herself imagining how her gratitude might be received by one of those taught, sweaty bodies. The waitress came and placed the bill on her plate and cleared away the used dishes. Elora dropped a card on the bill and leaned back in her chair, catching the eye of one of the joggers through the window.

His stare was interesting and bold and he made a show of crunching his thighs a few times and doing windmills with his arms. Elora made a sniffing sound and signed the bill when it came back. She gathered her purse, stood and gave one last glance at the jogger then left the teahouse.

*****

Walter was sitting forward behind his massive desk listening eagerly to Elora's description of Darcy's theory based on his investigation. His colour faded when she mentioned the possibility of the trust being under attack.

"We can't allow that! We'll have to call in the police and squash this before it takes root!"

"Do that, Walter, and yew'll remove any opportunity we might have to use the money oursel's."

"But- but what then? We can't just let somebody steal it out from under our noses! My God, we've already bought all that stock on margin!"

"Worst case, Walter, we take a wee bath on that."

"A wee bath! Jesus, woman it's thousands of dollars!"

"I said worst case, Walter. Let's just see what our gnomes can produce before we kill oursel's." She didn't like being in business with weak men and Walter, in spite of his astonishing physical attributes, was fading as a good prospect. Her mind flew back to the flexing jogger and she stared at Walter with a suddenly distracted view.

"We've got to do something, Elora."

"Aye."

"Right away."

"Aye." She moved to the desk.

"This can't be left to run loose."

"Nae." She came around the desk.

"Action is required immediately."

"Aye, 'tis." She pulled his chair away from the desk and sat on his lap.

"You- you agree, right?"

"Oh, aye." Walter lost his train of thought and the trust became a faint memory for the next twenty minutes.