Terry blinked open his eyes and pulled a face. "Wha- what time is it?"

"Time to rise my friend. Today is the first day of school."

"Huh? What school?" He elbowed himself into a half sitting position and gazed foggy-eyed about the room. The fog lifted abruptly when he saw Jeantrine planted on the end of the bed in her negligee.

"Whoa! What's this?" He sat right up and pulled the covers around him.

"You had another rough night, Terry. Too much wine again."

"Y-e-a-h, so what happened?"

"We put you to bed and let you sleep in but now it's time to get up and get to work. The plan is into the second stage." She stood up and went to the bathroom door. "Your clothes are in here along with a razor, toothbrush and deodorant. Once you've finished we'll order up some food and then get to work."

"You went to my apartment?"

"You can't wear the same stuff every day. Besides it's much easier if you are right here ready to work and not traveling back and forth."

"I have responsibilities outside of this little game, Jeantrine. I have rent and bills. I have a job for cripe's sake!"

"You won't need that after we get the trust, Terry. And you'll be able to buy your whole building if you want."

"Still, my friends and- and..."

"You aren't a prisoner, Terry. We work for a while and you can do whatever you like but staying here now is very critical to our plans. We can't have the heir, who is from out of town, living in a flat right here in the city." She stood and his eyes closed slowly.

"Okay." He didn't move.

"Well c'mon, let's go."

"Where are you going to be?"

"I have to get dressed too, this is a hotel room, Terry, not a house."

"Well you go and get dre..." His words dribbled away as Jeantrine shed the negligee and stepped into a pair of pink, thong cut panties. She pulled on a stretchy t-shirt with no bra and then a pair of jeans so tight he swore he could see the outline of a mole on her hip. Slipping into a pair of sandals, she gathered her things and put them away in one of the dresser drawers.

"Let's GO, Terry!"

He slid over the side of the bed, holding the sheet in front of him and then did a jerky dance step around the perimeter of the room, keeping the sheet between he and Jeantrine until he reached the bathroom door, where it caught on the edge of a chair and pulled free.

"Tease." She laughed, as he changed to a salmon colour from head to toe. Terry closed the door and, angrily, stepped into the shower and blasted himself with water. He couldn't shake the image of Jeantrine's brown skin against the pink thong and his soap scrubbing took on a purgative objective.

Satisfied he'd driven any lustful thoughts from his mind, he toweled down, shaved and dressed then steeling himself against any possible comments he exited the bathroom and marched out to the living room.

"Aaah, he's here, the devil in a bed sheet." Jeantrine's mouth grew wide with a welcoming grin.

"Not funny." He looked about and frowned. "Is there nothing to eat?"

"Room service is on the way, Terry, grab a chair." She pointed to the seat next to her as she spread some papers out on the coffee table. "This is a brief bio of Trasker's heir. His mother's name, how they got together, the court battle and the shipping off of the baby to foster parents."

"Is this really going to work... I mean...?"

"If you follow your part it will work like a charm, Terry. Wilfred has planned everything down to the proverbial tee."

"What we are going to do is submit a claim on the trust with all the documentation that was originally used—"

"Where did he get all that?"

"We have another source working inside, that's all you need to know. Better if you just concentrate on your role. Okay. We submit the claim and wait for their lawyers to respond. They'll of course want to meet you and they'll expect proof of identity. We know that they know the baby was sent away for protection. We also know they never found out where and have no idea who he is today."

"So why should they believe me?"

"This is the beauty part. Your background is uncannily close to the truth here. You are almost exactly the same age. You were raised by foster parents, who have accepted a handsome compensation for backing up your story, and you can use your own name. No need to try on a new identity. "She grinned at his surprise. "I told you this was well planned. We have all the details to present a credible and foolproof case."

"I just have to learn what's on those papers."

"That's it, Terry, and not even perfectly; after all you were a baby at the time all this happened."

"So just what is this trust worth?"

Jeantrine pursed her lips and sat back. "I think it's enough to know that it is a considerable sum. We don't want you distracted in any way."

"So it's a lot?"

"Terry!"

"Okay, okay." He picked up the sheets and scanned them briefly.

"Here's breakfast," Jeantrine said, getting up to answer the knock at the door.

Terry's eyes followed the impossibly tight jeans across the room and squirmed uncomfortably on the chair. Jeantrine pushed the cart over between them and sat back down... closer.

"Yours is the bacon and eggs with toast, fruit cup and coffee."

"What's that?"

"That's mine. It's a half glass of vegetable juice and yogurt."

"That's it? That's all you eat?"

"I wouldn't be able to wear the gowns provided when I'm playing in the dining room downstairs otherwise." She took a sip of juice. "Or these jeans for that matter."

Terry experienced another flash of pink thong and quickly buttered his toast.

"Anyway let's start with the basics. Your mother's name was Marlene South and she was a very successful travel consultant and arranger. As far as you knew that was her profession, now you can hint of rumours to the fact that she attended a private girl's school and later became a pole dancer before finding a position in the travel industry."

"A pole dancer? My mother!"

"Not your mother, Terry, Marlene South. You only heard rumours about that so unless you need some extra verification, leave it alone." Jeantrine finished her mini breakfast and curled her legs up on the chair. "Your mom got the account for Carleton Trasker when he needed to slip out of sight for a while; the story was he was feeling some heat from clients. Wilfred learned that he was told by his doctor to take the time get some of the same thing with which he wooed his clients. He hired your mother to plan a getaway and she accompanied him as a guide and, as sometimes happens, they got together and Marlene became pregnant.

Trasker, of course, wanted nothing to do with her or any offspring and denied the whole thing. When she filed against him he had his lawyers tie the trust up tighter than a Nun's- than a drum."

"The bastard! No wonder mom had so much trouble."

"This wasn't your mother, Terry, it was Marlene, remember? Anyway, that was when she decided to send you away for your own protection and as a means of protecting her claim if blood tests or something became necessary."

"Blood tests!"

"Don't worry, both Trasker and Marlene are dead and gone and he as much as admitted he was the father when he took up the battle. Besides, I told you Wilfred had the DNA angle covered." She paused and pointed to his plate. "Eat that before it gets cold."

Terry did as ordered.

"Now when the lawyers question you, you tell them that you were naturally curious about your birth mother and wanted to find out who she was. We've arranged with the Aldridges to back that up with a little of their own drama. They advised against it, etcetera. You employed Wilfred to do the investigation—"

"Why?"

"Because that's what he does. Investigate."

"Really?"

"Yes, Terry. Really." She finished a drop from her vegetable glass and licked her lips. "That's about all you need to remember when the lawyers question you. Everything else is your real life. Just stick to the truth of that and they can check it out 'till the cows come home. Great, eh?"

"Why would getting the money from the trust be any easier now than when my mom tried?"

"Marlene, Terry."

"Yeah, right, Marlene. So why the difference?"

"Wilfred learned through some friends of his that the current partners in the law firm that manage the trust were making some interesting moves in the market and through our inside source, discovered that they were planning on raiding the trust for their own use. That's how it was shaping up anyway and he saw the opportunity forming with huge possibilities. He confirmed it when we had it leaked that you, the heir, was about to file a claim. Their market guy was being pressed to protect their money and get it out of the commitment they made."

"If it was their money who would care?"

"They bought a lot of stock on margin, planning to cover it with the trust funds."

"And then I came along."

"Yes, Terry, you did." She came over to his chair and sat on his lap, planting a wet kiss on his cheek. He wiggled under her weight, unsure as what to do. His hands became separate entities, grasping at the armrest and plucking at his leg. The door opened and Wilfred blew in announcing his return. Jeantrine smiled and stood up. Terry couldn't.

"Well how goes it with my merry band of conspirators?" He plunked a large package on the table and went directly to the bar.

"It's still morning, Wilfred." Jeantrine scolded.

"On this coast, darling." He poured a drink and tasted it thirstily. "The stationery is beautiful, have a peek." He smiled at Terry and asked how the schooling went.

"Terry's right into the role, aren't you, Terry?" Jeantrine tore the paper from the package and took out a business card from the box. "Hmmm, very nice. Check it out, Terry."

Wilfred watched her hand it to him with a little extra caress of the hand and sipped his drink thoughtfully.

*****

Darcy prowled cyberspace, hunting for clues to Hoyte's activities. He brooded over the revelation that Elora's gratitude would be in the form of money; he'd imagined a much headier compensation. He had hoped for something that would provide a new experience to take to his partner, but alas, it was not to be and after hours and hours of eye- strain and aching back muscles, when he hit on a route to discarded text messages managed by less than secure precautions, he let out a cheer.

Hoyte had been texting with someone called WGH and the subject matter included the words Trasker trust. He printed out the messages as fully as possible and read them several times, speculating on the purpose. His first instinct was to call Elora and then he hesitated, curious about who WGH might be and exactly what they were up to.

Darcy went back into cyber space and began a concentrated search for WGH.

******

Walter sat nervously at the head of the conference table in the boardroom of Jaeger, George, Ditchburn and Silverberg. Arrayed on either side, in descending order, were Elora, Chris Ditchburn and four members of the company council; the other partner, Ida Silverberg was deceased. On the other end of the great table, comfortably ensconced, were Wilfred Graeme-Hughes, Jeantrine Twilly and Terry Aldridge. Terry was less comfortable than his partners but he managed to sit without wriggling or sweating.

"Perhaps you'd care to present your documentation, Mr. Hughes."

"Graeme-Hughes," he replied affably. "Certainly. It's all in this report... I've made copies so at least three of you can look at it."

Lawyer number one, the spokesperson, picked up the reports and distributed them to his team then thumbed his copy open and began to read.

"It's essentially the same as the one I had delivered to Mr. Jaeger earlier."

"We'll read it anyway, thank you."

"Of course." Wilfred dragged the water pitcher down and filled his glass then Jeantrine's and Terry's.

Terry stared down the table at Walter Jeager who kept leaning over and whispering into the woman's ear then returning Terry's stare. He mentally compared Jeantrine to the woman partner and found it difficult to rate one over the other. He wondered if Miss George wore a pink thong. Jeantrine poked him and flicked her eyes at the lawyers.

"Mr. Aldridge. Your claim seems rather weak under the circumstances," the number one lawyer said, sniffing audibly.

"What would those circumstances be, sir?" Wilfred asked.

"W-ell, it's quite simple. What proof does Mr. Aldridge have besides this," he slapped the report, "circumstantial evidence."

"What proof would you require, sir?"

"Obviously something that irrevocably connects Mr. Aldridge with Carlton Trasker."

"As Mr. Trasker and the alleged mother are no longer with us, all we can offer is evidence in the form of a notarized, sworn statement by Mr. And Mrs. Aldridge, the foster parents." Wilfred withdrew a sheet of the new company letterhead with the recently printed, alleged statement, and slid it down the table. "In their statement you will see information regarding Miss South's early history as reported to them by her. A few personal comments about Carleton Trasker, one being the tiny anchor tattoo on his shoulder and precisely when and where the- where they consummated their relationship, which resulted in this fine young gentleman seated before you."

The legal team huddled over the statement and then passed it to the partners.

Wilfred sipped from his water glass and then continued. "I think there is more than enough in that letter to prove an intimate knowledge of the affair and another document, which I will provide," he slipped another letterhead down the table. "This is a detailed timeline for Mr. Trasker's vacation as noted in his company's records along with Miss South's tax return from the same year claiming expenses for the trip they took together. A copy of the hotel register and, I believe what would constitute the proof you require, a publicity photo taken by the hotel photographer showing the time and date."

"All that doesn't mean he impregnated the woman then." Walter argued.

"Please read the timeline details, sir. I think you'll see that there is little room for doubt."

Elora watched Terry throughout the entire meeting and concluded that while he was apparently truthful and forthcoming and his facts matched the events, there was something slightly askew. She made a note to call Darcy Wiggens and have him do some quick digging.

The lawyers broke their huddle and then formed a new one with Walter and the other partners. Walter's face rainbowed from red to pale grey as they spoke and he began to look frantically from Elora to the legal papers and down the table to the claimants. Finally lawyer number one cleared his throat and jogged the sheets together. "You a- you realize of course that as impressive as these may be we will have to conduct our own investigation into Mr. Aldridge's claim... speak to the other principles and such."

"Of course," Wilfred agreed. "However, any undue delay in those efforts will be treated a s a deliberate tactic to deprive Mr. Aldridge of his rightful inheritance and we will move directly to the courts. This has been going on for a considerable time as you know."

"What can we consider as an undue delay?"

"I think two weeks should be more than ample to do your research and prepare the papers necessary for transfer of the trust." Wilfred finished his water, smiled and stood, gathering his things. "In two weeks then, gentlemen."

Wilfred, Jeantrine and Terry left. Elora examined the letterheads provided and asked for coloured copies; she had some research of her own to do.

*****

Darcy was amazed. The letterhead Elora showed him contained the very initials he was trying to track down in cyberspace. She assured him he would be well compensated if he could find anything useful about the company, Graeme-Hughes and Twilly that she could use to discredit the claim.

"I should have something this afternoon, Miss George." Darcy pushed his Panama back on his head and smiled his leering smile. "There are other forms of compensation that would do very nicely."

"There are also other places of employment, Darcy. Don't be takin' oursel's to serious now."

She knew that down the road there might come a time when extending some manner of physical reward could become necessary if not prudent but not just yet. She was thinking of trying that approach on Mr. Terrance Aldridge.

"I'll call yew this afternoon, Darcy. Di' nae leave wi'out coming up wi' somethin'." Her cell phone rang and she answered as she left Darcy's office.

"Elora, we need to talk."

"We had a talk earlier, Walter." She bleeped the lock on her car and opened the door, sliding in behind the wheel.

"No, no. I mean a 'talk' talk."

"Don't be using yure code words when yew don't mean them, Walter. What di' ye want to talk about, I've got things that need doing?"

"What things?"

"Things that'll gi us an oot wi this trust business." She soothed his nerves with some promises and hung up as she steered her car out of the garage and into traffic.