The Seal of Solomon Read Free Page B

fortune valued at . . .” Mr. Needlemier glanced at the papers in the folder. “Yes, four hundred million dollars—give or take a million.”

3
    A glass shattered and everybody jumped. Betty had come into the room with my water, and when Mr. Needlemier said “four hundred million dollars,” the glass slipped from her hand and smashed on the floor. She ran into the kitchen for a towel to clean up the water and broken glass.
    All the color had drained from Horace’s face. He reminded me of a middle-aged Casper the Friendly Ghost.
    â€œNaturally, as is usually the case in these matters, you are not due to gain control of the money until you reach the age of eighteen,” Mr. Needlemier said. “Until then a trustee will manage your inheritance.”
    â€œA trustee?” I asked.
    â€œTrustee,” Horace whispered.
    â€œSomeone to look over your financial concerns. A guardian of your interests, as it were.”
    â€œWho’s the trustee?” I asked.
    â€œWho? Yeah, who’s the who?” Horace whispered.
    â€œUnfortunately, the will does not designate a trustee. That choice falls to me, as executor.”
    â€œSo who’s it gonna be?” Horace asked.
    Just then Betty came back with a towel and a whisk broom, saying, “Oh, don’t you hate breaking a glass? You never can get all the little pieces and when they get in your foot—”
    â€œSo let’s stop the pussyfooting around, Mr. Needlehiemer,” Horace said. “Who’s the trustee?”
    Mr. Needlemier stared at Horace for a second. “I haven’t decided.”
    â€œYou haven’t decided?”
    Mr. Needlemier shook his head. “That is one of the reasons I’m here.” He turned back to me. “I want to know Alfred’s wishes.”
    â€œAlfred’s wishes?” Horace asked. “ Alfred’s wishes! You’re telling me you’re gonna let a kid—and, forgive me here, Al, but a kid with not much wattage in the brains department— decide who manages four hundred million dollars?”
    â€œActually,” Mr. Needlemier said, “the figure is closer to a billion dollars, if you include the assets of Samson Industries.”
    Horace’s mouth came open but no sound came out, as if the word “billion” had sucked all the air out of him.
    â€œI’ll have to think about it,” I said.
    â€œOf course,” Mr. Needlemier said. “It’s a great deal to think about.”
    Horace got some of his breath back and whispered hoarsely, “I’ll help him. Alfred. Think about it. Al’ll need my help with that. The thinking.”
    â€œAlfred means the world to us!” Betty called from the kitchen doorway.
    â€œI was saving the news for a big surprise,” Horace told Mr. Needlemier. “But I guess this is a red-letter day for big surprises. See, Betty’s right; the kid means the world to us and funny thing is, Mr. Needlemanner, we’ve talked to our lawyer to get the ball rolling.”
    â€œWhat ball?” I asked.
    â€œWe’re adopting you, Alfred, you adorable big-headed lug.”

4
    Mr. Needlemier gave me his card and said he’d be in touch in a couple of weeks. He told me he was sorry for my loss. I didn’t know if he knew about my father being the head of a secret order of knights charged with protecting Excalibur, the Sword of King Arthur, so I decided not to mention it to him. I didn’t have the chance, though, even if I wanted to, because Horace was hovering right next to him from the time he stood up till the good-byes at the front door.
    After Mr. Needlemier left, Horace barked at Betty to stop sweeping and vacuuming and running a wet cloth over the floor where the glass broke, and get started on dinner.
    â€œWe’re making your favorite, Al,” he told me. “Steak and potatoes!”
    â€œThat’s not my favorite,” I