Chapter Text
Firmus Piett had recently opened his own private law practice. He had been decently successful in his career so far and it felt like the right move. His firm had only been open for one day when he got the call from a family needing a new lawyer. Their old one, a Mr. Ozzell, had recently passed away from a freak lightning storm.
It was not the type of client he had imagined he would be taking with his new firm, but he decided to take it on anyway. At least it would help pay the bills as he collected other clients. The family was paying extra for the convenience to have him come to the house. So he set out one sunny day and found himself on top of a hill that overlooked the city. He parked his car and stepped up to a large wrought-iron fence behind which stood a large dark house.
He had barely made it out of the car when a volley of explosions ran along the path leading up to the house, followed by two diminutive figures running through the cloud of smoke and kicking up dirt.
"Didn't get me!" one of them yelled and the other snarled, waving something Piett couldn't make out as they disappeared around the back of the house.
Well, that didn't inspire confidence. But he needed the money badly, so, swallowing his nervousness, he pushed open the gate and stepped onto the property.
The house grew larger as he walked up the gravel drive. He glanced over at the tall hedge to the side of the yard where the tops of stone statues could be seen. A shiver went down his spine as it made him think of graves, which was a silly notion since there would be a graveyard here.
He walked up the steps and rang the bell. Instead of the normal chime of a bell, he heard a loud blare like that of a fog horn of a large boat. He jumped and stared up at the house. It was old and in need of a fresh coat of paint. A few of the shutters on the windows were crooked. A sense of dread was building inside of him.
The door opened, revealing a golden automaton of some kind. "You rang?"
The idea that Ozzel had died from a freak lightning storm was getting more plausible by the moment. "My name is Firmus Piett, I'm here as the new legal counsel for the Skywalker family."
A pair of strange-looking children suddenly popped up from behind the robot, both glaring at Piett with scowls on their faces. One was a boy with a mop of golden hair, the other a girl with dark hair done in braids. They were covered in dirt, probably from a rather rough bout of play. Something very normal for children, Piett reminded himself.
"Who are you?" the boy said.
"And what do you want?" the girl pouted.
"Mistress Leia and Master Luke," the robot chided. "Please mind your manners. Please come in Mr. Piett. Master Anakin has been waiting for you."
Piett cautiously walked in. He couldn't help but eye the children who only stared right back.
But his attention soon turned to the large hallway he stood in. A huge staircase went straight up to a set of large double doors before the stairs split off to either side and curled up the sides of the walls to the upper floor.
"This way, Mr. Piett," the robot said.
The robot led him up the flight of stairs and down a long hallway filled with paintings and black and white portraits. The hair on Piett's neck stood on end as he had the unmistakable sensation someone was watching him. But when he glanced over his shoulder perhaps expecting to see the children, he saw nothing. Only the portraits whose eyes seemed to be staring at him.
This was nonsense. He was letting his imagination get away from him. He followed the robot to the end of the halls where there stood a set of double doors.
Behind the doors, he could hear the sound of metal clashing. What on earth is going on in this house? As the robot pushed the doors open, Piett was confronted by the sight of a brunette woman in a tight black skirt, black leather corset, and fingerless gloves effortlessly fencing with a dark blonde man in a loose black tunic and pants.
"Bad form, mon amour," the woman said softly as she spun inwards and tapped her blade against his arm.
"Padmé, that's French," the man growled, dropping his sword to grab her by the waist and kiss her roughly on the neck.
They were deep passionate kisses. Ones that caused both the man and woman to moan and tremble. Piett felt like he should avert his gaze, but was just shocked he stood there until a pair of bright blue eyes landed on him. A shiver ran down his spine as the man lifted his lips from the woman's neck and smiled. A viscous smile that caused Piett's heart to skip a beat.
"Piett!" he shouted.
The man grabbed the woman's sword and flung it at the lawyer.
Piett just barely dodged the sword. The blade went by him and landed with a hard thunk. He looked over his shoulder to see two large doubles had closed behind him. When had that happened? Where had that robot gone?
"En garde, old man!"
Piett looked back only to see the man had taken his sword and was coming right at him.
Piett backed up until he hit the wall. The sword glittered right next to him. This wasn't happening. Surely this wasn't happening. But the man kept coming. Piett ducked as the man slashed at him.
This was happening.
Piett dropped his briefcase and jumped up. He grabbed the sword's hilt and pulled it. It came free, and he held it out. The blade wobbled in the air. The man had backed away two steps with a huge smile on his face.
"Come on, old sport!" he said.
"Sir, I really don't think this is appropriate!" Piett protested as the man lunged at him and he was forced to block.
"Appropriate?" The man laughed. "Where would be the fun in that?" He swung his sword again, slicing the buttons off Piett's jacket.
Piett swung. He honestly didn't even know what he was doing, but he prayed it was enough. Everything was a blur of flashes of silver and the man's laughing face until his sword was ripped from his hand and clattered onto the ground. He found himself staring at the point of the other man's sword.
"Good show!" the man said as he tossed the sword. It somehow landed perfectly into a scabbard that was sitting in an umbrella stand that was filled with other swords.
The man walked up and clapped Piett on the shoulder.
"We will have to work on your form."
Piett just stood there as the man walked over and picked up the fallen briefcase.
"A drink, Mr. Piett?"
The woman!
He looked to his right. She was standing by the table near the window. It was loaded with various decanters and glasses.
"What's your poison?" she asked. "Brandy? Bourbon? Rum?" She touched a decanter as she said each name. "Arsenic? Cyanide?"
"Water," Piett squeaked.
She smiled and turned around as she prepared drinks.
"Have a seat!" the man said, handing Piett his briefcase and leading him over to a large desk near the window. The man walked over to the woman who handed him two glasses. "None for yourself? You are leaving me. Padmé . . . I cannot be without you. When you are gone a thousand pins stab into my every nerve, my heart can barely beat, I can't breathe. It's torture."
She placed a hand against his cheek. He leaned into then pressed his lips against her skin. Soon he was leaving dozens of kisses on her hand and wrist.
"I know," she said in a sultry voice.
Then she walked away. She nodded her head at Piett as walked past.
"Good to meet you, Mr. Piett. Would you like to stay for lunch?" she asked.
"I . . . uh . . ."
"Please, think about it."
She walked out of the room. Piett turned around to see the man's eyes completely fixed on her until the doors closed.
"You and your wife . . . have a very loving relationship, Mr. Skywalker," Piett said, awkwardly trying to break the silence and Mr. Skywalker turned his gaze back to him with a fire blazing in his eyes.
"She is my dark avenging Angel, my goddess, my empress, my everything," he said as gravely as if he were reciting Shakespeare. "Surely you feel the same way of your own beloved, Piett?"
"I'd . . . say I'm married to my job more than anything else at the moment," Piett said, feeling a little uncomfortable at the sheer intensity radiating off his client. "Speaking of my job, should we get down to business now? I was to believe it was somewhat urgent that you get a new lawyer as soon as possible?"
Skywalker handed him the glass of water and then sat down behind the desk with a long sigh. He took a sip of his drink, something dark in color. Piett took a sip as well and while the water was refreshing he was regretting not asking for anything stronger.
"We should be discussing old business," Skywalker said cryptically. "It is not the new quarter yet when it is time for new business. But my family was recently in some legal troubles. My mother and I decided it's time to make sure everything is nice and tight to avoid any future mishaps."
Piett sighed. Ok. This he could do. Not sword fights. He placed his glass down on the desk and opened his briefcase in his lap pulling out a leather-bound journal to take notes on.
"I heard you previously held counsel with Mr. Ozzell. Did he leave you with any of his notes or work?" Piett asked. It would be nice to see what was already in place.
"The last time I saw Mr. Ozzell, he was in such a rush, he went flying through the window," Skywalker said.
What an odd saying, Piett thought to himself as he finished getting himself ready.
"I heard from Judge Tarkin he was a fine man," Piett said.
"Well he does make a fine addition to the garden," Skywalker said, glancing over his shoulder out the window. "And he did reunite me with my sister!"
The two sat for a few hours in what must have been Piett's oddest case ever. He didn't even understand half of what Anakin Skywalker talked about though he didn't understand the gist of it. The family wanted to make sure it was clear what assets were under which family member and who would inherit what once the matriarch, Anakin's mother, passed.
"I will need to speak with your mother about a lot of this," Piett said.
"Of course!" Anakin said. "She is down in the kitchen making lunch. But oh! Before we head down, let me collect your payment. Wait here."
Anakin got up and left the room. Piett thought it would be good to organize a few of his notes but he couldn't focus over the sounds he heard. Was that the crack of a whip and a roar? And Anakin shouting? Piett got up and went to the door. It was still partially open and he could see down the hallway but it was empty. Yet he felt it again . . . someone or something was there . . . watching him . . . He closed the door and returned to his seat.
Anakin returned sometime later with a large clinking bag.
"I believe this should cover everything," he said as he handed it to Piett.
Piett almost dropped it as he pulled it into his lap. It was far heavier than he thought it would be. He opened it and peered inside. It was filled with metal coins.
What . . . what was this? Was this some kind of joke?
"Ozzel had the same face the first time I paid him too," Anakin chuckled. "He used Imperial Banking for the exchanges, never had a problem with them. Now, come on, Mother is waiting."
Piett's muscles screamed in protest as he lifted up the heavy suitcase and followed his client down the stairs. As they walked, he spotted the two children from before making their way through the foyer with their own tiny swords.
"Does everyone in this family use melee weapons?" he blurted out, unable to help himself, and the two children stopped to look at him as if he had just asked if the sky was blue.
"Doesn't every civilized person?" the boy, practically a miniature of his father asked.
"They're more elegant weapons," the girl added.
"Luke, Leia," Anakin chided, kissing each of them on the forehead. "We don't insult people until we know them better, remember?"
"Yes, Father," the children chorused.
"Now go find your aunt and tell her it's time for lunch."
The children smiled and ran off with their swords in hand. Piett had heard of not running with scissors, surely running with swords was worse.
"This way!" Anakin chimed as he led Piett through a maze of hallways into a large room that must be the kitchen. Piett didn't know what else it would be.
In the far back was a large old-fashioned cast-iron stove one might find in a cabin on the frontier with fire crackling inside. Above were racks where various pots, cooking utensils, and more weapons hung. In one alcove he swore he saw a bathtub. On one wall was a large cooking range where a few steaming pots sat on burners tended by an older woman.
"Mama!" Anakin exclaimed as he trotted over.
The woman paused in her stirring and turned to him. Piett wasn't going to lie. He felt relief seeing that she appeared quite normal. Her graying hair was back in a few braids and loops and she wore simple but comfortable dark clothing. The mother and son had a quick hug before Anakin peered into one of the steaming pots.
"Oh!" he said as he dipped a finger. "My favorite!"
Mother Skywalker smiled. Anakin let out a small yelp and pulled his hand out and shook it as if it was injured.
"Still a bit of a bite in them," he said as if chastising.
"Just the way you like it," his mother replied. She was now facing Piett. "And is this the new lawyer?"
"Forgive me, Mama. Let me introduce you."
Both Skywalkers came over.
"This is Firmus Piett," Anakin said. "Piett, this is my mother, Shmi Skywalker."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, madam," Piett said, holding out his hand to shake hers.
She didn't shake his hand, but she did grab it with both of hers. She stared intently at it and traced some of the lines on his palms with a finger. She hummed and clicked her tongue before she finally let the hand drop.
"You picked him well, Ani," Shmi said with a smile.
"Of course I do!"
"How well does he duel?"
"Poorly."
"Well, he has room to grow."
"Now, please go set the table, Ani," Shmi said as she turned back to her cooking. Her son complied and walked over to a large black wood cabinet and started taking out metal plates. "Have a seat Mr. Piett," Shmi called without looking over. "You look a bit faint. Some warm food will do you good."
Piett nodded and sat down at one of the chairs at the long table in the middle of the room. It looked more like a workman's table as it was crisscrossed with cuts and scars, but he said nothing. Anakin had just put down the first plate when a large explosion shook the room. The pots and pans clattered and banged together from their hooks. Somewhere something glass fell to the ground and shattered. Dust rained down from the ceiling.
Both Skywalkers had paused in their work and looked around then both looked at the door. Piett turned to look too as he heard laughing. The children came running. They were covered in black soot and were soon followed by a young woman.
The first thing Piett noticed was the white hair with blue-teal streaks that was in two thick braids. Her skin was a dark tan that caused the white tattoos on her face to stand out. She was dressed in a maroon sleeveless top and tight leather pants with high boots. And like the children, she was covered in soot.
"Ahsoka, Luke, and Leia Skywalker," Shmi snapped. "You know the rules about dragging gunpowder into my kitchen. Go wash up."
The children frowned as they looked up at Ahsoka, who shrugged and said. "You heard her." She knelt down and grabbed each child by their waist and using inhumane strength picked them both up and tucked them under her arms. The children laughed as Ahsoka carried them both out of the room.
"Cara bella!" Anakin said.
Piett looked to the other side of the room to see Mrs. Skywalker walking in. She was wearing a new outfit. A sundress of sorts. It was sleeveless with two thick straps that tied at her shoulders. At the top it was black but then it faded into a bright blood red where the dress stopped at her calves. She wore a large sun hat, brown leather gloves, and held a basket of bright red roses that not only matched her dress but her lips as well.
Mr. and Mrs. Skywalker walked towards each other. She held out a hand and he gently pulled off her glove. He kissed her knuckles. It was a deep long-lasting kiss, and while he did so he stared deeply into her eyes. Then he started to leave a trail of quick kisses starting at her hand and up her arm until he got to her shoulder. He paused as he took a deep whiff.
"That smell," he said in a low voice.
"I was out gardening," she said. Her tone matched his.
"It reminds me of that romantic weekend getaway we had."
"Gettysburg?"
"Yes," he said as he leaned in and kissed her neck. "The moonlit night."
"The cemetery," she said as she closed her eyes and leaned her head back.
"The freshly turned soil," he murmured between kisses.
"You two can do that later," Shmi Skywalker snapped. "Ani, you didn't finish setting the table."
Anakin groaned as he stepped away from his wife.
Shmi returned to her pots and stirred them for a moment. "You must excuse my son and my daughter-in-law, Mr. Piett, they have never quite gotten past the honeymoon phase. How much eye of newt do you usually like in your soup?"
"Eye of..."
"Newt," she repeated, and Piett covered his mouth to hide the involuntary gagging.
"I had a rather big breakfast, Mrs. Skywalker—"
"Nonsense, you're thin as a rail," she scolded. "And it's Ms. Skywalker. There is no mister. Never was married." Piett nodded as Anakin started to set the table again. "And I'll just put in a light amount of the eye. If you want more, you can always add it." Piett nodded again.
He sat there in a daze as the rest of the plates were set down and the children and their aunt returned. Shmi Skywalker brought large steaming pots and plopped them on the table. Fresh cornbread, at least what looked like cornbread was put on everyone's plate and the soup was ladled into each bowl.
Something inside the thick creamy liquid moved. Surely he was seeing things. But nope there it was again as if something was swimming in his soup. He heard a small high-pitched noise and looked to his right where the children sat. They were both stabbing their soup with forks and the liquid inside was thrashing around.
"Luke. Leia," Anakin said. "Are you two playing with your food?"
"Yes, father," they both said in unison.
"Good," Anakin said, smiling.
The children went back to stabbing their soup.
"So Mr. Lawyer," Ahsoka said. She was sitting across from Piett next to Padme. "Are you married?"
"No," he said, thankful for the distraction from eating.
"Have any children?" the children asked again in unison.
"No- no," he said.
"He said he's married to work," Anakin said.
"That sounds so lonely," Mrs. Skywalker said. "Is it miserable to come home to an empty house? To sleep in an empty and cold bed?"
"Mi amor," Anakin pined. He dropped his utensil as Mrs. Skywalker dropped hers. She raised her hand and he took it. "You know how it pains me and drives me wild when you praise another man." He kissed her knuckles.
Mrs. Skywalker arched an eyebrow, and Anakin growled.
"Ahem," Shmi Skywalker said from the head of the table.
"Later," Mrs. Skywalker said to her husband as she started to eat again.
Piett nibbled on his bread, which was thankfully normal. So he hoped.
"Skyguy, I hope your afternoon isn't looking too busy," Ahsoka said with a knowing smirk. "I was hoping you could stop by the garage and see what I've been cooking up in there."
"Oh? Finished your latest project?" Anakin asked.
"The latest prototype at least. I'm sure Mr. Engineer Genius will have some great feedback."
"Is that a compliment or an insult?"
"Can it be both?" Ahsoka asked, chuckling.
"Mr. Piett, Anakin is quite an accomplished engineer," Shmi said. "Youngest to graduate with a master's degree and top of his class."
"Like there was much competition in the penitentiary," Ahsoka mumbled as she slurped her soup loudly.
"Hey! And how many degrees do you have?"
"Don't need one. Experience is the best teacher."
Anakin looked at Piett. "She's just jealous," he explained. Ahsoka rolled her eyes. "You've seen the droids, yes? My creations."
"The . . . droids? The robots?" Mr. Piett asked.
Anakin beamed and nodded.
"Ah, Ms. Skywalker," Piett said. "Before I forget, I was hoping to go over a few things with you."
Shmi sighed deeply and put down her utensils.
"I'm sorry," Piett quickly added. "I hope I didn't offend you."
"It's fine," Shmi said. "I do not like to talk business at the table, and we should be talking old business." Anakin nodded. "Old business is old business and new business is new business and we don't talk about that until the new quarter, but . . . here we are . . . Of course, we can chat after lunch. Please, eat up. You could use some meat on your bones."
PIett looked down at his soup. It had stopped moving, but . . . he stuck to eating his cornbread.
Shmi Skywalker brought Piett back upstairs into a different office. It was smaller and homier and far more comfortable with plush but worn seats and various pots holding house plants. Photos hung on the wall of the various Skywalker family members, some of which Piett recognized as younger versions of the family. There were also quite a number of photos of people he didn't recognize along with various children's drawings and cards tacked onto the wall with pins. Some were quite faded and the drawings looked more like blueprints than anything else. Piett wondered if those were from a young Anakin Skywalker to his mother.
The desk in the room was small and pushed against a wall near a small metal heater. She motioned to Piett sit in the chair next to the desk and the two sat down. He pulled his notes out of his briefcase, careful not to let any of the coins slip out.
The conversation with Ms. Skywalker went far better and smoother than it had with her son. Though not directly mentioned, Piett learned that Ozzell was trying to embezzle the family's money and had almost claimed the family's entire fortune and assets in a very underhanded deal by finding and bringing home Ahsoka. Ahsoka had been adopted into the family as a toddler and was deeply loved by both Shmi and Anakin. But then had a big argument with Anakin and ran away from home, not to be heard from again for years. But that particular incident had been settled, and Piett couldn't help but wonder if it had been settled with Ozzell's death. Ms. Skywalker now wanted to make preventative measures to protect her family as well as establish a clear and legal will of who will inherit what.
"I believe that's all I need for now," Piett said, slipping his notes back into his case. "I can get started on the paperwork and bring over a draft when I'm ready."
"Thank you, Mr. Piett," Shmi said. "I hope you'll serve this family well. I had wanted to take of this matter myself, but Anakin was stubborn and said he would handle it. I had even looked up a few lawyers myself. All highly recommended."
Piett was curious who these other lawyers were. Had he heard of them? The law community could be a small world.
Shmi walked him downstairs to the door. He saw the golden robot again, who bid him farewell and a safe journey. Piett was surprised at the relief that washed over him when the door to his car shut. He hadn't realized he had been so tense. He looked up at the tall house sitting at the top of the hill for a long moment before he started the car and started to drive home.
Piett looked up at the tall skyscraper that marked the main headquarters of the Imperial Bank. When it had been built, it was the largest building in the city. There had been several scathing reviews of it. One of which said, "The Imperial Bank's new building is such a tall monstrosity that it blacks out our sky. At night it's as if it consumes and kills the very stars themselves." It thus earned the nickname the Death Star.
He had successfully opened an account at a branch location near his home, but they had said only the main branch would handle the coins.
He held his heavy briefcase tightly in his hand. He had padded it with a dish towel to keep it from jingling even though it would be a short walk from his Uber to the lobby. As he approached the large glass double doors of the building, a man walked out that Piett recognized.
"Piett," the man said, noticing Piett.
"Judge Tarkin," Piett said with a nod.
They stopped and stood awkwardly facing the other.
"How is your new solo practice coming?" Tarkin asked. His expression was his default, which was a slight frown of disappointment and arrogance.
"It's uh . . . well . . . " Piett stumbled unsure of how to even explain.
"I see," Tarkin said with a slight smile. "Well, good luck." And then he walked off.
Piett sighed. He hated dealing with that man. As he continued his walk to the doors he recalled how the judge had said Ozzell was a fine and honorable lawyer, and yet Ozzell had been trying to cheat the Skywalker family out of their money. He wondered if Tarkin was aware of such schemes, or did Ozzell keep things to himself?
The thought was quickly put aside as he entered the bank and walked up to a podium. He gave his name and was directed to a comfy seating area to the side. He didn't have to wait too long before a man in a suit collected him and walked him through the lobby to a large hallway and stopped at the elevators. They took them up all the way to the top floor.
The lobby of the bank had already been quite fine with a black and grey sleek modern feel. That aesthetic was gone. Instead, it was natural woods with gold accents and deep red plush carpets and seats and marble-topped tables and counters. It screamed of luxury.
He was led down a few halls until he came to a small sitting room in front of a set of double doors. A secretary's desk was off to the side. The secretary said nothing, only nodded. The man walked up to the door and pushed it open. He didn't enter himself, only bobbed his head for Piett to go. Piett walked in and noted the gold name plate outside.
Sheev Palpatine, Chief of Operations.
A lump formed in his throat. Why was he meeting with the CEO? And Sheev Palpatine of all people? He was a very well known figure. The man had a celebrated career as a politician. There had been rumors he may even run for president, but he never had. Instead, he retired and took over the family business which he completely renamed and rebranded it making it into the international firm it was today. Sheev Palpatine was a name that made it on lists of successful and richest business men.
Despite the fact that he had recently been in a house where everyone seemed to be an expert with the blade, Piett felt significantly more in danger as he stepped into the grand office, decorated in black wood and silver enamel and red carpeting. "Mr. Palpatine?" he asked, tugging nervously at his collar.
"Mr. Piett." The ornate leather chair at the end of the office turned around to reveal a man who was very old yet still rather dignified. "My congratulations on securing your new clients, you must be a very brave man."
"You, uh, flatter me, sir." It seemed everyone knew about the Skywalker family's . . . peculiarities. "Did they . . . call ahead to tell you I was coming?"
Palpatine smiled slowly. "Something like that, yes. But I understand you are here on business for yourself, not the Skywalker family?"
"Well I opened up a new account with your bank," Piett explained. "But the branch manager said I would have to come here to deal with . . . uh my deposit."
"Yes, the Skywalkers are known for their unusual payments," Palpatine said.
Piett couldn't help but wonder how familiar Palpatine and Ozzell were.
Piett hefted up his briefcase and laid it on the large and polished desk. He opened it up and pulled out the dish towel causing the coins to jingle. Then he spun the case so it was opened to the CEO.
Palpatine leaned over and plucked out a single coin. He held up to the window allowing the sunlight to come in through the tinted glass.
"These coins due to their weight were only handled by merchants and noblemen. They stopped making these coins over a hundred and fifty years ago," Palpatine said as he titled the coin this way and that. "And yet, there is still a family using it as mere pocket change."
He tossed the coin back into the case and smiled at Piett. A wave of goosebumps broke out on Piett's arms and neck.
"Now then," Palpatine said, sitting down in his far-too-large leather chair. "Do you wish to deposit the full amount?"
"No," Piett said.
Palpatine raised an eyebrow.
"I plan to keep a small handful. For novelty sake."
Palpatine smiled and nodded as he turned to his computer and started clicking away on his mouse. Piett slowly leaned forward, turned the case around, and took a few coins out which he slid into his pocket.
Firmus Piett paced the small living room of his condo. He was unnerved and he couldn't quite place what it was. The oddity of the Skywalker family? Or was it Ozzell? Perhaps it was his dealings with Palpatine.
Piett had scoured over his new account documents and the documents he had been handed after his meeting with Palpatine going over the details of his deposit and his new bank balance. He wasn't going to lie. He was amazed how much money was in that account . . . and yet . . . something was wrong.
He glanced at the few coins he kept that were now sitting on the table in front of the sofa. They glittered in the lamplight.
He didn't like this. He didn't like dealing with these coins. He wanted to get paid through traditional means even if it was just a wad of cash. At least he could go to his regular bank to deposit cash.
The Skywalkers had to have normal currency. Piett had been going over the many documents Anakin and Shmi had provided him. In true Skywalker fashion, the family had owned odd businesses such as an exotic animal sanctuary, a tombstone factory, and a salt mine. Though what surprised Piett the most were the uranium mines. Piett was going to need to hire an accountant to really get everything straight, but his guess was that the family fortune was well into the tens of millions.
But this was just the stuff on paper. None of which mentioned doubloons. Piett had done a bit of internet sleuthing and discovered the Skywalkers were descendants of Spanish Castilian royalty. That could explain why they had the coins . . . But why were they using them like dollar bills?
Piett sighed and sank into his favorite recliner.
He stared at the ceiling for several long moments before he picked up his phone and typed an email to Anakin Skywalker. He wanted to meet to discuss a few things. One of which was he would be outlining a contract of how he would be paid.
He pressed send and put the phone on the stand next to his chair. He closed his eyes, but they shot open when the phone rang. Caller ID read Anakin Skywalker.
"Hello?" Piett answered.
"Piett! You work fast if you already have something to show"
"No, Mr. Skywalker. I just have a few more questions. Possibly need to see a few more documents. I was wondering when would be a good time to come over."
"How about this Friday? Say 7 o'clock?"
That was a bit late . . .
"He may already have plans." Mrs. Skywalker's voice was very near the phone.
"Nonsense," Anakin said. His voice was distant as if he had turned away from the phone.
"Don't pester the poor man," Mrs. Skywalker said.
"I am not pestering him. Shall I show you how I pester people?"
There was a shuffling sound of fabric and kissing and then a bit of . . . moaning? Were . . . were they in bed . . . ?
"Why not just text me a time?" Piett said very loudly into the phone.
"7 o'clock on Friday!" Anakin said. His voice came in loud and clear. "See you then!"
Before Piett could object, the call ended.