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The request for a meeting came via urchin courier. Which surprised Willem Bran, Esq. Until he saw that the signature at the bottom: Miss Laica Friel. In the past year, Miss Friel has become infamous for her populism, bordering on anti-monarchism. Not to mention some of the unsavory company she kept, relics of her refugee years.
Everybody has their weak points where ideology breaks down and their hypocrisy is revealed. Apparently, the weak points of the daughter of the most rabid anti-monarchist the wilds of Southern Ferelden could produce included things like a fancy cars, penthouse apartments, and black cards. If Miss Friel’s notorious dating history was any indication.
He slowly traveled downtown to the botanical gardens, pacing himself so that he was sure to be at least ten minutes late. He was not a man at the beck and call of a farm girl, no matter how many royals she slept with. As he walked, he mentally rehearsed the best ways to refuse her request. Others may treat the pop singer as her lovers would prefer. But Willem was not impressed with petty fame or new moneyed social climbers.
He hoped that she would be requesting aid to challenge a prenuptial agreement. He had several particularly withering lines to deliver in that case. Unfortunately, Miss Friel was publicly committed to spinsterhood. In all likelihood, she had some contract dispute or copyright nonsense to bother him with. Willem had taken the liberty to carefully compile a list of other, cheaper, attorneys who specialized in that sort of thing.
One couldn’t blame the girl for her ignorance, after all. Fereldan schools were always lacking in, well, every area. Which was why any Bann with two brain cells and two coppers to rub together sent their children to the boarding schools in Wycomme for their education.
Finally, he came upon the woman waiting for him at the gates to the arboretum. Which was, coincidentally, the selfsame place where she had once engaged in a very public reconciliation with the youngest Prince Vael. Perhaps this is about the prenuptial agreement after all, he smirked at the thought.
She rose to greet him, dressed demurely in a charcoal wool skirt suit, with flashes of coral at her throat and on the band of her wide-brimmed felt hat. “Thank you so much for coming to see me, Messere Bran,” she extended one gloved hand in greeting. “I really do appreciate it. And I promise I’m not wasting your time.”
Willem grasped her fingertips lightly and bent to kiss the back of her hand. “I’m afraid that remains to be seen, Miss Friel. I am a very busy man. Viscount Dumar’s office handles more than enough cases already. I no longer accept private clients.”
“Of course, of course,” Laica laughed a little and lit a long, white cigarette with a gold label. “Do you smoke, Messere Bran?” She offered him the pack.
Normally, Willem would refuse. But the pack she offered bore no label. Only the Vael family crest. Curiosity got the better of him. “Thank you, Miss Friel.” He accepted a cigarette and her lighter. The smoke was smooth, rich, and had a hint of peat. No wonder she had such a habit.
“I just think that once I have explained myself, you might find that the Viscount’s office has an interest in the case I wish to bring.”
Willem regarded her skeptically. “It’s possible,” he conceded.
“Will you walk with me?” Laica turned toward the arboretum and Willem nodded, offering his arm. The two walked in silence for a time. Miss Friel frequently glancing about as if she were afraid of being followed. Which only served to pique his interest in spite of his efforts to remain jaded. She’s good. No wonder she managed to tame Vael.
Finally, satisfied with the level of solitude they had attained, Laica dropped her voice and leaned closer. “Before I explain, I need your assurance that even if you decide against representing me that I have your confidence. What I am attempting to do is extremely sensitive, and my best chance of success relies on the defendant remaining unaware as long as possible.”
Copyright nonsense. “Of course, I won’t breathe a word.”
“Do swear on your family’s dignity?” She looked up at him from under the downturned brim of her hat, wide-set eyes deeply serious.
That stung. “Yes,” he said, his jaw tightening.
“And I want you to know that I am fully prepared to compensate you for your time today, regardless of your decision,” she smoothly soothed his smarting nerves.
“If nothing else I find myself exceedingly curious as to what this suit is about,” he admitted, glancing at a thoroughly unremarkable oak tree.
She laughed a little. “When you get right down to it, it’s about money.” She shrugged. “There’s quite a lot of it that belongs to my by right. I have all the documentation I could possibly find, and I think I can prove my case. But I’m up against some very powerful people and so I need some very powerful friends.”
“Like the Viscount.”
She shook her head. “No, like you.”
His eyebrows rose. “I am hardly hardly a noble, Miss Friel. You overestimate my reach.”
“You underestimate yours.” She turned to him again. “I have plenty of titled friends. I need somebody who can navigate the legal system.”
“Fair enough.” The ego stroking was nice. “And who are these powerful people you would have me slay with subpoenas and writs.”
She glanced around before leaning closer and speaking in a hush. “Princess Meghan Vael.”
Ah-ha! The prenup after all. “Miss Friel, as sincerely as you... regard the young prince, the Vael family would be mad not to protect their considerable assets from somebody who has, quite frankly, nothing to offer the match.”
A flash of frustration showed on her face before she carefully covered it. “No, you misunderstand me. I’m not marrying anybody.”
Copyright violation? “Then, please, explain.” He smoked his cigarette, thoroughly enjoying her performance.
She stepped back for a moment, looking at him with thoughtful eyes. Then, she peeled off the glove on her right hand and slid off a large, heavy gold ring. “There,” she said, dropping the ring in his palm. “Do you recognize that?”
Willem bit back his irritation. Why would he recognize her costume jewelry? But, deciding to play along, he examined the ring.
It was a very old, very heavy, very possibly genuine signet ring. Bearing an old Kirkwall crest and the motto Sicut Aestus Reditum In. He frowned deeply, no longer amused. “Is this supposed to impress me? Some trinket you found in whatever Lowtown pawn shop that miserable bastard Gamlen crawled into? I don’t have time for your games, you shameless little upstart.”
Miss Friel kept her composure under his scorn, regarding him with a cool look that triggered a memory of another statuesque blond beauty who had disappeared over twenty-five years ago. “Look again, Messere Bran. That is a lady’s ring. It belonged to my mother, I can prove it.”
He did look again, and there was no denying that the slim band was better suited to a woman’s hand. “Maker have mercy, Leandra,” he said quietly, a thousand possibilities coming to mind at once.
“Leandra was my mother. My grandparents never disowned her like they threatened. Whether it was a change of heart or simply an oversight, I don’t know. The point is, when they died, she was their sole heir. And according to successive inheritance laws, that property became mine when she died, just under a decade ago. At the start of The Panic.” Laica informed him, reciting painful facts with rehearsed matter-of-factness. “My uncle usurped my inheritance, and Meghan Vael did not search for me or my siblings with due diligence.” She pulled a thick, unmarked manilla envelope from her purse. “Here are photocopies of the evidence I’ve uncovered.”
“Do you mind?” He opened it and began to rifle through. “You’ve been busy.”
“I have birth certificates for me and my brother, stamped with this very signet, claiming us as her heirs. Nameday certificates with the same. I have finger print records from when I entered school, and photographs from the Fereldan surveillance on my father, clearly showing my brother and myself with my mother. I have the will, clearly claiming my mother as the sole heir of the Amell estate and all lands and fortunes contained therein. I have the court records from the illegal sale of my inheritance to Meghan Vael, in which there is no mention of my mother or her children, despite what the will says.”
Willem smiled. “You have been most thorough. You stand to make a pretty penny from all this.”
Laica’s eyes went cold. “You misunderstand my purpose again, Messere Bran. If I wanted a payout, I could have approached her privately. That’s not why I need you.”
Carefully, he replaced all the documents. “Are you seriously suggesting that you wish to reverse the transfer?”
“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “That is precisely what I’m saying. With interest, if at all possible. Though I would be satisfied with simply having what is mine returned to me. And, if you aren’t up to it, I’ll find somebody who is.”
He was quiet for a time, trying to bring his rioting thoughts into order. “One doesn’t make enemies of the Vaels lightly, girl.”
“So I should just quietly accept the fact that they stole from me?” Her eyes flashed and her voice trembled with righteous outrage.
“I didn’t say that,” he placated her gently. “I am simply saying that I will have to review your evidence carefully and discuss this with Dumar before I make my decision.” Breaking the Vael’s control of New Kirkwall was an intoxicating prospect. He needed to review the facts soberly before committing to this mad scheme. “You have a very compelling case.”
She nodded, taking another drag of her cigarette and pulling out her chequebook. “What is your hourly rate for a consultation?” She asked, quickly making out a cheque to him.
He waves his hand. “Pro bono until I decide whether or not to take the case.”
She nodded, trembling slightly. “Fair enough. In the interest of confidentiality, I will only communicate via trusted courier. You will find a list of names and how to contact them in the envelope.”
He managed not to laugh at her paranoia. “I will abide by your wishes.”
“Thank you again, Messere Bran. I appreciate your willingness to talk with me.” She led him back to the gates.
“Don’t thank me yet, Miss Friel,” he cautioned. “I will contact you with my decision by the end of the week.”
She nodded and took her leave. And he hurried back to the Viscount’s office, clutching the envelope to him as if it might shatter.