“Ms Jones, your 3 o’clock is here”, the intercom buzzed.

“Thank you Casey, please send him in.”

“Hello Mr Bradford, you’re right on time”, Jessica smiled weakly at an old man in a wheelchair as he wheeled himself in. There was a sprinkling of fresh snow on his brown coat and grey hat; his face was red from the cold February weather.  Jessica wondered whether she should have visited him at home as she took out his ex-wife’s file from the filing cupboard.

“Well, a man of my age doesn’t have much to do now, does he?”, Mr Bradford chuckled. Jessica sat on her straight-backed yet comfortable chair realising that he was trying to keep the mood light for he was dreading what was about to come next; beads of sweat on his forehead had given him away.

“Shall we….?”

“You should’ve been my lawyer Jess.”

“I could’ve been, had you contacted me before your ex-wife Mr Bradford.”

“Well, she was always the faster one”, he reminisced.

“That she was. So, shall we start Mr Bradford?”, Jess repeated.

“Oh yes of course. You must be on the clock no?”

“That’s not it, I’d rather get done with this sooner than later. I hope you’re comfortable. I’ll get you your tea with two sugars.”

“Casey”, Jess buzzed her secretary of five years, “Can you please send in two cups of tea, a bowl of sugar, umm…and some cream crackers to go along with it? Yes, thank you.”

“You remember how I take my tea? And my weakness for cream crackers?”, Mr Bradford asked. He was surprised, after all, it had been twenty-two years since he had last seen her. Her face bore the maturity of having to grow a lot within a short period of time; he immediately felt a strong sense of guilt for what he had done, and bile rose up his throat but he drowned it with the glass of water that was kept on the table before him.

Jessica chose not to respond, letting the silence answer the obvious. She could never catch a break; she had worked very hard to be able to never have to worry about money for the rest of her life. But her personal life was in shambles and there was nothing that she could do about it. She was shaken out of her reverie when Casey walked in with the tea and crackers.

Jessica dropped two cubes of sugar into one cup of tea, stirred it and placed it in front of Mr Bradford. He murmured a barely audible “thanks” before taking the cup with shaking hands. Gently balancing his cup of tea with one hand, he turned his wheelchair towards the ceiling-to-floor glass window that framed the beautiful snow-covered city of Boston; if he were to stretch his imagination, the scene outside the window looked like a photo captured and framed. His daughter used to take such wonderful pictures, why had she not become a photographer? “Never mind…” he muttered out loud and turned around to face Jessica.

“Did you say something?” she asked him, “Just admiring the view” he said, “You must be spending countless hours just looking out of the window, no?”. Jessica laughed at his genuine question, “Well, I do spend countless hours here, not looking out of the window no, but pouring over the unending contracts of my clients.”

“That is such a waste Jess.”

“Some people have to do actual work to make money.” Jessica said. Her words stung him and she was surprised at her unprofessional behaviour. She immediately apologised, “I’m sorry Mr Bradford, I shouldn’t have said that. It was highly unprofessional of me”.

“It’s all right my dear. I know this must be tough for you. Why don’t we start?”

“Oh yes. Let me just…yeah”. “This is the Last Will and Testament of Margaret Bradford.…I bequeath all my wealth to my ex-husband Robert Bradford….and all my digital data to my daughter…”

“She left everything to me?” Robert asked surprised.

“Yes, it is for your medical expenses I believe.” Jessica said without thinking.

“You know about it? Did Marge tell you…?

“Umm…yes. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, I am dying after all. These things don’t matter anymore. She still loved me? After all these years? Oh my God. I am…I am…I don’t know what to say…I can’t…I can’t…bre…brea…”, Mr Bradford collapsed on the soft green carpet of Jessica’s office.

Jessica rushes towards him and tries to feel his pulse with shaking hands. “No dad! Dad! Not you too”. “CASEY! CASEY! Dial 911”, she yells as she watches the light in her father’s eyes fade.