"Three-hundred thousand dollars?" Darry repeated. His head swam with the probability of the executor's words actually being sincere and not some sick joke.
"The funds have been remanded to The National Association of Unclaimed Property Administrators in the name of Darrel Curtis Senior." The executor paused to look at Darry. "Since the former is deceased and you claim to have proof of being the sole heir to the estate, you are entitled to claim $304,982.05 upon furnishing the necessary legal documents."
"I'm entitled to three-hundred thousand dollars?" he breathed.
How many nights had he spent lying awake in bed worrying about where the money for the mortgage payment was going to come from, or how he'd ever manage to pay off Pony's hospital bills? How many minutes had been spent in the aisles at the market, agonizing over which items they could do without that week? How long had Soda been wearing the same set of work boots with the soles nearly worn clean through? None of that mattered anymore, Darry realized, as he escorted the executor to the front door. Somehow, his hand found the man's, and a dazed exchange of farewells occurred.
"Its from my uncle, Alexander."
That was the one and only mention Darry could ever recall his father making about his remaining family. It had sparked a flash of curiosity. Darry was under the impression that the only extended family he had was a set of cousins living in Detroit. He hadn't been more than thirteen then, and the Christmas card his father was referencing found an unpretentious spot on the end of the mantle and was quickly forgotten.
Then, nearly eight years later, he finds himself answering the door to the news that his great uncle has died and that, in the absence of his father, he is entitled to the sizeable amount of money and land as specified in the dead man's will.
"Three-hundred grand!" Soda was in his glory.
He'd been shouting at the top of his lungs and cracking open beers for Steve and Two-Bit since he'd heard. Pony seemed as happy as anyone else, aside from the fact that he'd been denied a beer, but Darry didn't think he really grasped the full impact of what this money meant for all of them.
"We can buy a new car!" Soda hooted, then froze and tuned to Darry. "We can buy a new car, right Dar?"
Darry shrugged, but Soda hadn't waited for an answer. He was already chattering on about what else he thought he was spending the cash on.
"How about the land he left you?" Two-Bit sat next to Darry on the couch. He watched Soda, Steve and Pony all talking so animatedly that they kept bashing into each other.
"Apparently he has a ranch out in Montana; a hundred acres," Darry told him. "Hasn't been worked in years, but there's a big house on the land."
"What are you figuring on doing with it?"
Darry had called the lawyer he'd used to help him get custody of his brothers to ask for some advice. He'd been counseled to sell the ranch for anything he could as there really wasn't any value in land out there, unless you knew how to operate a ranching outfit, which Darry did not. Still, he wasn't crazy about the idea of selling off the place. He didn't know why, but something was pulling at him to hold on to the place.
"The lawyer I talked to figures I ought to sell it," he sighed. "It really is a pity though. I hear it's real nice out in that country."
Two-Bit nodded and cracked another beer. Steve and Soda had taken to wrestling and were rolling around on the floor. Darry grinned as Soda swiped at Ponyboy, who expertly dodged him.
"If I came into that sort of dough and a house and all," Two-Bit paused to light a cigarette, "and if I had two kid brothers to worry about, I guess I'd want to get them boys out of the city."