Inheritance Tax by InitialLuv

Chapter Five (In which photographic evidence is supplied.)

Martina regarded Milton Hardcastle coolly, not caring for the tone of his voice or the implication of his words. Yet the longer she studied him, she determined that his face was etched more with worry than wrinkles, and his eyes held more anxiety than anger.

He's worried about Mark.

She realized she didn't have a monopoly on that perspective.

Martina moved to where she had discarded her purse, retrieving it to pull out a medium-sized envelope. Wordlessly, she held it out to the judge.

"What's this?"

"Just look." Martina's response was distracted as she glanced in the direction of the doorway, waiting for Mark's return.

Milt gave Martina a long look, then took the envelope and sat down at his desk. He slid his finger under the flap, breaking the seal, and pulled the contents out onto the blotter.

He found himself looking at several different photos. He recognized Martina in many of the photographs. There was also an older woman, maybe in her early sixties, in some of them. But the main subject in all of the photos was a young girl of about eight or nine years old.

One photo was of a birthday celebration. Another was at a beach, or possibly a park. There was also the requisite school photo, the girl grinning in front of an obvious backdrop.

It was the school photo that finally clinched it for Hardcastle. And it wasn't even the girl's curly brown hair or wide blue eyes, although those were things he had definitely noticed. It was the grin. The way it lit up her face and seemed to make her eyes sparkle, even in a photograph. The grin was almost arresting in its honesty and impishness, a contradiction that somehow worked.

Damn it but that grin looked familiar.

He placed the photographs back in the envelope, saving the school photo for last, and then handed it back to Martina.

After a beat, he asked, "How old?"

"She'll be ten at the end of August."

Milt nodded at Martina's answer. He saw that her hands were worriedly fingering the envelope of pictures.

"He didn't know." It was more of a statement than a question. It was true McCormick had never mentioned this woman standing before him, but Hardcastle didn't think he could ever be that tight-lipped about possibly having a child.

"No, he didn't. Things got. . . complicated."

Hardcastle scoffed. "I'm sure," he said sarcastically.

"There's more to it than that, I mean more than him knowing about her. There are things about Olivia – and Mark – that you don't know." At the judge's expectant look, Martina tried to explain. "There's a reason why he got so upset –"

"You think maybe it's because you kept this from him for ten years?" Milt muttered.

Martina had the decency to look abashed, and then a little fearful.

"I just hope it doesn't determine how he feels about her. None of this is her fault."

Martina quieted as Mark's approach was announced by his quick tread down the stairs. He came through the doorway and down the den steps before he picked up on the tension between the judge and Martina. His eyes flickered back and forth as he decided who to interrogate first.

"Judge."

Hardcastle attempted a look of grumpy innocence. "What?" he growled defensively.

"I've been gone maybe five minutes. What happened?"

The judge sighed in surrender, and gestured with his left hand to the chair on the side of his desk. "Why don't you sit down, kiddo. I think you need to see something."

McCormick looked at Martina and found with surprise that she was nodding in agreement with Hardcastle. "Please, Mark. Sit down."

Mark hesitantly came forward to sit in the chair, but apprehension made it impossible for him to relax. He perched on the edge of the seat and waited, staring at the judge. He wasn't aware that Martina was holding out an envelope to him until Hardcastle cleared his throat and nodded in Martina's direction.

Hardcastle kept his eyes on McCormick as he pulled the photographs out of the envelope. He watched closely as his young friend scanned each photo individually before placing it on the edge of the desk and moving on to the next one. There didn't seem to be much reaction on McCormick's face until he got to the school photograph. Milt wondered if McCormick had been stubbornly set in denial until he finally saw the incontrovertible similarities between himself and the girl in the school portrait.

Mark lifted a hand up to his forehead and briefly closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes they were bright with moisture. He hurriedly scrubbed his hand across the tears and swallowed with effort.

Milt looked down at his desktop. He understood the kid's reaction, but he was still uncomfortable with it. This was something so unexpected he didn't know how either of them was going to handle it, but that didn't mean they had to break precedent and get all emotional in front of each other. He knew neither of them would be any use to the other if they couldn't think this through logically and legally.

"How recent are these?" Mark asked, his voice hoarse.

Martina was kneeling by Mark again. "The birthday picture is last August. The school photo is last year's, too. The one at the zoo is a few years old, but I love that picture. She really reminds me of you in that one, the look on her face. She didn't want me to take her picture in front of the monkey cages, she said people would joke that it was a family photo."

Mark broke into an unconscious grin. He found the correct picture in the small pile on the desk, and took a second look. In the photo, Olivia was standing in front of a primate exhibit with her hands shoved in her pockets and a sour expression on her face.

"Well, that was just mean of you," McCormick admonished Martina with a chuckle.

She smiled back, extremely grateful for his sudden change in mood. But then she saw the next photograph that Mark was studying, one where Olivia was on a beach wearing a sunhat. Martina's smile faded.

"That was spring break this year. That was right before she got sick." Martina touched the picture in Mark's hand, running her finger over her daughter's image.

"We spent Easter in the hospital."

Hardcastle straightened abruptly in his chair. He thought back to Martina's comment about how things were complicated.

"Sick?" he echoed. Logic and legal went out the window. "What do you mean? What kind of sick? What's wrong with her, McCormick?"

But instead of explaining, Mark was staring ahead with a look of horror. For an anxious moment Milt thought the kid was going to have another attack, but then McCormick spoke. His voice sounded normal – at least he didn't sound like he was having trouble breathing. But the abject sorrow was disconcerting.

"Oh, my God, I forgot. I forgot she's sick. I was so worked up in how this affects me. . ." Mark reached for Martina and took her hands. "I'm so sorry, I can't believe I forgot."

Martina gave him an understanding smile. "Well, I kind of dumped a lot of information on you all at once. It's okay, Mark."

"No, it's not okay. Our daughter's sick." Mark released her hands, rising. He took the pile of photographs from the edge of the desk, clenching them protectively to his chest. His next words were filled with dread.

"Marty, what are we gonna do?"