Michael headed for his office for the second time that day. The trip to the bazaar had gone well. Lisa was warming up to him. Or at least seeming to, depending on what she was up to. He didn't have her last name yet, though. Well, he could at least learn the name of his new assistant before he met up with Lisa and Timmy for dinner.
When he reached his office, he stopped in the doorway, amazed at how clear the desk was. The inbox had a single envelope, the open file drawer had actual files, and the recycling bin was filled to overflowing. He could get used to having an assistant. Assuming he could trust the girl.
She looked up at him, an excited gleam in her eyes. "Filing is done. And I am making progress on learning who Lisa is. I should have her last name before too much longer, in fact."
Michael held up his empty hand. "We have two things to discuss before we can talk about the case." He placed the item in his other hand on the desk. "Ta da! It's an umbrella stand."
"It's the world's most garish umbrella stand," she corrected. "If you put that by FLAG's front door, Leon the site manager will have you tarred, feathered, and banned from the premises for the rest of your life. And probably the next one, too."
"It's not going by the front door; it's for you."
"Thank you," she replied courteously. "Though I'm not sure what I'll do with it."
"Put it over there." Michael gestured to a spot behind the desk. "Perfect. These should fit nicely in it." And he handed over her leg brace and crutch, which – in fact – did fit nicely in the umbrella stand.
"And now," he said in a quiet, serious tone, "for introductions. I'll go first, as I'm older. My name is Michael Knight, and I'm a senior field operative with FLAG. And you are?"
The girl gave Michael a wounded look, as if he had ruined the game. Which he found amusing since she was sitting at his desk in his office. He was a good foot and a half taller than her, more than twice her weight, and probably twice her age. So he leaned against the door frame, hands behind rather than crossed in front, to be less intimidating as he patiently waited for the answer to his question.
Drawing a deep – and slightly ragged – breath, she looked Michael straight in the eyes. "Melissa Alexandra Knight, daughter of Wilton Knight. And while you are older than me, I have been MA Knight longer."
Michael was stunned. "So . . . then . . .Elizabeth Knight was your mother and Garthe –"
"Is my brother. Yes," she said flatly.
Having meet both Elizabeth and Garthe, Michael wasn't surprised by her tone. "Any more members of the Knight family I should know about?"
"Both sets of grandparents are dead, as are both of my parents. They were both only children. And you've met my only sibling."
"How old are you?"
"I'm 16. I'll be 17 in September. And yes, there is a very large age gap between Garthe and me. I just finished high school, a year early. I need a series of surgeries for my hip. The surgeries and the recovery will take the better part of a year. And will be easier if I'm not also trying to keep up with schoolwork at the same time."
"Hence the PT." Michael had now learned the answer to two of the questions he had about her.
"Twice a day for an hour, once at 9 and then again at 2. And before we continue this conversation, you need to read that letter." She gestured to the lone envelope in the inbox and handed him a letter opener he didn't even know he had.
Michael picked up the envelope. It was from Wilton Knight's legal firm. He remembered getting it a month or so after the old man died. He had meant to open it, to read it. Eventually.
"Mr. Knight," she prompted him.
"Call me Michael," he said, looking at the girl – at Melissa Knight, he corrected himself. "Do you know what this says?"
"Not exactly. I've read Dad's will. Probably the only person other than the lawyers to have read it. So I know what it discusses but not how it is presented."
He sliced opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. Actually, there were two letters. The first was a brief letter from the legal firm stating that the enclosed letter accurately represented the contents of Wilton Knight's final will. It also informed him he would be provided with a copy of the actual will upon request. The second was a letter to him from Wilton Knight.
"Michael – I should have reached out to you sooner and been in your life longer. I don't regret what I did. If I hadn't, you wouldn't have been able to choose how to lead your life."
Michael checked the date. The letter had been written while he was still unconscious, recovering from being shot by Tanya. He admired the tact with which Wilton addressed the fact that Michael would have been dead had Wilton not rescued him.
"And it is your life. I hope you will choose to join FLAG. I believe you are the right man. But it is – must be – your choice. Whatever you decide, I have arranged for you to receive an annual stipend of $30,000 for the rest of your life. I cannot give you back what you have lost. Nor will I make you dependent on my largesse. I can and I will help smooth your way in this world."
Michael assumed the money was being duly deposited into his bank account, along with his salary from FLAG.
"I am divorced, with two children: a son and a daughter. My son is an adult. I neither like my son nor respect the choices he has made. I have, therefore, disowned him. If you feel you need the details, ask Devon."
Apparently, Michael should have read the letter when he got it. He would then have learned about Garthe – and Melissa –sooner. And then he read the last paragraph of the letter. A few times.
"My daughter is still a minor. I would like you to be her legal guardian. I believe both you and Melissa would benefit. As with joining FLAG, of course, the final decision is yours, not mine. Please at least consider it. Sincerely, Wilton Knight."
Michael finally looked up from the letter to Melissa, who was watching him anxiously. "Wilton – your father – made me your legal guardian?"
"That's why I'm sure Uncle Devon hasn't read the actual will."
"Uncle Devon?"
"Well, technically he's my godfather. But I've always called him Uncle. When Dad became ill, he had Uncle Devon put on the paperwork for school. He's been signing permission slips and getting report cards since Dad died. Because everyone assumed . . . well, you know."
Michael stared at the letter in his hand and then back at Melissa. "Apparently, I owe you some birthday and Christmas presents. Though come to think of it, I don't recall getting even a card from you."
"I didn't know you hadn't read the letter from the lawyers until I found the unopened envelope at the bottom of a very large pile of papers."
"And you didn't ask Devon?"
"Oh, right," she said dryly. "Hey, Uncle Devon, did you know you're not my legal guardian. By the way, do you happen to know why Michael hasn't reached out to me yet? I don't see that conversation going well, do you?"
Michael wondered what it was like to lose your father and then learn that one of his final acts on this Earth was to make a complete stranger your guardian. A complete stranger who never got in touch with you. He also wasn't sure how he felt about being her legal guardian instead of Devon. And why Devon instead of her mother? Well, okay, that one was pretty clear, even if Elizabeth hadn't died in prison. And oh, dear God, if it had been Garthe.
"I've had a couple of years to come to terms with this," Melissa said. "I can certainly give you more than five minutes. How about ten minutes?"
Michael laughed and then pointed to the pad of paper in front of her. "Hand me a blank sheet of paper."
Melissa ripped off a sheet and handed it to Michael. He folded it in half and, grabbing a pen, wrote on it. He then handed it back to Melissa, who had been watching the entire operation with a quizzical look.
"Read it," he prompted.
On the outside, it said 'Merry Christmas'. And on the inside, he had scrawled his name. She still had the quizzical look. So he pointed at the paper and then at the umbrella stand.
"Card. Present."
It was Melissa's turn to laugh.
"What on Earth is going on here?"
Devon was at the office door. Michael winked broadly at Melissa before turning to face his boss.
"Devon, great news. I've found myself an assistant. And look what a great job she's done with the paperwork."
"Michael!" Devon was scandalized.
But before Devon could launch into his lecture, the phone rang. Melissa glared at both men, who immediately fell silent. Michael recognized the glare: she had obviously learned it from her Uncle Devon.
Melissa picked up the phone on the third ring. "Hello, Melissa. Oh, hey, Nancy. Thanks for calling me back. I ran into someone from your neck of the woods. And for the life of me, I just can't remember her name. She was with her son, a blond boy named Timmy . . . Yes, that's it. I knew you'd know. . . Really? Thanks. . . Graduation? Looking forward to it. . . Yes, I'll see you there. Bye." Melissa hung up and grinned at Michael. "That was my friend, Nancy. Who knows everyone. Which means I now have Lisa's full name and approximate address. Oh, and her husband's name."
"Go on."
"I called the cab company and asked where the fare that had been dropped off here yesterday had been picked up. They gave me the address and told me that the woman and the boy were waiting on the sidewalk. Now, Lisa is clearly not a servant. Ergo, she must live near that address. And Nancy lives in that neighborhood. So I called her and there you go."
"Well done," said Michael approvingly.
"Her name is Lisa Warwick. Her husband is David Warwick. I'll look into him next."
Devon finally found his voice. "And I repeat: what on Earth is going on here?"
"Melissa is helping out with the case. Doing the research I can't because I'm spending my time with Lisa and Timmy. And she's also dealt with all the filing. Turns out, I have a really nice desk."
"Michael, do you have any idea who this is? Melissa is –"
Michael often went with his gut. Kitt called it irrational, but he also admitted that Michael usually made the right decision. Agreeing to be Melissa's legal guardian felt right. And so in much less than the ten minutes she had offered him, Michael made his decision.
"My ward," replied Michael in a mild tone.
He saw a brief flash of gratitude in Melissa's eyes. Probably as much because he was the one to tell Devon what her father had done as because he was willing to be her guardian. Or perhaps just a little bit more.
"What?"
Michael picked Wilton's letter back off the desk and handed it to Devon. He pointed to the key paragraph, which Devon read twice.
"Your father did what?"
"Apparently no one around here has read Dad's will other than me."
"No, I hadn't. I didn't realize he had changed it. I just assumed –"
Michael decided to throw Devon a lifeline. "I only just read that letter," he admitted. "It was buried at the bottom of my inbox. Until Melissa unburied it today."
"You could use all the help you can get," murmured Devon.
"Speaking of which, I'm supposed to meet Lisa and Timmy for dinner. Which only gives us a half-hour. So, let's go, Melissa."
"But what about –"
"Tomorrow. You can start after your morning PT. I'll check in with you around lunch time. We can meet in Devon's office."
"And where are we going?" asked Melissa, pulling her leg brace from the umbrella stand and putting it on.
"It's a surprise. Come on; the clock is ticking."
Devon watched as the two of them walked down the hall together. Michael adjusted his stride to Melissa's slower pace. He looked at the letter in his hand, shaking his head.
"Wilton, what were you thinking? Although . . ."
His voice trailed off. Devon knew Melissa had only just arrived at FLAG yesterday, a couple of hours before Lisa and Timmy. Which meant she and Michael had only met today. And they were already comfortable with each other. Thoughtfully, he placed the letter in the empty inbox on the desk.