As I sat there, the air heavy with tension, I tried to recall the conversation from our first meeting. Mr. Grayson had outlined the process, and I had nodded along, eager to settle my aunt’s affairs. The numbers had seemed reasonable then, or at least, that’s what I’d convinced myself.
“Could there be a mistake?” I pressed, hoping against hope. “Maybe something was added that shouldn’t have been?”
Mr. Grayson flipped through the pages, his expression unreadable. “Everything is itemized,” he said finally, tapping a finger on the sheet. “Administrative fees, processing, consultation… it’s all standard.”
I felt a rush of frustration. “But $12,500? That’s more than the estate itself!” My voice rose, echoing slightly in the otherwise quiet room. The lawyer’s assistant, seated outside, glanced in briefly, then looked away, clearly uninterested in the drama unfolding within.
“I understand your concern,” Mr. Grayson said, his tone placid. “But these are the costs associated with managing an estate of this nature.”
I stared at the document again, the numbers blurring in my vision. Options spun in my mind—consult another lawyer, request a detailed breakdown, stall for time. But each idea seemed fraught with complications and potential delays.
“Perhaps we can arrange a payment plan,” Mr. Grayson suggested, breaking the silence. “It might ease the burden a bit.”
His offer, though seemingly generous, felt like another trap. A payment plan would mean more interest, more time, more stress. I needed to find a way out, but the path wasn’t clear. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak without betraying the fear creeping up my spine.
“I’ll need to think it over,” I mumbled, trying to buy time.
“Of course,” he replied smoothly, gathering the papers back into the folder. “Take your time.” But the implication was clear—take too long, and the clock on this offer might run out.
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