The Trillionaire Chapter Three: Surprises and Annoyances Can Be Equivalent Variables

Tori returned to the trailer to find the red light blinking on the answering machine.

For a moment, she assumed it had something to do with the hospital. She had agreed to let them contact her about future medical programs, although she hadn't even completed the first one yet. Tori figured there was no harm in having a backup plan. From what she had observed, financial disaster seemed to arrive eventually for nearly everyone she knew.

She still hadn't turned in the fast-food applications she'd collected. The hospital staff had warned her that she might be sore and fatigued after the procedure and should give herself a few days before committing to a work schedule.

The warning hadn't discouraged her.

After watching her mother's illness consume every resource they had, Tori wanted savings more than she wanted almost anything else.

Pain passed.

Poverty, as far as Tori could tell, had a habit of staying.

There was another reason she hadn't told anyone about.

Some irrational part of her wished she could have given something to her mother. Blood. Marrow. A kidney. Anything.

She knew none of those things could have cured metastatic lung cancer. Knowing that didn't eliminate the thought. If some part of Tori's healthy body could help another sick person live, even briefly, then perhaps something useful could come from everything she'd witnessed.

She pressed the button on the answering machine.

The message wasn't from the hospital.

"Miss Pontius, my name is Elaine Porter. I'm calling from the offices of Kenton, Weiss and Mercer in New York regarding a confidential family matter. We obtained your contact information following a recent court filing in New Mexico. Please return my call at—"

Tori stopped the tape.

She played it again.

A recent court filing.

That had to mean her emancipation.

She wrote down the telephone number but didn't immediately call it.

Every adult she trusted had warned her about scams. Her social worker had been especially insistent. A fifteen-year-old living alone with even a small amount of public assistance coming in every month was exactly the sort of person someone might try to frighten or manipulate.

Tori called the hospital first.

It was already evening, and the administrative offices were closed. The nurse on duty couldn't tell her anything about a New York law firm and found nothing in Tori's chart indicating that anyone from the hospital had contacted one.

That made Tori even more suspicious.

She spent the next hour cleaning a trailer that wasn't particularly dirty.

Molly stopped by shortly before nine.

Tori played the message for her.

"Call them," Molly said.

"What if it's a scam?"

"Then hang up."

"They know about the emancipation."

"That's probably public."

Tori frowned.

Molly shrugged while chewing her gum.

"If it's fake, you find out it's fake. If it's real, you find out what they want."

It annoyed Tori that this was sensible.

"Don't tell anybody."

"Who am I gonna tell?"

"Everybody you know."

Molly smiled.

"Fine."

They spent another half hour talking about everything Tori had missed at school. There had been a fight in the cafeteria that somehow expanded to include half a dozen students and two teachers trying unsuccessfully to separate them. There was also a rumor circulating about several seniors having contracted the same sexually transmitted infection.

For once, Tori felt no regret whatsoever about leaving school.

The next morning, she called New York.

After ten minutes on hold, a tired-sounding woman answered.

"Kenton, Weiss and Mercer."

Tori gave her name.

There was a pause.

"Yes, Miss Pontius. We've been expecting your call."

"Why?"

"I'm afraid Mr. Kenton will need to discuss that with you."

"Who's Mr. Kenton?"

"He's the attorney handling the matter."

"What matter?"

Another pause.

"I understand this is frustrating, but I'm not authorized to discuss the substance of the case."

Tori stared at the telephone.

"Is somebody suing me?"

"No."

That was at least something.

"Do I owe somebody money?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Then why is a lawyer in New York looking for me?"

The woman sighed, although not unkindly.

"It concerns your biological father."

Tori stopped moving.

"My father?"

"Yes."

Tori had never spoken those words in that order before.

"My birth certificate doesn't have a father on it."

"I'm aware of that."

That frightened her more than anything else the woman had said.

The firm had apparently been trying to locate Lesley Pontius—or any child born to her—for several years. The search had gone nowhere until Tori's emancipation proceeding created a recent court record under her full legal name. Once the investigator connected that record with Lesley's death and Tori's birth certificate, the firm finally had a likely match.

They wanted Tori to come to New York.

"Why can't you just tell me over the phone?"

"Mr. Kenton needs to verify your identity and explain several legal matters in person."

"I'm fifteen."

"We know."

That wasn't reassuring either.

The firm offered to pay all transportation expenses. Tori would receive an itinerary by overnight courier along with written information about the firm, the attorney handling the matter, and a number she could use to independently verify the appointment.

Tori wrote everything down.

Then she spent the morning checking what she could.

She called directory assistance. The firm existed. She called the number she found independently instead of the one from the answering machine and reached the same receptionist. She called the New Mexico courthouse and confirmed that emancipation proceedings were part of the public record.

Apparently, Molly had been right.

Something real was happening.

That afternoon, an overnight envelope arrived.

Inside was an airline itinerary, instructions for transportation in New York, a modest meal allowance, and a letter confirming that the firm would reimburse any incidental travel expenses.

Tori read the letter three times.

Then she carried the entire envelope to Mr. Ronny.

He sat outside his trailer wearing an undershirt and reading glasses held together at one hinge with tape.

"You ain't sending them money, are you?"

"No."

"They asking for your bank account?"

"No."

"Social Security number?"

"No."

"They asking you to sign something before you get there?"

"No."

Mr. Ronny examined the letter again.

"Well."

"What?"

"Looks like a lawyer."

"That's helpful."

"Didn't say it was good news."

Tori took the papers back.

"What do you think they want?"

"Could be inheritance. Could be property. Could be somebody wants you to sign something."

That last possibility bothered her.

Mr. Ronny handed her the envelope.

"Don't sign anything you don't understand."

Tori nodded.

"And don't let some fancy bastard make you feel stupid because he's got a suit on."

That advice she remembered.

Tori spent the rest of the evening trying to decide whether she should go.

She had complicated feelings about anything involving family. She knew almost nothing about her mother's relatives except what Lesley had told her, and none of it inspired affection. They were supposedly respectable, religious people who had considered Lesley's addiction an embarrassment and her illness something she had brought upon herself.

Tori had no interest in meeting them.

Her father was different only because he was completely blank.

Lesley had almost never mentioned him.

Tori had never been particularly curious. She had known enough girls with useless fathers to consider an absent one merely another variety of the same problem.

Still, she'd never been on an airplane.

She couldn't remember ever leaving New Mexico.

If the trip turned out to be pointless, at least she would have gone somewhere.

She packed an extra shirt, underwear, a toothbrush, and her court papers into her old school backpack.

The next morning, a car service arrived at the time listed on her itinerary.

The driver knew her name.

That still made Tori uncomfortable.

At the airport, she checked in with the confirmation number the law firm had provided and carried her backpack through security. She had no luggage to check.

Everything about the airport fascinated her.

People complained constantly.

The security line was too long.

Coffee cost too much.

The seats were uncomfortable.

The flight was delayed twenty minutes.

Once aboard, a man across the aisle complained about the lack of legroom.

Tori looked around the cabin.

There was air-conditioning. Every seat was upholstered. The ceiling didn't leak. Nobody had patched anything with duct tape.

She suppressed a laugh.

This was cramped?

Her entire home could probably fit inside part of the airplane.

Only after takeoff did Tori discover that flying terrified her.

She gripped the armrests as Albuquerque shrank beneath the clouds and pretended she wasn't frightened.

Hours later, when she arrived in New York, a driver was waiting near the designated pickup area holding a card with her name.

That made more sense than trying to navigate the city herself.

The ride into Manhattan seemed impossibly crowded. Tori pressed her forehead against the window and watched buildings grow taller until she had to crane her neck to see their tops.

The law office occupied several floors of a high-rise.

By the time she entered the lobby, Tori was acutely aware of what she was wearing.

Low-rise jeans.

A button-down shirt.

Old sneakers.

Everyone else seemed to be wearing clothes specifically designed for entering buildings like this.

She tugged at her shirt and tried to stop fidgeting.

Eventually, a secretary appeared.

"Victoria Pontius?"

Nobody called her Victoria.

Tori stood.

"Yeah."

"Mr. Kenton will see you now."

The attorney was somewhere in his fifties, wearing a dark suit and an expression Tori couldn't interpret.

"Miss Pontius. I'm George Kenton."

He gestured toward a leather chair.

"Please."

Tori dropped into it a little harder than intended.

Kenton almost smiled.

Then he opened a file.

"Before we discuss anything else, I need to confirm a few details. Your mother was Lesley Pontius?"

"Yes."

"You were born in Albuquerque?"

"Yes."

"And you've recently been declared an emancipated minor by the State of New Mexico?"

"Yes."

Tori waited.

"So why am I here?"

Kenton closed the file.

"Our firm represents a man named Erik Muller."

The name meant nothing to her.

"Okay."

"Mr. Muller believes he is your biological father."

Tori stared at him.

"Believes?"

"Your mother identified him as the possible father many years ago. At the time, he was unable to establish whether a child had actually been born. Our investigators subsequently attempted to locate your mother, but she had moved repeatedly, and there was no father listed on your birth certificate."

Tori felt something ugly rising in her chest.

"So he knew about me?"

"He knew there might be a child."

"For fifteen years?"

Kenton hesitated.

"Yes."

Tori looked toward the window.

Her mother had spent those fifteen years working casino shifts, applying for assistance, counting grocery money, and dying in a trailer.

Somewhere, apparently, a man had spent those same years wondering whether Tori existed.

She turned back.

"Did you do a DNA test?"

"Not yet."

"But you said he's my father."

"I said he believes he is. Based on the information we have, there's a substantial possibility. Establishing paternity conclusively would require proper testing and your consent."

That answer, at least, made sense.

"What does he want?"

Kenton studied her for a moment.

"Mr. Muller is seriously ill."

Tori nearly laughed.

Of course he was.

Nobody ever came looking for her because things were going well.

"Does he need a kidney?"

Kenton blinked.

"No."

"Bone marrow?"

"No."

"Money?"

"No."

"Then what?"

Kenton folded his hands.

"He wants to meet you."

Tori sat back.

That was somehow stranger than all the alternatives she'd imagined.

"Okay."

Kenton seemed surprised by the simplicity of her answer.

"Where is he?"

He glanced at the file.

"Sweden."

Tori waited for him to elaborate.

He didn't.

Finally, she said, "Sweden, like the country?"

"Yes."

"And he's there now?"

"Yes."

Tori looked down at her battered backpack sitting beside a polished mahogany desk thousands of miles from the trailer she'd slept in the night before.

"When does he want to meet me?"

Kenton hesitated.

"As soon as you're willing."

For the first time since entering the office, Tori felt that distinction mattered.

Not you are to leave at once.

Not your father has decided.

Willing.

Tori looked at the attorney.

"Then you'd better start explaining."