Author:
Loveroy (HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE)
|
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
Date Posted: Friday, December 29, 03:17:58pm
In reply to:
LoveRoy
's message, "You, Me and Dupuis" on Friday, August 04, 04:19:06pm
The pompous surroundings of the Vulkner barristers’ office resonated with haughty arrogance. There were photographs of dead lawyers in ornate frames hanging dustily from expensive wood paneled walls. There were plush oriental rugs that adorned the floors and almost indiscernible music piped in through hideously ugly rococo objets d’art. There were seriously attired men and Victorian-looking women who worked in the heavy tone of the out-of-date environment. And in contrast, there was the lovely young beauty of Nikita Wirth Vulkner adorning an uncomfortable couch in the reception.
Nikita fidgeted and adjusted her black Armani two-piece Italian suit that as expected created the impression of elegance, classiness and professionalism that the young widow wanted to communicate. Fashioned from a delicate crepe de chine, it brought forth the softness of the feminine form and the frilly peplum added the illusion of fun expected from a successful young woman. Her shiny blonde hair was tied in a chignon in the form of a figure eight at the top of her collar and her almost invisible pearl studs sitting prettily In her earlobes added to her youthful essence.
Her black satin Prada slingbacks with round toe and calfskin trim sported a 4 inch heel that made her even more statuesque that she already was. Her sheer stockings and her Prada clutch bag, all a gift from Adrian Jones, completed the package and sent a message of total confidence. To those watching her saunter quietly into the conference room, the woman looked positively stunning and to Michael Samuelle, who stood supporting his indignant wife Elena, Nikita looked absolutely good enough to eat. So once more the man regretted having been a gentleman while he spent time with the blonde in the past and wanted to pull out his Glock and shoot the beatch brunette that held his hand.
“Good morning Ms. Wirth,” A barrister greeted.
“Mrs. Vulkner,” She reposted a bit distressed. “Michael, it has been such a long time.”
Michael stiffened and Elena drilled her beady dark eyes into his unflinching face as she dug her red gel-filled fingernails into the palm of his hand. He simply answered, “Hi.”
George who was smarter than the average bear took over the confrontation and explained that they were there to reach the middle ground. While Elena and her brother who squirmed at the situation, protested audibly, the father’s will was read first. The document surprised all with its content and send chills of pain through the siblings and the barristers who knew they were about to loose a meal ticket. Nothing, absolutely nada could be done to change the father’s wishes or the ball that had started rolling.
It seems that the elder Vulkner had left everything, every single bit of his vast estate, every chance at fabulous wealth, to his progenitor son Helmut – Oh Oh! There was a very clear caveat that the will as it stood could not be contested and if it was, the person doing the contesting would be left out with nothing. So it seemed that the old man did love Helmut.
The counselors explained that Mr. Vulkner’s last will and testament had been appended many times during the years, but never, not once had the sole beneficiary – Helmut, been changed. Amidst protestations the image of the old man appeared in a surprisingly modern screen that descended noisily from the ceiling, the volume of the film was loud and ominous. The old man explained it all – Helmut was his first born, the only one that he considered worthy of his fortune and that although his other children would be well taken care of unless theY tried to fight his wishes, everything belonged to Helmut or his heirs.
Now to the surprise of everyone, including S1, the man continued. It seemed that in case that Helmut was not around, or able to manage the fortune, the old man wanted (drum roll please)… Michael Samuelle, her daughter’s husband or in the case of a divorce, the old man’s choice, to be the executor of the estate and manage the wealth as though it was his own. Elena could hardly breathe, while her brother was standing in a corner of the room facing the wall and mumbling – ‘What does this mean?’
But the Jimmy Choo was yet to drop, “Now to Helmut’s Testament.’
There the man, Nikita’s husband, without mentioning names in a short film, expressed the desire with the same caveat of no protestation, to leave everything in the hands of his wife. So every drop of wealth was not to be touched by the siblings that had made his life a living hell. There was a stipulation here also – Michael Samuelle, his sister’s husband or in the event of a divorce, the man’s choice had to be the executor of this estate also - Oh Oh indeed! Michael thought that Helmut must have known all along that he was S1, just as Michael knew that Helmut was MI5.
When Michael started to speak, Elena in a moment of righteous indignation slapped him once. Her misspent anger confusing the man and as she tried to slap him a second time Nikita entered the arena. This ended with Elena’s arm being twisted by an outraged Nikita, not because she had slapped Michael, but because she had beat her to it (LOL).
The blonde admonished, “Please, act like a lady, this is why your father and brother did what they did.”
Of course, all hell broke loose in the conference room and George and Adrian simply smiled. The entire deep blood cover mission had just been escalated and Michael himself smiled. Nikita oblivious to the consequences just watched the Vulkner siblings fight.
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
|
Feedback: 
You, Me and Dupuis - Chapter 10