I would like to visit Mr. Hewitt's Lawyers. (pencil skirt version)

After a 45 minute drive, you arrive at the law firm of Howard, Johnston, and Blakely. They are, apparently, Mr. Hewitt's long-term law partners.

You step into a conference room which has been laid out by the nice receptionist. There are note pads, pens, a pitcher of water and a plate of cookies. Mr. Blakely guides you over to a seat with a gentle hand on your arm.

You are wearing the pencil skirt outfit from your first dress-up training. You gauzy sleeves with the flowers float around your arms and your tight skirt restricts your steps to small, mincing steps in your black high-heels. You sit carefully and cross your legs at the ankles and then look up at Mr. Blakely with a bright smile, just like you've been taught.

Mr. Blakely smiles back.

"Half of me thinks you are the luckiest person alive, and the other half of me thinks that no amount of money in the world would entice me to go through what you have obviously been through."

"I'm sorry?" you ask.

You absent-mindedly finger the pink jewel hanging on the pendant just above the cleavage of your bountiful breasts.

"You're Paul Madison, correct?"

"Yes! Can you tell me what's going on, Mr. Blakely?" Finally, someone who knows your real name! You feel a flush of relief, as if you do still exist! This is not some sort of weird, alternative universe!

"Please, call me William. And yes, I can finally tell you what's going on. Somehow you broke into Mr. Hewitt's house..."

"Oh, no! I'm a paralegal, and I was there to search the house for documents relating to Mr. Hewitt's Last Will and Testament. You see, the hospital couldn't find any next of kin or contact information..."

"And that would be because there are no next of kin," Mr. Blakely interjects.

"Oh, okay. And so they turned the case over to the State which contracted with my law firm to dig up more information, and so I was sent over to look the place over."

"And did you find a copy of the will?" Mr. Blakely grins, obviously enjoying a joke at my expense.

"No..."

"And would you like to see a copy of the will?"

"Yes..."

"Well! It so happens that I have a copy right here!" Mr. Blakely hands you a sheaf of papers with evident satisfaction. "You see, we are the official executors of Mr. Hewitt's estate. Why don't you look through the document. The final revision was faxed to me just a half-hour ago."

"What... What do you mean, just now??"

"I think you'll understand when you read it."

Of course you are just a para-legal, and not a lawyer, but still, you can read legal-language well enough to understand it. You start flipping through the pages... pretty standard stuff... boilerplate... more boilerplate... until you get to the appendix.

"But!" You sputter, not able to comprehend what it says. Your body starts to shake violently. "This can't be!"

"I can assure that it is," Mr. Blakely says. "And legally sound."

You look again, and this time you read it carefully, word for word:

The bulk of my estate, including personal financial assets of roughly $400 million dollars (as of 1/1/2022) and the house and grounds (of roughly 129 acres) at 1 Hewitt place I leave to Jennifer, formerly Paul, of 413 Pine Orchard Way.

I further name her to be the chairperson and president of the Hewitt foundation, responsible for the charitable disbursement of the foundation's assets in accordance with the mission statement, guidelines, and charter, a position which pays a salary of $1.5 million per annum.

"Um... how much money is in the foundation?" I asked.

"Roughly 25.7 billion dollars."

"Oh!" you faint.