Ramsey's Gold (Drake Ramsey Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

I’m afraid there’s been some sort of mistake. I don’t know this woman, and as sorry as I am to hear she passed away, I’m not sure what to make of this. How do I know you’re legit?”
    “You called the firm’s offices. If you like, go online and check us out – verify that I’m a member of the bar, that we’ve been here for over twenty years, whatever you like. You should be able to do that quickly.” Lynch paused. “Mr. Simmons, there’s twenty-five thousand dollars with your name on it in my account, and a package that requires you to sign for it in my office. Do you have something so pressing that you can’t make it here to claim your inheritance?”
    “See, that’s the problem. It’s an inheritance from an aunt I didn’t even know I had.”
    “If you say so. That’s not my concern. But it’s your money, assuming you show up to claim it.”
    Drake thought about the odd set of circumstances. “And there are no strings attached?”
    “Correct. Show up, confirm your identity, sign, collect your cashier’s check and the package, and you’re done.”
    Drake picked up one of Betty’s pens. “Fine. I can fly in tomorrow. I’ll verify your bona fides, and if it all checks out, I’ll be on the first plane out tomorrow. How do I get a ticket paid for, and will you be there around lunchtime?”

    ~ ~ ~

    When Drake arrived at Lynch’s building the following afternoon, he was impressed by the baroque décor and wood-paneled offices on the firm’s floor. The suite smelled like prosperity, of weighty matters and important men. The receptionist was a perfectly manicured Chinese woman not much older than Drake, who peered over the rims of designer glasses at him with the glacial composure of a surgeon. One look at her severe suit made him feel instantly underdressed in his dark gray cargo pants and blue polo shirt, his North Face jacket clenched in one hand as he waited for her to alert Lynch of his arrival.
    A tall bearded man in a charcoal suit with a leonine head of graying hair approached from the back offices with an outstretched hand and a somber expression.
    “Drake Simmons? Michael Lynch. Good of you to come. I trust your trip was uneventful?”
    “Yes. It wasn’t bad.”
    “Excellent. Would you be kind enough to follow me to the conference room?”
    “Sure.”
    They moved through the hushed suite to a large room with a rectangular table. A bookcase filled with legal tomes occupied one entire wall, with a panoramic view of the Seattle skyline through the picture windows that ran its length the main attraction. Lynch offered Drake a seat by the window.
    Lynch moved to the head of the table, where a small package wrapped in brown paper sat next to a check and a heavy green leather-bound signature book.
    “Let’s dispense with formalities. Do you have identification?” Lynch asked.
    “Of course. Driver’s license okay?”
    “Certainly.”
    Drake slid it across the table to the attorney, who pressed a button on the intercom box mounted on the corner of the table. “Would you please come in and make a copy?”
    Twenty seconds later a blonde in a black business suit entered and wordlessly took Drake’s license. She offered a polite smile and departed as quietly as she came, exuding high-priced professional discretion.
    Lynch made small talk until she returned with a photocopy and deposited it in front of him. He studied the license like it held nuclear launch codes and then opened the big ledger and slid it, and the ID, to Drake.
    “Sign there, by the X, if you would,” Lynch instructed. Drake did so and pocketed his license.
    “Well. There we have it. All done. This, young man, is yours,” Lynch said, presenting him with the cashier’s check. “And this is also yours.” He handed him the package. “Oh, and I’m afraid there’s one tiny caveat. It’s nothing, really.”
    “A caveat?” Drake repeated, instantly suspicious.
    “Yes. You’re to open the package while seated in