The Legend of Kareem Read Online Free

box lingered anywhere. From this height, I marveled at the view of all the other towering glass buildings in Dallas.
    When we reached the open door bearing Luther’s nameplate, she retreated behind me, and I entered the room.
    Luther Fredrick stood, a giant of a man at least 6’6”. Since he was so tall, I fought the urge to ask him if he played basketball.
    “Mr. Candle?”
    “That’s me.”
    “Please come in,” he said as he waved at a chair, something curvy and ergonomic and expensive-looking. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
    “Thank you,” I said, and realized I wasn’t used to hearing it. Over the last few months, it had mostly been congratulations on the impending birth of our child. This was the other one, the other thing strangers would reach out and offer when they didn’t know what else to say. Birth and death.
    He started shuffling through papers, arranging them on the desk in front of me in rows. He launched into a fast-paced speech about writs for this, affidavits for that, and none of it made any sense.
    “Luther, I’m not sure what’s going on here,” I said as I perused documents. “My dad and I weren’t close, so I have no idea what the state of his affairs was like. You said something about financial problems?”
    Luther leaned back, picked up a ballpoint pen from the desk, and clicked it a few times. “Well, here’s the thing, Tucker.”
    “Everybody calls me Candle.”
    “Here’s the thing, Candle. Your father left nothing but a mountain of debt. It appears that he hadn’t paid taxes in over twenty years.”
    My face scrunched. “What? How is that even possible?”
    “Your father had been off the grid, so to speak. Most everything in his estate will likely be seized for back taxes. Those details will be worked out in the coming months.”
    My brain buzzed. I thought about what Kareem had said before he died, about them working together. “Does that include my father’s stock portfolio?”
    Luther frowned. “We haven’t been able to uncover any records of him owning stocks or bonds. That’s the strange thing, Candle… we don’t have any record of your father ever having been gainfully employed as an adult. I looked him up in some databases, and he apparently hasn’t registered a W-9 since a job he had in high school.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “There is no stock portfolio. Here’s what we have, and where you’re responsible as the executor of his will. His house in Corpus Christi will likely be seized.” He passed a house key and a note with the address across the table. “If you’d like to go collect any personal belongings, you should be able to get in. But I’d hurry if I were you.”
    I opened the paper, read the address. I already knew it by heart, even though I’d never been to that house.
    “We do have one item that was left in our care, to be given to his daughter.”
    My throat tightened. “His daughter ?”
    “Susan Palenti, of Brownsville. That’s near the Mexican border.”
    I knew where it was. Close to Padre Island, spring break destination. I knew it well from college.
    Luther removed a lockbox from his desk and set it on the table. It was a small wooden thing, about the size of a shoe box.
    “What’s in it?”
    He handed me the key. “Nothing of value, or the government would have taken it already.”
    “What do I do now?”
    “That’s up to you. Once you sign the paperwork, it’s in your hands.”
     
     
    ***
     
    At my hotel, I set the box on the bed. Bounced the key in my palm. I’d never heard of Susan Palenti. Dad must have had some other family, which didn’t surprise me at all.
    But the absence of records of him ever working, that was strange. I had distinct memories as a little kid of my dad, in a suit, holding a briefcase. He’d worked in sales for some manufacturing company, or at least, that was what I recalled.
    Maybe he’d found a way to erase his employment records, and that’s how he evaded taxes. I