Erik never really imagined owning anything more than a car, a house, maybe some nice things like an oversized flat-screen TV or a spare guest house situated on the other side of a pool. Now he was looking at a stack of paperwork in a manila folder that said he owned a gentleman's club. A woman who smiled at him through bifocals in a knowing way that should have made him uncomfortable, but didn't, had bequeathed the papers to him upon his arrival.
"Who did you say is giving this too me?" Erik asked her, leaning back in the chair trying to understand how this was happening to him.
"David Thompson sweety, did you not know your uncle?" Her answer was confused and seemed to insinuate he should know who that was. She was a plump woman with short grey hair.
Erik rubbed his hands together, "I might have met the man once a few years ago, but no. I wasn't close with any of my dad's family. I think that is his brother."
"Well he must have thought a good deal about you because in that is the transfer of some money too, and a few other things." Her voice had that grandmotherly tone that told him he should get out of the kitchen, she was cooking.
"Yeah. I've gotta go to the bank and show them, what exactly?" he tried to keep his brow from furrowing into a scowl but forgot to lift his chin up when he flicked his eyes at the attorney across from him.
"Just hand them the folder and tell them you're there because your uncle left you an account. You've also got to find out about his other things because most of that you're gonna have to handle as well." she said.
"Like what?" he asked.
She pursed her lips at him showing her irritation, "Any taxes he may owe, or mortgages or leases. Insurance payments, pretty much any bill he had is up to you to resolve. You don't have to pay them all of course, unless you plan to keep whatever it is, but you're the one that has to tell those people he's dead." she folded her hands.
"Oh. Okay, thank you." Erik said and stood, trying to put back on a professional appearance. It was like putting on an oversized coat that he had been wearing for a few years. Comfortable but not quite him. Extending a hand he said, "If I have any more questions I'll come see you."
She stood and took it gently, her hands fat and small but warm in his. "We'll help you if you need it sweety."
The drive to the bank wasn't long and aside from a few stop lights, unhindered. The clerk behind the counter was a pretty woman with sharp blue eyes and dark hair. When he told her why he was there she said, "Just a moment sir, I'll get you an account manager," and went around the corner to an office. A man ten years his senior waved him into a glass walled office near the back.
"How is your day going today?" the manager asked, his yellow button down shirt and purple tie an odd choice with his dark military cut hair.
"Much differently than expected." Erik replied and then explained his circumstances. The man nodded in the right places and his eyebrows rose at the right moment. He took the manila folder, made a few copies of things that Erik didn't pay attention too and came back with a form for Erik to sign after showing him his ID. It was a fast blurry interaction that left Erik holding sheaves of paper that had an account summary on each one.
"Considering your circumstances Mr. Thompson, I would suggest locating his accountant next." The account manager said.
Looking at the statements and the amounts, Erik agreed. He had no idea if his affairs were "in order" as they say, but he had every intention of finding out. The last thing he wanted was to inherit money only to lose it all because he owed someone and didn't know it. "Thank you for your help. I'll do that." They both stood and shook hands.
Trying to wrap his head around everything, Erik went and sat in his truck. It was a familiar and safe place for him to think while he looked at the statements. He had never handled so much money in his life, not that it was an astronomical amount that put him on par with millionaires, but if he had wanted to, he could have bought his house outright and never owed on it again. A new car too as long as he didn't overstretch himself, if that had been a priority. It was a ton of money regardless.
The problem was that he obviously had a good thing going here, and it certainly sounded lucrative and to abandon that felt unintelligent. No, dumb. It seemed dumb to walk away from such a good thing.
Anything to do with naked women seemed a good thing to him too. Maybe he should have a look at what he now owned and controlled.
Pulling out his newly minted bank card, something the original teller had done for him while he was talking to the account manager, Erik had the thought that, if he put his own money into the club through drinks and tips, at least part of it would come back to him, in theory. Not knowing if it was true but thinking it was seemed like less of a waste but at the same time, all of the money in his original bank account felt like pennies on the dollar. Regardless, it was definitely a good idea to put eyes on his new place. However, he looked at it and a new problem arose; how to track the dollars earned and dollars spent at the club. Cash flow into him meant at least partial cash flow out via taxes, paychecks, insurance and the like. How did all of that stand? Who should he talk to about it? Was it in his manila folder? Were at least some answers in his mysterious manila folder? Maybe some answers were at the club.
Looking at it, Erik realized he didn't like the folder. In his experience, they always got bent up and discolored and marked on. There were a lot of important documents in that folder and he hated the fact that they were so exposed.
A moment later he was driving towards Staples, the impulse still fueling him as he parked his truck ten minutes later and walked inside with his folder.
"Hello!" a pretty woman said from halfway across the store. There was no one at the registers but there also seemed to be no one in the aisles.
"Lively place you got here," Erik said with a wave.
