Willowbrook

Chapter 1

Ben sat down on the expensive leather chair and forced out a long sigh. It was almost over. After the news of his father’s death, it had been one fiasco after another. What a relief it would be to get all of the nonsense over and done with. He glanced at his watch. It was a little before noon. A gigantic yawn escaped him. Now if only he could sleep…

He looked over to his father’s lawyer, who was pulling out a large manila folder. The overfilled file was set gently on the rich mahogany desk. He glared at it with disdain. The folder with all the answers. The ultimate reason why he was sitting in that office in the first place.

The lawyer straightened out his tie as he sat down in his plush leather chair, an equally expensive perk for living so high and large. Ben yawned again, and did his best to stifle the process with his mouth. He covered his face until it went through the motions. Ten minutes, he promised himself. This conversation can’t take much longer than that. Twenty minutes tops.

Mr. Hancock, the lawyer said as he folded his small hands and set them on the smooth surface of his leather blotter. Let me say again that it is truly a pleasure to finally meet you in person.

Ben only nodded his head as his eyes found the elegant carpeting. He almost began by saying something like same here or likewise but didn’t see the point. After all, it wasn’t even remotely true. He thought the lawyer looked like he was fresh out of law school, no more than twenty-five or thirty years old. The man had a young, modest, yet respectable haircut and his suit was much more stylish than most. Ben was expecting a much older person. But it didn’t matter. A shark was a shark, regardless of age and haircut. A serious hatred for lawyers had always seemed to brew in his mind. After his bitter divorce, lawyers had moved down on Ben’s List of Favorite Things to be equal to having a bad case of the stomach flu.

As I said on the phone, the lawyer continued despite Ben’s silence, I am Preston Holyfield. I have been your father’s attorney for six years. He has been my only client in that time and my final responsibility is to carry out his last wishes with his passing.

Ben kept nodding his head while remaining mute, his eyes fixed on the individual pieces of fabric on the carpet. He wasn’t sure if good old rich boy Preston was waiting to be congratulated on all his successes or to just simply have his Yale-affirmed ass kissed. Oh and let me tell you, Ben thought, Mr. Rich Haircut Harvard Law Man, that is simply not going to happen.

Preston went on. So tell me. How’s the painting going? I hear that you’ve been very successful selling your work in the past. Your father told me a lot about you doing rather well throughout the several years we worked together.

I’d imagine that would have been difficult for him, Ben replied, sitting up a little in his chair. He was already getting annoyed with Mr. Lawman and they hadn’t even finished the pleasantries yet. He knew it wasn’t even Preston’s fault for trying to make idle conversation. It was one of those things that lawyers did to make more money. Small talk was still charged the same. I know he bought a couple of my paintings when I was just starting out, but as I’m sure you know, I haven’t spoken a word to him in over twenty years. Any knowledge he heard about me was nothing more than a rumor.

Yes, Preston murmured almost inaudibly. His tone reflected a false sense of caring and Ben caught on to it right away. It was merely another brilliant lawyer trick. After all, you paid for them to be on your side. Most unfortunate. He did mention to me that your relationship with him was… strained, at best. Your mother—

All right look, Ben nearly shouted. The anger had swelled inside him so quickly that he felt a little guilty at the volume of his voice, but he was tired and incapable of nonsense. Words began to pour out of him. Let’s just cut the bullshit and get a few things in the open, shall we? My father? The guy that you so eloquently dubbed your ‘responsibility?’ He was a scumbag. Rotten to the core. My mother was a train wreck when she finally had the opportunity to leave him and I was stuck keeping her from offing herself. Even when she finally did commit suicide and I had to end up living with my sick step-dad, I kept my distance from dear old biological daddy and his dirty money because I knew what kind of man he really was. Hearing about all that crazy shit that happened at his estate on the hill made me want to see him all the less. He was a wife-beater, a liar, and a serial killer.

He was acquitted of those crimes, Preston asserted, his right index finger raised into the air. Ben noticed a very expensive ring on that finger, one of those broad gold ones with a gigantic gemstone set in the center, and it did nothing more than reinforce his undeniable hatred of Preston’s profession and his father’s powerful wealth. He grew even angrier.

Yeah, well money has a habit of talking pretty damn loud in our judicial system. You know it, I know it. And because my father just so happened to have a ton of scratch stashed away makes me think that he hired some bigwig lawyer, like yourself, to get him off the hook. The mere fact that I’m sitting here with you in this beautiful office on the twentieth floor in downtown Manhattan is enough to make my blood boil. But the real miserable shit of it all is that I’m so broke right now that I literally forced myself to come here and pillage blood money from a bad man. You can imagine how I feel about that. Or then again, maybe not. You are a lawyer after all. Emotions and feelings don’t come with the territory.

By the time he had finished speaking, he was out of breath. A sort of exhausted pleasure, like guilty sex, replaced the anger. He leaned back into his chair, allowing Preston to take in everything he had said. It felt good to be able to vent about his father. He had not done so in quite a while, as there weren’t that many people still willing to listen anymore. It had an almost nostalgic feel to it. Ah, he thought, the wonderful childhood memories of a family broken to pieces. You just gotta love it.

Preston just smiled a condescending smile, opened the folder on his desk, and began to speak. I don’t want to go into the relationship between you and my client, as it is not my place, and never has been. Representing him does not mean I was following his beliefs and decisions. His smile had switched to a look of strict professionalism. Preston continued. Your father’s estate has gone through probate court and everything seems to be in order for the will to be carried out. As of yesterday, the will has become binding and nothing can be refuted. As per your father’s request, I can read it to you if you like.

Can you give me, like, a synopsis or something? Ben asked, his voice still sounding very irritated. I’m exhausted and I can’t focus right now. Can you just tell me what I’m going to be getting out of this? Will I at least be able to make my alimony payments? My child support payments? What?

Preston took out a stapled group of papers from the folder and began shuffling through them, licking his finger every couple of pages or so. Let’s see, he whispered loud enough for Ben to hear. He continued through the pages until he stopped somewhere in the middle. Ok. Benjamin Hancock, son of Randall Hancock. Here we are. He stopped speaking and followed the words on the page with his finger, a look of overwhelming concentration on his face.

Ben yawned again impatiently, this time not trying to hide it. He repositioned himself on the leather chair once more and stared at the lawyer with bitter eyes. Preston’s suit must have cost more than Ben’s net worth, and Ben couldn’t help but resent him. He resented this whole thing. Through his father’s money alone, this seemingly brilliant man was obligated to take care of the issues and concerns of one client.. It was enough to give Preston Holyfield junior partnership to one of the largest law firms in Manhattan and a nice big office with a hell of a view of the East River. Perhaps he was just envious. No, that wasn’t quite right. Jealous was better. He longed for the sweet life once again, a life he had known for only a short time when his paintings were in demand.

He never once asked for any of his father’s money, regardless of how bad he needed it, because he never wanted to give his father the satisfaction of giving it to him. After all, he remembered things as a little boy, terrible things, even if they were just faint images in his subconscious. Images of the horrific beatings his mother took. The pathetic smile she would give him as if nothing was wrong. And after the last one, the big one, the look on her face as he and his step father tried to console her. Her face was almost unrecognizable, numb with emotion, empty of effort anymore. He had had nightmares about it throughout his whole life. He remembered—

"’…And to my only son, who even though I had not been a part of his upbringing or his transition from a boy to a man, I leave $1,750,000 and the keys to my kingdom: the Willowbrook Manor. May he find the happiness inside those walls that I was never able to. My deepest regret is never being able to give this to him in person.’ Then the will goes on to discuss the charities and the allocation of the rest of the estate. Would you like me to read that to you?"

Ben shook his hand and waved his hands across his face. Not necessary. I’ve heard enough. Ben paused. $1,750,000. Not bad. Not bad at all. In fact, it was amazing. He was expecting something more along the lines of fifty grand. Hell, it was better than he even dreamed. And the house too. That must cost a great deal more than $1,750,000. He wanted to jump out of the chair and shout at the top of his lungs, to celebrate with Preston and say something like Yeah, that’s right Dad, I’m taking your money and I still fucking hate you! Though excited, he chose to hold it in. Celebrating was for later. He sniffed, wanting to sound disinterested. So do I get, like, a check for that money? How does this work?

Preston set the pages of the will down and began sifting through more of the documents. I am obligated through your father’s will to wire the money to your bank account by the end of the day today, provided that you have met with me this morning. I’m relieved that I was able to get in contact with you yesterday or the money would be put in another trust fund. You were not the easiest person to find. But that’s why I was so adamant about you coming this morning. I hope you didn’t have to cancel anything important.

Ben knew that to be a small shot. Surely Preston knew he wasn’t working, or that in fact, he hadn’t even painted in ages. Still, he brushed it off. It would take a lot of rain to ruin this particular parade. And the house, he asked as calmly as he could. Willowbrook’s that big mansion in Westchester County, right?

That’s right, Preston replied. The one you grew up in.

I didn’t grow up there.

Well, Preston back-pedaled. You lived there for a small time as a child.

I don’t remember that at all.

I’m sorry, Preston said, and Ben could tell he would do anything to avoid another outburst. Please continue with your question.

I’m not going to be able to afford the taxes there, even with all that money. What kind of arrangements can you make to sell that land off or something? It would be easier for me to just have that money in an account.

Preston shook his head. No arrangements, I’m afraid, he replied smoothly. The deed is not given to you specifically. It was given to Randall Hancock’s heir. There is no way for it to leave the Hancock family. When you pass on, it will go to your son, then to his children, and so forth. In the event that no children are descended, it will pass on to the closest relative by marriage.

You’ve got to be kidding me, Ben scoffed.

Keep in mind, Mr. Hancock that the property taxes and maintenance of Willowbrook are taken care of through Randall Hancock’s estate. You won’t have to pay a dime towards the property or to the house themselves. There will be staff employed at the manor whether you live there or not.

Are you saying there’s no way you can use your lawyer tricks or whatever to sell that thing off? I don’t want it.

Preston smiled again in his condescending way and regardless of the money coming his way, Ben suddenly got the urge to punch the lawyer square in the face. No, Preston said. I wrote that part in myself. Believe me, it’s binding and air-tight. I suggest you take advantage of your father’s generosity in this. He had every opportunity to ignore you the same way you ignored him. And yet, disregarding his council, he chose not to do that.

I thought you were not going to get into the relationship between me and your client, Ben sneered. I’m pretty sure you said that. But then again, I’m not the lawyer here.

Preston frowned and crossed his hands on the desk once more. I’m sorry. I’ve been more than cordial with you, despite your anger, and have answered all of your questions to the best of my ability. Have I done something to offend you Mr. Hancock?

No, not specifically. It’s just who you represent. And I’m not a fan of your profession either. Because of people like you, I owe more money than I’m worth every month to the conniving, lying bitch I call my ex-wife. But it doesn’t matter to you people whose life you destroy does it? It’s just another summer home for you, another fucking Lexus. I’m not even allowed to see my son, did you know that?

After a brief silence, Preston nodded sympathetically. This time Ben noticed it wasn’t one of those false moments of emotion he was used to getting. There was a genuine face about the man, something that looked like he actually cared about Ben’s problems. I represent the Estate of Mr. Randall Hancock, deceased, Preston said in a soft, yet powerful voice. Not Mr. Randall Hancock himself. My loyalty ended with the death of Randall Hancock. With his passing, I represent you now. I suggest that going forward it would be in your best interest that we… get along per se.

Ben nodded his head, defeated. Preston was right. Of course he was. Ben was being unfair. Look, he said, I shouldn’t be taking all of this out on you. I’m sorry. Talking about my father always seems to bring out the worst in me.

That’s fine, Preston responded with a wave of his hand.

Please, say what you were going to say.

Preston sat upright in his chair. I have been aware that you have gone through a rather messy divorce and that you lost all custody to your son. I further understand that your alimony and child support payments are way too much for you to afford. Well, at least based on your income up until now and the divorce, as you have not declared selling a single painting in that time. How am I doing?

Ben could only look at Preston. The shark had certainly done his homework. That was his life in a nutshell. One bad break after another. A disappointment at every turn. He felt a dull ache coming from his stomach. It was one thing to live through it; it was something else entirely to have someone else spell the whole thing out in front of him.

I know it’s something you don’t like to talk about, Preston said. Believe me, I’ve seen people like you before. Angry divorces bring out the worst in people, even lawyers. But I want you to understand you’ve got a real good one on your side now. I can try to make it a little easier for you.

Ben looked into the lawyer’s eyes. Yeah? How?

Preston let out a stifled laugh. Mr. Hancock, I don’t think you have any idea how this house can benefit you. It may be possible, from the money and the legal strength you just inherited, for the payments and custody to be altered in your favor.

Like the switch of a light, Ben’s face lit up. The dull ache in his stomach was replaced with a gentle warmth that felt almost foreign to him. Was this guy for real? Could that really be true?

You can help me see my son again? You can do that? How can you do that? His words fell out of his mouth as if there were too many to shoot out one at a time.

I can try, Preston replied. Your past is going to come back to haunt you again, you can’t escape that. And judges don’t like overturning decisions from other judges. But once you move into Willowbrook, I can likely prove to any judge with a moral compass that you have created a very stable environment for him there. We can arrange for a variety of tutors with his share of the estate—

Wait a minute, Ben interrupted. You’re saying that Jake inherited money also?

Well yes, he said with a short laugh. He is your father’s only grandson. I will be discussing it with his legal guardian later this afternoon.

Ben cringed. Preston’s words stung him and he wasn’t ready for it. Jake’s legal guardian. He was no longer one of those anymore. His ex-wife Carla and her heartless bitch of an attorney made damn sure of that. His actions during and after the proceedings were merely nails in the coffin. He hadn’t seen his son for almost two years, aside from the pictures Carla had sent him every few months. He was convinced that she was doing that solely to rub his nose in it.

But now it sounded like all that was about to change. To hell with the money, the house, the guilt he had from taking both from his father. His son was much more important than any of that nonsense.

Would that really be possible though? he asked, still wanting to feel the ounce of hope in his stomach again. Being able to share custody with Carla I mean. At least every once in a while? Please tell me that you’re not just blowing hot smoke up my ass. Please tell me you can do something.

Anything is possible, Preston replied casually. With the right attorney, a lot can be done. And Ben, you have one.

Ben let out a laugh as he brushed his fingers through his hair. Well for my sake, I certainly hope so.

Preston ignored the remark. Now I want you to keep in mind that the inheritance is going to Jake and Jake alone. Your ex-wife will not be able to touch that money. The only one that can do anything with it is me. And the only time the money is to be used before Jake turns eighteen is solely for his education.

Ben smiled. At least Carla wasn’t going to be able to suck the kid dry, he thought. That’s a relief. Good, was all he could say.

Ben, I think that there is a definite possibility for you to develop some kind of relationship with your son again, provided you move into Willowbrook as soon as possible. Now that the legal part of your father’s death is all but concluded, I should think we can both start working on the conditions of the divorce as soon as next week. How does that sound?

It sounds amazing, he said happily. It sounds too good to be true, actually.

Trust me, it’s not. It’s just the end of a little bad luck.

Ben laughed. It was a real laugh. One that came from deep down. Any ill thoughts or preconceived notions he had prior to coming into the office had all but disappeared. Even the animosity towards seeing a lawyer was gone. He had no idea he was going to be walking out of there with a sense of hope, a sense of positivity toward his future. Never in a million years would he have thought that seeing his son would be a possibility.

Preston closed the manila folder and set it aside on his desk. Willowbrook Manor should be almost exactly as your father has left it. There are several pieces of art that he has donated to the Guggenheim that should be gone by the end of the day today. Other than that, Willowbrook is yours.

So let me try to figure this out, Ben said. I’m not going to be able to sell anything in the house?

"You’re not going to be able to sell the property, Preston replied. All items within Willowbrook are yours and you may do what you want with them. You can gut the entire inside, if you want to."

I’d like any pictures of my father to be removed from the house, if that’s possible. I may have inherited his house, but that doesn’t mean I should have to look at him. In fact, anything aside from the furniture that has anything to do with him I’d like to be put somewhere else.

I can have the staff arrange that for you.

Great, thank you. Ben stood up. So when am I supposed to move in?

Immediately, Preston answered, standing up as well. I’m sure if you send me a copy of your lease, I can try to find a way out of it without losing any of your security deposit.

Actually, I’ve been staying at a motel in Queens for the past few months. The place is cheaper than renting an apartment, if you can believe that. But I can leave whenever I want to.

Preston said nothing to that, but gave a glance that was of both embarrassment and disappointment. He quickly bounced back and snapped his fingers together in unison, leaning over his desk. He opened the top drawer from his desk and took out a white plastic keycard. Willowbrook has an electronic security system. This card will let you in the front gate. He handed the keycard to Ben. Do you have any other questions? Anything else that you can think of that I could assist you with today?

Ben shook his head as he put the keycard in his pocket.

I will inform the staff of your imminent arrival. They will be expecting you any time after today. I’d imagine they will be very excited to have someone living in the house again.

Ben paused, and then held out his hand to Preston. Preston grabbed a hold and shook it firmly. Thank you, he said sincerely. Apparently I don’t know everything about lawyers.

No, you’re probably right on the money, Preston muttered with a laugh. Still, it’s nice to have at least one on your side. Good luck, Mr. Hancock. We’ll talk some more soon.

Walking out of the office and to the elevator, Ben felt good. No, that wasn’t quite right. He felt fantastic. The body he was used to dragging around back and forth suddenly felt light and airy. It was as if his misery was a heavy bag he had just set down after a long journey. The visit had exceeded any possible expectation he had while making his way into Manhattan earlier that day. He anticipated issues, problems, red tape. A lot of lawyer jargon and patronizing remarks. But none of that happened. In fact, it was easy. If he was to give his father any credit other than finally dying, it would be his ability to grab an efficient lawyer when he saw one.

A little grin was on his face. So this is what hope feels like, he whispered to himself as he waited for the elevator to work its way up to his floor. I’ve forgotten all about you, old buddy.

He stared into the shiny golden doors of the elevator shaft, his reflection shooting back at him. He couldn’t believe how much he had aged in the past two years. He looked closer to forty, rather than thirty-two. The only aspect of youth that hadn’t been ripped from him was his light brown hair. It was parted down the middle and fell just beyond the ears, not yet grey. But his face had so many more lines on it, his eyes had sunken in with the bitter truth of being economically trapped, and his shoulders drooped over the rest of his body. He had long carried a look of perpetual hopelessness. And yet all that was going to change. Even though it was not noticeable in his body quite yet, changes were happening. His son was only a few phone calls away, his debt all but washed away. Maybe he’d even be able to get some decent dreamless sleep for a change. It was a long shot, but what the hell? Today of all days was a day to consider blue sky ideas.

The elevator doors opened and he walked inside. The elevator shot down to the ground floor. A part of him wanted to feel guilty for taking from the dead, especially knowing what kind of a monster his father was when he was alive and how his father had done nothing but make his life more difficult. But after a few steps down the sidewalk, the lightness of his body returned and the guilt became nonexistent.

And why the hell not, he thought smugly. It’s about time that asshole finally did something for me.

Chapter 2

The Sunset Grove Care Center was especially active for a Wednesday afternoon. It never ceased to impress Ben to see so many of the elderly people up and out of their rooms, even without visitors. The lobby had a rather pleasant view of the front grounds and any time after noon, the sun shone right into the windows, making the whole area warm and bright. The air smelled of a combination of the manicured flower garden from the front mixed with a very potent chemical cleaner that he always attributed to hospitals and public bathrooms. He always had trouble getting over the smell when he first walked in, though he supposed the men and women living there didn’t even notice it anymore. Still, the facilities were very clean and most of the elderly people living there looked as though they were content enough to spend their last remaining years within.

Good afternoon Mr. Hancock, the nurse at the front desk said with a casual smile on her face. Ben recognized the lady but could never for the life of him remember her name. He nodded warmly to the nurse, signed his name and listed H. Parsons on the sign-in sheet as his patient to visit. No one bothered to ask him if he knew the way because just about everyone that worked there knew him by sight. It wouldn’t have surprised him if someone told him that he was the most frequent visitor.

He turned to the hall on the right and recognized an orderly everyone called Ali, even though that wasn’t his name. Ben and Ali high-fived each other as they crossed paths, saying nothing to each other. He continued down the hall until he made it to the room marked H. Parsons.

He knocked on the door and opened it a crack. A bright light flickered on and off, telling him that it was okay to go inside all the way. He opened the door wider this time and saw a vibrant healthy old man sitting on a plastic coated reclining chair. A very pretty red-headed nurse named Pamela was in the middle of checking his blood pressure. She looked up, saw Ben enter, and gave him a smile.

Hi Ben, Pamela said. Making sure I’m not taking advantage of Henry here?

Are you kidding me? he said closing the door gently. This old coot’s probably been waiting for you to make the first move. He likes to play hard-to-get.

Pamela giggled at this and Ben gave Henry a light tap on his shoulder.

How you doing Henry? You hanging in there?

Henry grabbed the dry erase board at his lap and wrote a few eloquently written letters. He held the board up for Ben to read. She’s too good for me, it read. Ben laughed as he sat down on a plastic covered couch along the side of the room. He looked over to Henry and nodded his head. Henry had had a tracheotomy seven years before which lost the use of his voice. The doctors explained that it was possible for him to use a microphone that was able to amplify sounds through the tube in his throat. Henry, of course, wanted nothing to do with it. He took the doctor’s clipboard from his hands and wrote down I don’t want to sound like a fucking robot the rest of my life!! Since then, Henry had moved from post-it notes to a dry erase board as a means to communicate with everyone else. His handwriting was so beautifully neat and he wrote quick enough that no one seemed to mind waiting for him to contribute to the conversation.

Pamela finished with the blood pressure and excused herself politely out of the room. Henry moved himself to face Ben. He had a broad smile on his face. He wrote How’s the painting going Benny?

Slow, Ben replied as if it was a completely normal conversation. I’ve been so damn broke these days I’m having trouble paying for canvas. That alimony has been kicking my ass.

You still have your health Benny. Be thankful for that.

Oh I know Henry, he said brushing off the advice. He crossed his arms. But I tell you, it’s a lot nicer to have a little money to get by. In order to have my health, I still need to eat every once in a while.

True. So what brings you by here so early Benny? And don’t say to be checking up on me. You saw that pretty nurse.

Yeah, he began. My real father died last week, It felt very strange about the words that had just come out of his mouth. It was the first time he had actually said it aloud. It felt like he was reading from a poorly written script.

I’m your real father Benny.

I know, Ben admitted with a slight wince. He knew Henry was very sensitive about that. That’s not what I meant to say. I meant to say my biological father died. I can’t believe the son of a bitch lasted as long as he did. It was the craziest thing. A few days ago, some big shot lawyer from Manhattan called my cell phone to tell me that I’m in the will and that he had some money for me. Apparently, there wasn’t even a funeral to go to. Not that I would have gone, but still. That son of a bitch must have had some acquaintances.

Henry’s face grew serious as Ben spoke. He listened to Ben carefully and was practically hanging on his every word. Finally, he wrote on the dry erase board. So the old bastard’s gone. Praise God. Did you see the lawyer?

I actually just got back from there, he replied. I haven’t even gone back to my place yet. He left me some money. Quite a bit of it actually. And his house. You know that big mansion of his upstate? I can’t even remember what it’s called now. Willow-something.

Henry wrote on the dry erase board, but kept looking up at Ben as if he was adamant about what he was writing. Finally, he held the board up. Willowbrook? He actually left you Willowbrook? Are you going to take the money?

Well Christ Henry, I don’t want to, he blurted out. He threw his hands up as he talked. But I really need the money! Jake’s back child support alone wiped out all my savings. I haven’t been able to sell a painting in over two years and I’ve been living out of a fucking shabby motel room for the past three months. It’s been rough patch after rough patch for me. I feel like finally someone somewhere is telling me that I’m actually catching a break here, that I have a second chance. I practically owe it to myself to take it.

What are you going to do with Willowbrook? Are you going to sell it?

Lawyer says I can’t, he said, putting his hand back down onto his lap. It’s some kind of legal thing to keep it within the Hancock family line. He said that even Jake is supposedly going to be the next person to own it once I die off.

Henry stared at him. His small eyes, usually squinting and thoughtful, were now so wide that it looked like they were taking up the entire lenses of Henry’s thick glasses. Henry’s mouth dropped open as if he was ready to start yelling at him. He was clearly upset and Ben was worried. Ben leaned back into the couch and looked at Henry, who was writing furiously. But you’re not going to actually live there, are you? Think about your mother for God’s sake. We both loved her. Think of her!!

Ben sighed and put his hands over his eyes. Henry, he said slowly, calmly. He was trying to feel Henry out. It was rare to see Henry get upset over anything, and he didn’t want to upset the only real male role model he had in his whole life. But at the same time, it seemed like Henry was being a little unfair. How could Henry not see that Ben didn’t have the luxury of options? "If I move to Willowbrook, I’ll have a chance to start over. Don’t you realize what that means to me? The lawyer told me that he might be able to have a judge take a