A Long Way Home
Copyright© 2026 by Asa Strong
Chapter 3
It took me a half hour to find a parking spot in the downtown area where my lawyer’s office was located. You would think that a business would think of its customers first and locate somewhere convenient for them; but such is not the case if prestige is more important. So, when I finally reached his office, I was still steamed up about the whole parking situation.
“Good morning, sir, can I help you?” was the greeting I received after stepping through the entrance.
“Hell,” I thought to myself, “I don’t even know this guy’s name.”
“Well, I hope so. I’m here to see my lawyer, but I’ll be damned if I can recall his name.”
“I see,” she replied with a tone of voice I really didn’t care for.
Now I’m not the type of guy that dresses in suits and ties. I’m in construction, remember! I was dressed in a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and cowboy boots. I’m thinking that she was judging me by my appearance. I was getting myself all worked up and had to calm myself down.
Once under control, I said, “He was the lawyer for my Uncle Cecil’s will and was down in North Carolina last week.”
“Oh, that was Mr. Burger. I’ll let him know you are here.”
I took a seat in the lobby and picked up a magazine to occupy the time while I waited.
I had just about finished the whole magazine when my lawyer, who I remembered was Mr. Burger, approached me from the hallway. I suspected that he was coming from his office. I also didn’t notice anyone leaving, so in my mind, I had waited forty-five minutes while he had been jacking off for all I knew.
“Good morning, Mr. Wring,” he said while extending his hand.
“Morning,” I replied, shaking hands.
He smiled, “I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“Well, y’all said to come see you to get my accounts squared away, so here I am.”
“Ahmm, yes, but one usually makes an appointment.”
“Is that a matter of fact?” I replied, as if amazed. The more I talked to this guy, the less I liked what I heard.
“Let’s go back to my office. I have a few minutes.”
“A few minutes? The guy’s been sitting on his ass all morning. I bet,” I’m thinking. I followed him down the hall to a large, corner office overlooking the city.
“Nice view. Must cost a bundle to rent this place.” I quipped as I looked out the window.
“Ahh, yes, but it is a necessity for my business. Now, let me pull my notes, and we can get started.”
He rummaged through his desk, producing a folder with Uncle Cecil’s name and read over some of the contents.
“We have an order here to transfer the funds we hold in escrow to your name and also a change in title for the farm.” He stated, handing me a pile of papers.
“Also, you will need a copy of the death certificate for both the bank and the county courthouse. I also took the liberty of purchasing several additional copies in case you need them.” He said, handing me more paper.
“OK, then all I need to do is take this to the bank and I can have it transferred to my account?”
“I wish it were that easy. Currently, you have a bit over three million in cash from the sale of the farm, which can be transferred immediately. The remaining five million is in commercial bearer bonds. These will have to be redeemed if you want to convert them to cash.”
This discussion went on for another fifteen minutes, with the result being I would transfer the three million in cash into my own bank account and leave the rest where they were for the time being.
I left the office with all the paperwork necessary to transfer the money. The only problem was I didn’t have a bank account anywhere. Working construction as I had, one was usually moving from town to town, so I had never bothered with a checking account. I really hadn’t spent much money in the Navy, leaving most of it on the books until I mustered out. I guess you could call me a cash kind of guy. I currently had about six hundred bucks in my jeans and another eleven thousand stuck under the seat of my truck.
Walking down the street, I was thinking to myself, “Looks like I better find me a bank.”
I was almost ready to walk into a bank across the street when I came to my senses and decided that I’d better stop and think a bit before I just dumped a lot of money where it might be difficult to do business with from Cope. Hell, I had no idea what banks were located anywhere close to where I was going to live.
I think it was at this moment that I really realized I was going to try what my uncle had requested. Build a home in the middle of those sand hills. What amazed me even more was that I was looking forward to it.
Instead of crossing the street to the bank, I turned around and headed for my truck. I had to do a little thinking and get a little more information before I did anything.
First off, I was going to call Dwight. I needed to know a bit more about what was available where I was going to live, and since he had offered to help, I was going to take him up on it.
It looked to be about noon from the position of the sun, and likely Dwight would not be home. I had time to kill, so I stopped at a drugstore and bought a pen and pad of notebook paper. My stomach was rattling about by then, so I found a small restaurant so I could satisfy the hungry beast.
By the time I’d finished eating, it looked like the lunchtime crowd had thinned, so I ordered another cup of coffee and started writing down things I would need before heading back to Cope. Top on the list was some kind of vehicle to live in until I could build a house. At first, it sounded easy enough: just get one of those mobile homes, but I knew there was no water there or electricity either. I sat there and brainstormed for another hour and pretty much had down what I was going to do. But I still needed to talk to Dwight first, so I hit the bathroom and deposited the three cups of coffee I’d consumed, found my truck, and headed back to the motel I’d stayed in last night.
I’d paid cash up front for two days at the motel when I checked in yesterday, knowing I’d be here at least that long. When I got back, it was near four o’clock, so I decided to try and get hold of Dwight.
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