Peter Crawford sat in the far back of the room, drink in hand. Beside him, Eseri, a bundle of nerves, worry and unease. They’d spent the late afternoon touring the ‘watering holes’, as he had called them. The drinks weren’t bad, to Eseri’s estimation. The food hadn’t been half bad either. She had known the frivolous meandering would have to end, and she felt some relief at Crawford’s choice to seat them in the back corner of the wide and long meeting room. It was an ornately decorated room with expensively cushioned chairs, finely crafted rugs, and an array of paintings hung on every wall space available. Her antennae circled in curiosity, but also as a coping mechanism. The room was visually busy, and she had to take a few deep breaths to adjust her nerves.

Next to her, Crawford was borderline aloof as he sipped slowly at his watered-down drink. As they sat in silence, more people entered the room and soon they filled every seat, with several more hugging the sides of the walls. A quiet ambiance of muttering and whispering helped fill the void of audible conversation. Suddenly, a crash signaled the slamming open of the door at the back of the room, startling Eseri, who glanced at a placid Crawford, who merely looked on with faint attention. The man’s feet clicked and clacked across the wooden floor, and Eseri took in the sight of him. He wore a firmly pressed suit of a flat black color. A grey buttoned shirt covered by a charcoal vest with a lettering pattern that intrigued her. The only color was the thin tie, bright blue. His eyes sent shivers down her spine. Blue, and a fierceness she had rarely seen, so intense it felt like it was reaching into the depths of her soul, searching for something.

“Your attention, please.” The man’s voice was a deep bass, rumbling out across the gathering. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and stood as if he were ready to leap into action. Eseri wondered if this was part of the theatrics or if this was the truth of the man’s ability. Or possibly both, she considered. She focused on the man at the front who continued, “My name is Obediah Fellows, the attorney for Crawford Enterprises. I am here today to read the last will and testament.” He glanced around the room, giving Crawford a slight nod of approval. “All parties required by the will are here, so we may proceed.”

Eseri watched the gathered masses sit up. The muttering and whispering dropped, and the room’s silence echoed with the shuffling of papers at the podium. Paper, she wondered to herself. Why paper?

Crawford spoke low, “My parents eschewed technology as much as they could. A PADD would have offended every sensibility they had.”

Fellows rumbled, “The last will and testament of Jeremy and Patricia Crawford.”

He read through the standard boilerplate content of being of sound mind, the various dates the will was updated, and who witnessed it each time. Eseri noted that the name “Mary Rockford’ was present a half dozen times as a witness.  However, she notticed, Fellows had been the only one to witness the last four revisions.  What did that mean, she wondered. Looking around the room, she found the woman standing against the opposite wall, arms crossed. Her face was placid, like Crawford’s. Runs in the family, Eseri decided.

Fellows flipped from page to page, reading through the requirements, rules, and processes. He came to a stop on the third page, glancing up. “We have reached the delegation of the property and ownership.” He adjusted the glasses on his face and continued. “The Crawford Ranch, in its entirety, will be the joint ownership of Mary Rockford and Peter Crawford.”

The gasps in the room sent chills down Eseri’s spine, and she glanced at her commanding officer, whose mouth was ajar. Groans and grumblings festered until Obediah Fellows held up his hand, and the rabble quieted.

He held up the stack of papers, “There is more.” He took a sip of water and moved his finger along the text as he read. “The Crawford family will receive an equal split of the financial disbursements.”

More whispers, but they were quieter than before. “The disbursements depend entirely on Crawford and Rockford’s ongoing partnership in owning and operating the ranch as is, and expanding where they deem appropriate, as long as they both agree. There will be no consolidation or subtraction from the ranch’s property, operations, and facilities. Any such modifications will immediately suspend all disbursements and activate the disassembly of the property and its included operations. They cannot sell, transfer, or shift it until the death of either partner.”

Eseri watched Crawford close his mouth, but his eyes remained wide, fury filling his gaze. He muttered, “Bastards. This was a setup.” His fury-filled eyes turned towards Mary and, to Eseri’s surprise, her eyes reflected the rage right back. Peter sat back, crossing his arms in frustration.

Fellows continued to read the various separations of power between Crawford and Rockford, and the delineations of disbursements to each member of the family, down to the last percentage.

He finished with the narrative written by the deceased, which mentioned no love or appreciation for their only son. Fellows returned the papers to the folio and gazed out into the crowd. “Jeremy and Patricia Crawford mandated that this will and its requirements become effective thirty days from reading to allow all parties to make preparations to step into the offices designated.”

He looked to Rockford, and then to Crawford. “That clock starts now. My office will be in touch. This ends the will and testament reading.”

He stepped away from the podium and shuffled his way down the aisle and out the door, eyes staring into the floor as he walked.

Eseri looked to Crawford, who appeared deep in thought. Suddenly, he stood, announcing, “Everyone out, except for Mary.”

The gathered raised protests and shouts began, but their anger choked off when the unusual happened. Peter Crawford raised his voice, and it shook Eseri.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t yell. He commanded. “I won’t ask again. Everyone out, except for Mary.” To Eseri’s surprise, they did. They still muttered, and a few grumbled curses as they passed, but eventually the room was empty save Eseri. Peter and Mary.

The Andorian asked, “Sir, should I-”

“No. You stay. You’re here to referee this match.”

Mary languidly walked across the room, pulling an errant chair from the audience and sat down, her anger clear in posture and eyes. “Wise choice, Peter.”

Eseri gulped.