because you were disappointments and he was waiting for us. This is a farce. Graves threw his pen down. General, this is absurd. The man was clearly not of sound mind. He was hallucinating. He thought this child was some long- lost relative. We will see you in court. Brenda was smiling. She thought they had won.
General Sinclair stood up. He buttoned his suit jacket. Mr. Graves. He said, “You are correct. We will see you in court, but you are basing your entire case on the idea that Henry Porter was scenile.” “They clearly were.” Graves said, “My client Hank knew you would say that.” The general reached into his briefcase.
He pulled out not a document, but a small silver digital video recorder. Hank was a logistician, Mr. Graves. He believed in documentation. Brenda’s smile vanished. What is that? Graves asked. It is a statement of testimeamentary capacity. A video will so to speak. Hank was many things, but he was not stupid. He knew his family. He knew you.
And he wanted to have the last word. The general pressed play. The small screen flickered to life. It was Hank. He was in his bed, room 214. He was in the thin paper gown. He looked tired, but his eyes were fierce, blue, and sharp as glass. My name is Henry Hank Porter, he barked, his voice the familiar growl. It is October 28th.
I am in full command of my faculties. My mind is clear. He coughed. To my son, Junior, and my granddaughter, Brenda, if you are watching this, it means you are contesting my will. It means I am dead and it means you are proving my point you greedy lazy disappointments. Junior made a small strangled sound. I am of sound mind. Hank continued.
I am not being unduly influenced by anyone. I am making a choice. I have spent the last 2 years testing the world and the world failed until the quartermaster showed up. He looked away from the camera as if someone was in the room. He smiled. A real actual smile. No, he said. I’m not a chocolate chip man.
I just said that to make you come back. He looked back at the camera, his face hard again. The money is mine. The legacy is mine. I am giving the money to Mary Carter, who deserved a better life. I am giving the trust to Emma Carter, who is the only person to show mekindness in a decade. She is a Carter. She is Elias’s blood and she is better than all of you. The video clicked off.
The room was silent. Mr. Graves was pale. His entire case, his entire argument of sility had just been blown apart by Hank Porter himself. Brenda stood up. Her face was a mask of pure cold hatred. She walked out of the room. Junior stumbled after her. Mr. Graves began very slowly to pack his briefcase.
“General,” he said, his voice a dry croak. “We we may be open to a settlement.” “No,” the general said, “we will not. We will see you in court. We will honor Mr. Porter’s final wish, which is to see you get exactly what he left you.” Nothing. The new wing of the St. Jude’s Veterans Hospital was dedicated 6 months later. It was not called the Porter wing.
It was called the Carter Porter friendship wing. The walls were no longer a faded sick green. They were a warm, bright yellow. The jello was gone, replaced by a real chef. The nurses, including nurse Jacobs, had new equipment and a scholarship fund for their children. Mary Carter stood at the podium. She wore a simple blue dress.
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