Departed and Co.

Departed and Co Solicitors.

J.D. Salter was tired. She sat at her desk, her breath fogging in the cold air in front of her. The room was a small but respectable personal office, one wall was filled with the latest legal journals and reference information. The other old tattered volumes of legal codes from across centuries some with translation guides next to them to help with archaic wording. It left her office with a distinct musky smell like an old library. Farrington and Co Solicitors were an old company, started by Thomas Joseph Farrington a skilled solicitor who when he died simply continued working and most were too polite to object. A quiet ringing sounded before the door slid open and a figure walked in, through the door, not opening it but through the closed door, they were old, had a bluish sheen to their appearance with a long full length dress a century out of fashion. As she passed through the door a frosty silhouette was left on the solid wood to mark her passage. Their dress blew in a wind that was not there but made no sound, neither from footsteps or the material rustling, she was quiet in motion and person. They more glided across the room than walked and Salter watched as the figure tried to sit in the seat opposite her only to end up hovering a couple inches above the chair.

"Ah, good morning Mrs Woodham, wonderful to see you again," Salter said, masking up with the fake smile she used with the clients of their firm. After all this time she was well practised. "I have been reviewing your case and I'm not sure there is much we can do. The contract is pretty clear, it is current until the last member of your family has passed on." The contract was well maintained but a little over 100 years old and the paper was worn.

"But there are still some alive, more so than when the contract was signed then, my family has grown," Mrs Woodham's ghost said in a voice that echoed. Ghosts' voices were strange and always sounded far off no matter how close they were and took some getting used to, as if the speaker was talking from the bottom of a well or pit in the ground. 

"Yes, and we know that. However the contract has to work from when it is signed so although you have a new family, ones born after its signing cannot be held to it as they were not signatories. And the last member of your family who was alive when it was signed…" Salter trailed off as Mrs Woodham nodded. Under its founder Farrington and Co had continued since the 1700s and over time he had become the premier specialist in "Departed" law as solicitors and departed rights advocates with their founder becoming quite the famous rights personality.

"Yes, my granddaughter died a few months ago." 

"So the contract is concluded and the land is no longer bound to this contract, your descendants can use it as they wish." 

"But it was where Reginald and I had our first encounter," Mrs Woodham objected, the sorrow clear in her voice. Though she could no longer cry she held a translucent handkerchief up to her eye.

"I am sorry but there is little we can do under this contract. However, we are still looking into other options," Salter tried to assure her. Despite the age of Thomas Farrington and being increasingly out of date the firm saw still continuing and he was clear in having no intention to retire any time soon even after 300 years of work. As if on cue when she thought of him the old man himself walked through her bookcase, leaving a patch of frost on the bookcase and her books as he entered her office. He might be a skilled solicitor but as an aged, incredibly pale man even before he died, managing to somehow have a protruding belly and a gaunt face, maintaining the powdered wig and stern black suit he was buried in, she often mused that when people pictured the patriarchy… they probably pictured her boss. 

"Come now Madame, this is no way for a stern Scottish woman to behave!" He chastised Mrs Woodham. "So your children want to turn the family land into housing? Well that does seem to be all people are talking about nowadays. It is a sound investment.” 

"Well sir," Salter began, "with many departed choosing to remain in their homes, as per your own case Farrington V. Farrington, the precedents that the departed hold their own property unless they choose to relinquish it. so many older houses are still occupied leaving housing at an increasing premium, new builds are very attractive." Most people would hate to have their own work quoted to them, but Thomas Farrington was exceptionally proud of his work and loved to hear of his victories. Salter had found it best to appease his ego over the years. While he was old fashioned and of his time (so racist and sexist claiming the superiority of the British empire) still the old ghost had made an impressive track record over the centuries, having made cases against slavery, the East India Company, politicians, criminals and for civil rights. The old man was a Voltaire style liberal, he might dislike a lot of people but he would fight after death for their rights. 

“Ah yes. Quite right. Well. Why should we move out?” Farrington asked the room, before anyone could answer he kicked off repeating part of his argument, the present and past blurring for him, “It would be quite outrageous for an Englishman to be removed from one's own home, fought, earnt and paid for by any old scoundrel, of questionable character, just because one no longer had a body, with which to occupy it? No, I say no." The floating lawyer huffed to himself. 

"But what does this have to do with my land?" Mrs Woodham asked, a little confused and disliking, seeming to be ignored and bringing the old solicitor back to the present. 

"Well Madame, it matters on the terms you surrendered ownership," Farrington said to her. He adopted a slightly condescending tone unnecessary when speaking to someone without legal training because why would she need it, Mrs Woodham wasn’t a solicitor yet Farrington was treating her like a moron for not knowing something he did from centuries of practising law. Salter knew she benefited from her training and knew Farrington wouldn’t use this tone with even his most oblivious male clients, something she had observed time and again, while she had no particular connection to Mrs Woodham she felt the obligation to stand up for her client against this behaviour. 

"Yes, the contract we have does not contain your will. Was it made pre or post mortem?" Salter asked, her voice softening as Farrington's grew harsher. 

"Why would that matter?" Mrs Woodham asked. 

"Well Madame," Farrington drawled condescension dripping from his tongue." It is simple; were your descendants following your will alone or acknowledging your rights as a departed to hold onto your property until or even if you should choose to relinquish and dispose of them as you would?" 

"It was an awfully long time ago," she started,  "it's hard to remember…" She trailed off. many departed found over the decades or even centuries their memories of life and afterlife blended more and more. 

"We can look into that, check your death certificate against this contract," Salter said, trying to reassure the floating departed. "We will investigate the documents library and come back to you when we can say for certain." The meeting was short, but quick meetings were necessary with the amount of research for every case. She often felt more of an archivist reviewing other people’s lives rather than living her own. Mrs Woodham got up, nodded to Salter and Farrington before floating out as quietly as she arrived. 

“Well that was something,” Farrington said, the same phrase Salter had heard hundreds of times before meaning the old egotist had nothing to say but felt he had to say something because whatever he had to say was clearly more important than what anyone else had to say. 

“Yes it was,” Salter replied in the pro forma response to her boss’s musings, no matter what he did he was her boss and this was his firm. She paused and reflected that she had thought of going elsewhere but a new firm was shaky at best and she would lack the archives that made Farrington’s firm so successful. She sighed to herself in a familiar way. 

“Cheer up, not all clients are as damp rags as that old Madame,” Farrington said in his usual demonstration of his almost impressive lack of self awareness and particular ignorance of women. “Still you should try to smile more, it puts the clients at ease.” Salter knew Farrington was going to say it, as he always did, with the certainty of someone standing on a snowy mountainside watching someone set off fireworks. She was tired and resigned. She just had to put up with the old man. She didn’t have the energy to argue this and didn’t want to risk her job. So she was unsure who was more surprised, her or Farrington, when she stood up, slammed her hands on her desk and looked the old ghost in the eye.

“Well that is quite enough of that!” Turning his own phrase on him seemed as close to a slap in the face she could deliver on the old arrogant ectoplasm. “Let me ask you this, why don’t you smile at clients more then, sir?” Her voice dripping with contempt.

“I… I... I… beg your pardon?” He said, so shocked he floated a foot higher into the air. 

“I said sir, why do you not smile more? If I should?” She pressed.

“Well… well…. well… because you’re well… you know…” he said unsure how to proceed on the defensive. It was amazing. She had never seen him like this. In all those years and with his record she had assumed he would be ready for such a challenge on his behaviour. 

“No sir I don’t think I do, perhaps you might explain it to me.” She said, standing to her full height, which was already shorter than him before he floated up.

“Well you’re….” he paused for a second before finally rallying. “You’re junior, you can reassure the clients while I am the man in charge! I have to look serious and in control, that is how I reassure clients.” 

“But I handle every part of my cases, except when I either ask for advice or you impose yourself into one of my cases.” She pointed out, her voice calming as she settled into her court mindset, this was not a shouting match, it would not help her to be emotional but to simply state her position. 

“Ah yes but I look over everyone’s cases.” He said, floating towards the wall he came through earlier as a little patch of frost fell to her floor.

“I suggest that you are in my office more than most given the regularity that you participate in my meetings, of which you are not obliged nor expected to participate in, not to mention your refusal to use my door.” She indicated the frost on her books. “The firm directs all departed to use doors to prevent damage to our documents and you have done more damage to my texts than any client.” 

“Well there used to be a door there.” Farrington complained lamely. 

“But there has not been during my time here,” Salter continued, unsure where she was going but unable to stop, knowing Farrington would do worse later if she didn’t resolve this. “Sir, I believe I am worth the respect of any other solicitor here.” She almost bit her tongue as she said what she said next, she hated appealing to this bloated hot air bag’s ego but it was the reliable way to resolve issues. “I appreciate your insight and knowledge in cases but it undermines me with clients when you always interrupt, besides it's below your station to check in on me. Surely when I need your advice I should come to you?” Like a drowning man offered a life raft he jumped on the out he was offered. 

“Why yes of course! Silly of me, I know, I was… um… interested in your career, not many women in the business young lady, clearly and most leave after a short while so I wanted to make sure you were looked after! Yes! But if you feel you are strong enough to come to my office without being intimidated, maybe it's time you did!” Farrington said in a rush, floating higher and higher. “Well I should leave you to your research and do ask me when you need help.” He said already reassuring himself of his importance and started floating towards the wall leading to his office. Salter coughed meaningfully. “Ah yes, quite right.” He said and changed direction to the door. As soon as he left the room she collapsed back into her seat, what on earth had possessed her to do that? She checked her calendar and saw she had no more meetings today, sure Farrington would have forgotten this conversation by tomorrow and returned to his behaviour but hopefully without any vindictive actions directed at Salter. She looked over her upcoming cases and began working on her newest bit of research, the U.K. was lucky in regards to departed law, some places you had departed who had been citizens of countries what no longer owned that piece of land or no longer even existed, at least in Britain there was consistent countries and mostly consistent law. She sighed to herself as she picked a heavy book off the archive shelf and began searching for the relevant information. J.D. Salter was no longer tired; she was exhausted.