“Excuse me Miss…is he in?”
“Do you have an appointment, sir?” The secretary asked with solemn uniformity in her voice.
“Um…no,” he muttered apprehensively.
“He does not see anyone without an appointment,” she answered then began typing briskly on her laptop.
“He will want to see me. It is of the utmost importance that we speak. My name is Mr. Nicodemus…Jeremiah Nicodemus.”
“Well, have a seat please. I can check if he is possibly available,” she retorted annoyingly.
Jeremiah sat in a chair that lined the wall of the stark and barren waiting room. Even the secretary’s desk had an achromatic finish. It bore only a laptop computer and small white box which held a cord that stretched from its side to her headset. The floor and walls were bathed in alabaster tile. Jeremiah felt more like a vagabond then an accomplished attorney compared to his aseptic surroundings.
The secretary tapped the white box and spoke austerely into her headset.
“Excuse me sir. Sorry to bother you, there is a Mr. Nicodemus here to see you.” She paused and spoke again, “Ok, sir…right away sir.” She tapped the small box again.
“He will see you now.”
Jeremiah swiftly walked toward the ominous office door. He entered the room which was a complete contrast to the waiting area where he had just been. It was if he entered another world, one of great opulence. The walls enveloped the room with mahogany paneling that flowed from floor to ceiling. The faint smell of cedar, earth and cocoa lingered in the atmosphere of the space. Jeremiah hesitantly strode forward to the enormous desk at the end of room. A small man clad in an expensive pinned-striped suit waited expressionless as Jeremiah ogled at his surroundings. The man ignited his butane lighter and warmed a large snifter laden with brandy.
“Well, did she sign?”
Jeremiah didn’t response. He had fix aided on a gilded cage in the corner of the room that housed several different species of birds.
“Did….she…..sign, Mr. Nicodemus?” The man asked again, this time with much less patience.
“Yes, but it took some convincing.”
The small man at the desk grinned and leaned back in his throne-like chair.
“Good,” he whispered to himself then took a puff of his cigar and a sip from his brandy glass.
“So anyway,” Jeremiah plopped down in the closest chair, “what’s so special about Rose Hill and this Sherri Travers-McMinn lady? From what I saw it’s just an old farm with some junk and ten acres of dead weeds. And what if they check into The Great Aunt Penelope?” Jeremiah made a set of quotes with his fingers when he said Penelope’s name.
“MR. NICODEMUS,” yelled the man brutishly which made Jeremiah sit up at attention. “It is not your place to ask these questions. The Rose Hill Estate must remain in the Travers’ family it is the only way our secrets can be protected. If you do not recall we have a binding and sacred agreement regarding this matter.”
The man opened the top drawer of the desk and retrieved a large scroll of parchment.
“You must remember the signing of this contract.” He unfurled the page of aged vellum and the words, Frater in Fortius Quo Fidelius, appeared at the top in fiery crimson and brilliant gold.
“Is this not your signature at the bottom of our scared laws, Brother Jeremiah?” He pointed to the small shaky handwriting at the bottom of the document.
Jeremiah began to shift nervously in his chair as he answered, “Yes, sir.”
“We welcomed you into our circle. You must not make us regret that decision. We will be watching you. Well then… there is just one more item that we must address. It officially seals our deal and the ancient secrets of our brotherhood.”
The man reached into the drawer again and emerged wielding an ornately decorated dagger.
“Give me your hand.”
Jeremiah froze in horror then warily lifted his right hand and placed it over the parchment. In one swift motion the man sliced through Jeremiah’s right palm and let the warm liquid flow onto the paper sealing their secrets of Rose Hill with his blood.
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