Martha, my Destiny or the Salt of the Dead Sea

These types of “poor people,” and often their relatives, were the clients which the mediation firm where Robert worked handled.

After about half an hour, Robert set aside the paperwork and cracked his fingers. “Yes, it looks like old James is not doing too well. I wonder how old is his wife? Oh, forty-five, not an old lady yet. Okay, Mrs. Martha, what’s your story?”

Next to the figure of James appeared a drawing of a woman: with the same ball head and cucumber body, except with two brackets on the chest and a thick bush under her stomach. The figure of the woman was so successful that Robert admired her for a moment.

So, the mysterious Mrs. Martha Greenwood… Judging by the printouts of credit and bank statements, in recent months she suddenly began to lead the life of a socialite. She started frequenting the bars in Greenwich Village and Soho. She joined a fitness club. She decided to renew her wardrobe at all levels, from the top, at Royal’s Fur, to bottom, at Victoria’s Secret. The fitness club was not enough; she purchased a season membership at the ice rink. And where did ten thousand dollars go? Yes, to Michigan, to the University account; her son and daughter probably study there.

Mrs. Martha led an exciting life. Forty-five years old, a woman in her prime. Her husband is most likely seriously ill if the wife is living life in such a festive manner.

Obviously, her husband’s entire fortune passed along to Martha. His bank account only contained a pitiful $850, exactly the amount needed to be eligible for Medicaid. James is dirt poor. Martha has everything. In addition, she managed to cleverly dispense the money between pension and insurance funds so that it couldn’t be touched. She definitely has a good attorney. Yes, here it was: five thousand dollars for the services of the law firm Shapiro and Brown. Good job, guys; Shapiro and Brown are getting paid deservingly.