Chapter One
Manhattan, New York
1955

“There will come a time when you believe everything is finished. That will be the beginning.”
Louis L’Amour

Regina’s feet hit hard on the steel stairs. The noise echoed throughout the stairwell, muffled only by her heavy breathing. Four flights of stairs seemed to do her in. She was a large woman with a square jaw and deep-set eyes. At five feet eight inches tall, she carried nearly two hundred and forty pounds. She had often thought of losing weight, but actually committing to a regimented exercise program just didn’t fit into her daily schedule as a teacher.
Regina was bitter. Her world was changing. America was changing. The recent murder of 14 year-old Emmett Till in Mississippi, and the sudden rise in racial tensions across the country were altering the world she had always known.
She had been born and raised in Brooklyn. People had accepted people for who they were and not judged them so much for the color of their skin. Oh, sure, the Negro community knew their place. For that matter, so did the Jews and the Catholics, and the Irish and the Puerto Ricans. Now times were changing fast and Regina didn’t like it.
Because she was a teacher, her neighbors respected her. There hadn’t been much turmoil in her community, but the storm clouds of segregation and racism were gathering. Regina sensed a change in the way people looked at her and her Negro neighbors. Now she would have to face Mr. Bowker, a white, Jewish lawyer. She didn’t know what to expect.
For whatever reason, she felt intimidated by the thought of a one-on-one meeting with Bowker. What would be his attitude toward her? Would he talk down to her, even though her family had worked with him for years? She was tense. Regina hadn’t felt this way since she was a small girl, poor and living in an all white neighborhood. Her confidence level was at an all time low.
By the time she reached the fourth floor, she was exhausted. She paused before entering the offices of Bowker & Anderson, Attorneys at Law. She took a moment and composed herself and then reached down and tugged at her shirt. She twisted her torso and rotated her neck. She felt better now. As she entered the office, the aroma of cigar smoke filled her senses. The office was as she remembered it from a visit many years before: the dark paneling, the leather sofas, the rich carpet. Everything seemed the same. The receptionist noted her presence and offered her a seat.
As she sat on the corner sofa, waiting to be summoned by the attorneys, she recalled that first visit with her father. It was in the late fall of 1946, nine years earlier. Her father, Mika, was an ironworker and had brought Regina with him for a meeting with the attorneys. He wanted her to witness the writing of his last will and testament. After all, she was not just his only child, but also now, his only heir. Regina’s mother, Cora, had died during the summer of that year. She had suffered for several years from lung cancer and had been confined to a nursing home in upstate New York.
And so today was the day that the attorneys would turn over all the legal documents that had been her father’s. She felt alone now. The long hours and rigorous work had finally caught up with her father. His body and heart had worn out. Regina thought that it was not only due to his age and the harshness of his work, but also to the loss of her mother, the love of his life. They had been married for fifty-six years. Since her death, her father hadn’t been the same. His zest for life and his sense of humor had diminished. He continued to work, but he spent nearly every night at home—alone. He would call Regina now and then, but lately the calls became less frequent. He often took late night walks in Central Park. Regina had warned him of the possible dangers of being in the park so late at night. He would promise not to continue, but he did it anyway. Fortunately, no harm had come his way. He died at home, peacefully in his favorite chair while reading the newspaper.

* * *

Regina glanced towards the receptionist window and saw a short stocky man that she recognized as James Bowker. He hadn’t changed a bit over the years; same black, greasy hair parted in the middle; same long-sleeved white shirt, tie and wide-black suspenders. She had pictured him in her mind many times, and he always appeared the same, right down to his Benjamin Franklin-style glasses.
Suddenly the door next to the receptionist opened and Mr. Bowker warmly greeted Regina.
“How are you, my dear?”
“Oh,” replied an embarrassed Regina, “I guess I’m fine. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you folks up here.”
“I figure about nine years,” replied Bowker. “Now, Miss Regina, you come on in and let’s take care of this here business.” Regina politely smiled and followed Mr. Bowker. Even though he had been a New Yorker for thirty years, he often played his accent as if he was still back home in North Carolina.
“Now Miss Regina, you just make yourself comfortable. I’ll get your father’s file and we can have all this taken care of fairly quickly.”
As Regina sat down, she took a visual inventory of the room. Very nice, she thought. There were a few personal items along with several pictures of Bowker with various clients in a wide variety of settings. One picture was with an elderly man on a fishing boat. There were three or four pictures of Bowker with several clients at hotels or in stately dining rooms. These must be some real heavy hitters, she assumed.
“Shame about your father’s passing,” Bowker stated as he broke the silence of the room. “I always enjoyed my time with Mika. He was a good man.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bowker. I know he appreciated your handling of his affairs. He always spoke very highly of you too. His passing came peacefully, you know.”