visitor.

    "What exactly is the problem?" Simon asked. "You found your

 grandfather's will, and?"

    "I just don't believe it," Lonnie Wells answered. "The old

 man would not have done this to me."

    "When did he die?"

    "In 1968, intestate, we thought. So my mother and her brother

 sold the personal property and operated the business jointly."

    "But now you've found this will," Simon said.

    "Dated Oct. 7, 1968," Wells said.

    Simon read the will again. During this brief pause in their

 conversation Wells thought how surprised he was when he walked

 into the office of Simon Shaw, professor of history at Kenan

 College. Brilliant Pulitzer Prize-winning historians should look

 like Arthur Schlesinger. Simon was only about 30 years old. He

 had black, curly hair and dark brown eyes. He wore a black

 T-shirt, jeans and running shoes without socks. Carl Perkins was

 belting "Blue Suede Shoes" from a CD player in Simon's office so

 loudly that Simon had to adjust the volume just so Wells could

 introduce himself. Wells was not a tall man, but he looked down

 to meet Simon's eyes when they shook hands.

       Wells had read the will so many times by now he had it memorized.

It devastated him just to think about it.

    "This is my last will and testament. I leave my business, the

 architectural firm Michaels and Associates, entirely to my son,

 Leonard. I leave my house on Boylan Avenue and its contents to

 my daughter Helen. The after-tax value of the bequests should be

 the same. I also request that my collection of family

 memorabilia, including the documents signed by the Lord

 Proprietor, be deposited in the North Carolina state archives. I

 want our family's roots preserved intact. I leave $10,000 each

 to my grandchildren, Lonnie Wells and Richard Michaels, to be

 given them on their 21st birthdays with whatever interest might

 have accrued by then."

    The will was signed "Leonard Richard Wells."

    "It's been authenticated?" Simon asked.

    "Yes," Wells said. "At great expense, I might add. The

 stationery, ink, everything, has been examined by the best

 forensic analysis company in the South. They have an office here

 in Raleigh. In fact, the original document is stored there.

 'Evidence control,' they call it, and that costs a bundle, too."

    It was amazing how good these new color copiers were, Simon

 thought. The document he held was brown at the edges, its

 letterhead had faded, and the author's handwriting was the shaky

 script of an old man who learned to write at the turn of the

 century. It certainly looked genuine.

    "What about the handwriting?" Simon asked.

    Wells spread his hands open in a gesture of frustration. He

 looked like he hadn't slept in days. Dark circles surrounded his

 bloodshot eyes, and his conservative suit was rumpled. He

 kneaded his temples with his fingers.

    "My favorite headache remedy is a Goody's powder dissolved in

 Coke," Simon said. "Want one?"

    "Yes, thank you," Wells said. He finished the drink in one

 gulp before continuing with his story.

    "I didn't realize this," Wells said, "but handwriting

 analysis is not an exact science. Most of the samples of

 Grandpa's handwriting I could find were written when he was a

 young man. In his later years his secretary typed everything.

 All the handwriting analyst would certify was that the will

 appeared consistent with Grandpa's handwriting."

    Simon was a good listener. He focused his attention

 completely on his visitor, as if he had no other interest in his

 life except hearing this story. Simon's intensity encouraged

 Wells to ramble.

    "This could not have happened at a worse time," Wells said.

 "My cousin Richard and I have been running the business as

 partners for years. He wants out now, wants to paint full time.

 He's talented, too. He's always done all the renderings and

 models for the company. But I can't afford to buy him out right

 now. I have two kids in college. No one would want to buy just

 his half, because I'd still own the other half. And now this

 will turns up. Richard's being pretty decent about it, says of

 course I own half the business, after all these years,

 especially since the Boylan Heights property was sold years ago

 to both families' benefit. He's offered to settle for half the

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