They needed lawyers, so I figure we'll need a lawyer, too."
As we descended toward my driveway, Steph said, “I have a George Wilmot holding for you. He's an attorney in Tampa. The connection involves a computer and a digital camera at his end, so expect some choppiness in the display."
"Was he involved in the Atocha deal?"
"No, but he was referred by their law firm."
"Weren't they interested?"
"No. They don't wish to handle any more such matters."
I shrugged, tapped my datapad on, and said, “They must have their reasons for turning down the job. Put Wilmot through, Steph."
The chubby, smiling face of George Wilmot appeared on a pop-up field. Wilmot's eyes widened slightly as he saw the apparent pile of dried mud behind me. I picked up two fist-sized chunks of the stuff and banged them together, then showed him the gold coins within the chunk that broke open.
"Hi, there,” I said as we landed. “We found something, and we think we might want to hire a lawyer."
Chapter Nine
I was a little surprised when Wilmot's expression didn't change with the revelation that the mudpile contained a goldpile.
He said drily, “Well, that could explain why you called me, I suppose. I'm George Wilmot, and you are...?"
"Ed Howdershelt. My friend is Stephanie Montgomery. She found this stuff, and we'd like to see about selling it and turning the wreck site over to the right people for recovery. We want a lawyer who will work for a percentage of the net."
"The 'right people' ? Who might they be and how were you involved in the finding of the wreck?"
"The right people would be the ones who'd put what's left out there in museums, Mr. Wilmot. All we grabbed were the bars and coins. We left everything else, so there's still a lot of stuff for archaeologists to bring up."
"Since you seemed to have little or no trouble acquiring the gold, may I ask why you left anything behind?"
"Gold bars and coins are just gold. The rest of the stuff is art and history."
"I see. How much gold do you think you've recovered, Mr. Howdershelt?"
I gestured at the pile behind me and lowballed him with, “At least five hundred pounds of it. Even after we get all the muck off it, it should add up to that much."
Wilmot still seemed unimpressed.
"I know that seems like a lot,” he said, “But after a year or three and court costs while they hash out who gets what..."
He let the sentence hang unfinished.
"Mr. Wilmot, we'd like to keep court costs to a minimum. Stephanie isn't a US citizen or a US resident and she found the ship well offshore. We don't believe anyone else on Earth has any claim to the treasure."
"But you are a US citizen, apparently."
"I didn't find the treasure. She did."
"Then why aren't you approaching a lawyer in her home country?"
"She doesn't have one. She's never had one."
His gaze narrowed at that. “That's pretty close to impossible unless she's an Amaran, and Earthside Amarans have at least residency status somewhere. Is she some sort of refugee or political exile? Possibly someone with a criminal record?"
I shook my head. “None of the above. She's not an Amaran, nor is she or has she ever been a citizen or a resident of any Earth country, but she'd like to become one."
"I see. You were thinking of making her legal status on Earth a part of any arrangement we might make concerning the gold?"
"Yes."
Wilmot steepled his fingers and appeared to think for a moment.
"No, Mr. Howdershelt. That would have to be a separate issue entirely, even if presented as a point of barter concerning taxes. Is that what you had in mind?"
"Essentially. I figure that the state and feds will want a piece of this because I'm involved, even if only in a small way. If they're willing to grant her residency or even citizenship, there'd be no reason to take the gold to another country."
"The US doesn't normally work that way, sir. You can't just buy your way in."
"If I hadn't personally seen it done a few times, I might believe that.