Dominion by Randy Alcorn

shoes.
Clarence looked around his workspace, comfortable as an old pair of bedroom slippers. Above his computer terminal were two rows of shelving, filled with about forty books, most of them on serious topics. He liked to think. He loved a good argument. He was serious about issues. Too serious, Geneva told him.
Posted on the cubicle walls to his right were a variety of typed or neatly written quotes and political cartoons, many of them lampooning the press itself. One clip was a 1995 snippet from the Washington Post. It read, “Correction: Yesterday’s Post incorrectly identified a D.C. monument. The building pictured was actually the Lincoln Memorial.”
Next to this was a group of actual headlines clipped from various major newspapers: “Asbestos Suit Pressed” and “Tuna Biting Off Washington Coast” were the Trib’s own. “Defendant’s Speech Ends in Long Sentence” and “Man Held over Giant LA Brush Fire” came from the L.A. Times. A half-dozen comparable clips from other papers accompanied them.
Taped on the top of his computer was a quote from President John Adams: “Our constitution was made only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other.”
Tacked up on the corkboard to the side was one of his favorite letters, which he made a point of showing everyone. “Please get off your soapbox on abortion and come to terms with some of the real problems out there. For instance, our continued serial killings of animals, our brothers and sisters. The cannibalism must stop. George Bernard Shaw asked, ‘How can we expect peaceful conditions on earth, as long as our bodies are the living graves of murdered animals?’”
He loved getting letters like this. They made great fodder for columns. Besides, this one made him feel more literate. Whenever he ate a hamburger, he thought of George Bernard Shaw.
On the left side was a collection of some of his favorite leads, such as “NBC and the Titanic are the same, except the Titanic had an orchestra.” He looked absent-mindedly at one he’d once been impressed with—“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” Attention getting. Astounding. Right to the point. But for the first time he could remember, Clarence found himself wondering whether or not it was true.

Clarence punched numbers again, his tenth phone call in the last hour and a half.
“Bowles and Sirianni. How may I help you?”
“Grant Bowles, please. This is Clarence Abernathy.” He waited, flipping through more file cards.
“Morning, Clarence.”
“Grant—so what’s the deal with Dani’s house?”
“It’s borderline as to whether her assets are sufficient to require probate. But since she didn’t have a will, we can probably count on it going to probate.”
“How long is this going to take? And how much is it going to cost?”
“Who knows? Months at the very least. You know my hourly fee. Depends on how many complications we hit.”
“I can’t believe she didn’t have a will.”
“When you had me meet with her a few years ago, to clean up things with her ex-husband and all, I gave her the papers. According to the file here, my secretary followed up with a call, but Dani never returned the papers. At the time I asked her what would happen to her kids if she died, and she said you’d take them.”
“She said what?”
“I’m looking at my notes right here. She said she wanted you to raise them. Said they needed a man and she was sure you’d do it.”
You might have mentioned that to me, Sis.
He felt guilty even thinking it. He’d promised to always be there for her. Of course he’d take the kids.
“We need to get that house up for sale, Grant. I want to get the money into that trust for Dani’s kids.”
“You can’t sell the house until it goes through probate, Clarence. That’s how it works. Sorry.”
“So what do we do with it? We leave it sitting there and it’ll be torn to shreds. You don’t know that