I stood inside the newly renovated wing of the city’s Veterans’ Legal Aid Clinic. The air smelled of fresh paint and hope.
A bronze plaque shone on the wall.
The Nana Rose Center for Justice.
I kept enough of the inheritance to pay off my law school loans and buy a small house near the base. The rest—nearly four million dollars—went into this clinic.
The fund would provide free legal help to elderly veterans and their spouses who were targeted by financial abuse and family fraud.
It was justice in its purest form. My parents had tried to steal from an old woman. Now her money would protect others from people just like them.
My phone rang.
