His immediate first and second instincts were to take a professional seat across from Darius, further establishing their professional engagement and lines to no longer be crossed.

His third instinct, however, was drawing patterns between all the times he had seen Darius. A new butt of Chris’ jokes. Golfing by himself. Here, at the funeral, surrounded by his family and yet sipping wine alone in the back. The lack of thought toward self-preservation.

Isolated.

Was it pity or opportunity Zechariah felt stronger? No matter. He took a seat next to Darius.

God damn it felt inverse to how it looked.

“I would be honored to,” Zechariah said blandly. “Though I must mention that my personal expertise is in-- criminal law, rather than estate planning.”

Darius shrugged and waved him off. He was not bothered by the closeness or the problem that Zech had logically brought up.

"Alright, get one. I'll pay you both, but I'll talk to you. I don't like to talk with others I don't know usually. If i don't care for them, it's far easier to just work through you since I have already met you and haven't run off yet." He shrugged and took out his book and started to write something, clearly not dealing with taking notes yet.

Did Zechariah, a young man with little actual estate to speak of, know shite about estate planners? No.

“I will secure you one of the best probate solicitors around,” he assured.

Which would be far easier than ever before with Carrington money behind him … though he wondered about what effects the new Carrington reputation would have on prospects.

“What kind of assets do you currently hold control of?”

Darius looked at him curiously then away. "I.. just buy things. But maybe.. my art?" He said and looked very pleased. "I am quite an artist really." He had no idea what this fellow was talking about. He didn't know if there was anything in his name, he never worked for money. He'd just tell people who he was and what he wanted and sometimes his father yelled at him for whatever he bought. He didn't think about it any harder than that.

Darius listed things he liked and Zechariah stuck pound signs on them. Art was an expensive collecting hobby, he certainly owned some fine art, and his name alone meant even stick figures drawn with his own feces could justify protection.

Good credit at the very least, he would guess.

It did not occur to him that that painting of a woman on a couch sitting right next to said painting might be Darius’ masterpiece.

“Insure those pieces. How much were they?”

Did he have the money to actually pay Zechariah? He supposed worse come to worst, he could take the consultation as a loss if no sweet, sweet pounds came back singing the answer to his invoice.

Darius rose a brow. "Cost? Ah.. I'll have to ask. I think the larger canvas was a bit? The frames .. " He shrugged. "I get my paint from a really good source though. The taxidermied pieces were cheap since I usually found the animals or paid for them after they'd been hunted by someone.." He tilted his head a bit. "I will give you those prices later. They aren't like.. an incredible amount."

No artist himself, the listing of the materials he used did not quite register as he had painted them.

“Time spent, generally by the hour, influences their worth as well.”

God knows his mother cursed that family portrait artist for her hourly rate.

Taxidermy pieces … Zechariah squinted at him a moment, but said nothing of it.

“What do you know of your father’s current plans regarding his estate?”

Zechariah was betting himself a nice trip to the bar that the answer was also not much.

Darius nodded and knew that he did spend days on pieces so perhaps that would mean something. He placed the bottle on a table and brushed back his hair from his eyes as he seemed in deep thought.

"I think... my dad wanted to make Magnus get most of it. But.. I don't think he needs it any more." He looked to him. "What do you think he'll do now? Any way to find out?"

Zechariah opened his mouth, closed it, then drew his pocket watch out by its chain. After making quick note of the time, he put it back, looked back to Darius and tented his fingers together.

“There are ways.”

Most of them infuriating, and some of them not quite legal but also unlikely to be prosecuted.

“But first – have you tried asking your mother?”

Darius shook his head, "That's a good idea. She's far nicer to me than father. I will do that, and I can let you know." He watched him check his watch and tapped at the table. "If you're busy to return, I can call upon you later? Or you can let me know. I am easy to find."