Vladimir Nabokov, Russian author of Lolita, specifically asked for his remaining, uncompleted work to be burned after his death. Is that too much to ask? Apparently it is. Maybe we're old-fashioned, but the fact that neither his late wife nor his son followed through on his last wishes is nothing short of annoying. Son Dmitri has been playing a wishy-washy "maybe I will, maybe I won't" game with the press for years that is equally irritating and opportunistic.
There's something disturbing about the public clamor for this work, which may or may not be titled The Original of Laura, and is apparently scrawled on fifty index cards. What is it about our constant, compulsive need for endless information, no matter what the author's intent? (Also see: Raymond Carver/Gordon Lish drama, with Carver's widow arguing for the publication of unedited drafts of his short stories).
Might we suggest Dmitri rather enjoys the attention and is waiting for the right offer to come in? After all, everything's fair when there's the opportunity for someone, somewhere, to make a buck from publishing Laura. Or whatever it's called.