“On what grounds?”
“Oh, lawyers can be very creative when they smell money. They’ll come up with all sorts of claims. But, here’s the clincher. I’ll include in your will a provision that disallows any gift to a person who contests the will. So, say you give each stepson a hundred thousand dollars outright. Now, if one of them contests the will, he runs the risk of losing the gift.”
“You are so clever, Simon.”
He smiled and almost demurred by saying that such a provision was taught to every second-year law student, but passed on the notion of modesty and in silence took full credit for being so clever. “And, besides, wouldn’t Harry want his boys to get some of the money he invested over the years?”
“I suppose.”
“Okay. A hundred thousand to Clyde, same to Jerry. Agreed?”
“Yes, if you say so.”
Simon was scribbling away as he doled out some of her money. Precious little of it, though. “Now, I know I’ve asked you this already, but do you want to make gifts to any friends or acquaintances?”
“I’ve thought about that, yes. Inez Mulberry is an old friend in Atlanta. She’s in a care facility there and not doing well. She’s ninety-one. Do you know anybody that old who’s doing well?” She chuckled at her humor and Simon joined in with a hearty laugh. He wrote down the name and asked, “How much to Inez Mulberry?”
“Uh, let’s say, uh, twenty-five thousand.”
“Okay. That’s not much. Does she need financial assistance?”
“Oh, gosh no. She’s loaded. Her husband worked for Coke with Harry and bought tons of stock.”
Then why are you leaving her a gift? Simon let it pass. It would be easier just to put Inez in the will and keep going. “Okay, I’ll include her at twenty-five thousand. Anyone else?”
“No, can’t think of anyone.”
“Okay, so moving right along. I asked you before about the firm in Atlanta that handles your portfolio, and you said it was Appletree something or other, right?”
She rolled her eyes in frustration and mumbled, “Here we go again.”
Simon pretended to ignore her and continued, “As I said, it is important for me to have a chat with the advisor there who is in charge of your stocks and such.”
“Now you sound like Wally, and that’s not a good thing.”
Simon was being cautious and not about to push. She was proving that she had no loyalty to her estate lawyers and he didn’t want to lose her. His dear Netty could be his ticket to an easier, more rewarding life. He could almost smell the huge fees coming his way. “I understand, but to fully take advantage of the tax laws it may be necessary to protect some of your assets. To protect them, I need to know everything about them.”
She closed her eyes and frowned hard as if hit by a migraine. After a long, heavy pause she said, “You don’t trust me, do you Simon? You don’t believe me when I say I have all this money.” Her voice was breaking and she was about to cry.
The following morning, Simon was sitting in a small courtroom deleting voicemails as he waited to argue a motion in a lawsuit he was destined to lose, when his phone hummed quietly. Unknown caller, Atlanta. He quickly stepped into the hallway and said, “Latch.”
“Good morning, Mr. Latch. My name is Buddy Brown and I run a wealth advisory firm in Atlanta. How are you, sir?” Pleasant voice, proper manners, age between sixty-five and seventy-five.
“I’m fine, Mr. Brown. I appreciate your call.”
“My pleasure. Eleanor Barnett has been a client of mine for many years. I knew her husband Harry back in the day. He died too young and left her some common stock in both Coca-Cola and Wal-Mart. I’m not at liberty to say how much, but I can say that Ms. Eleanor is well taken care of.”
“Okay, that much I gather. I’m preparing a last will and testament that is not very thick. No heirs, no relatives, everything to charity.”
“Sounds like Ms. Eleanor, though I haven’t seen her in many years. She knows what she wants. Best of luck, Mr. Latch.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Evidently Buddy was a man of few words and had better things to do. Spade had found the right man, though the question of Eleanor’s real net worth was still unanswered. On the one hand, the call was comforting in that Buddy legitimized her claims of wealth. It was safe to assume that any client with a long history at such an advisory firm would have substantial assets. On the other hand, there was much that Buddy didn’t mention and he seemed determined to get off the phone as quickly as Simon got on it.
Simon returned to the courtroom just as his case was being called. He walked to the front of the courtroom, nodded at the judge, and took a seat at counsel table. His adversary, an old pal, began presenting his motion and the judge quickly lost interest. Simon almost chuckled to himself. There he was, quibbling over a useless motion in a worthless lawsuit, while at the same time he had just hooked a client worth $20 million in liquid assets.
Though he had almost no liquid assets and plenty of debts, and his marriage was dangerously on the rocks, and his law office had proven to be a break-even venture over the past eighteen years, he was suddenly smiling at the future. He would continue to build an alternate world and one day soon get lost in it. He would wrangle his way out of his life with Paula while remaining relevant to his children. He would phase out Matilda, though that game plan had not yet materialized. He would wait patiently for Eleanor Barnett to succumb to the years, and as soon as she kicked the bucket he would swoop into probate court and take control of her money.
Chapter 8
The execution of the will was carefully planned, or so Simon thought. Since he was not a criminal, he didn’t think like one. What was the famous line in the movie Body Heat? “When you commit a murder you make ten mistakes. If you can think of seven, you’re a genius.” Or something like that. Simon wasn’t planning a murder, or any other crime for that matter, but he felt guilty anyway. He made lists and charts and diagrams, and when everything seemed to click, he gave it the green light.
It happened on March 27, a day that would find Matilda’s birthday lunch far away from the office. As he often did, Simon asked his neighbors for the favor. Tony and Mary Beth Larson ran a mom-and-pop insurance shop next door to Simon’s office on Main Street and often stepped over to witness will signings. The law required two people not related to the “testatrix,” in this case Eleanor Barnett, to spend a few minutes in easy conversation with her to satisfy any concerns about her mental capacity. As attesting witnesses, they were not expected to read the will — and in this case Simon was certainly determined that they would not — but only to make sure that Ms. Barnett knew what she was doing and was not being unduly influenced.
Simon had written every word of the will on his laptop and printed it in his cramped bathroom, where he kept the new printer he’d paid $150 for at a Wal-Mart. He didn’t normally shop at Wal-Mart but suddenly had a keen interest in the company. Coke too. After several drafts, he was convinced it looked almost identical to one that Matilda could have typed. It was five pages long and packed with a lot of dense language that he managed to explain to Eleanor in simple terms that were not altogether forthcoming.
“Legal gobbledygook,” she said more than once, exasperated. The gist and thrust was that upon her death her fortune would be placed in a foundation, one not too dissimilar to the trust Wally across the street had devised, and the money would be spread over a multitude of local charities that would do all manner of good things. By keeping the money local, Simon believed the will would be more palatable to a jury in the likely event a big lawsuit erupted later. Food banks, homeless shelters, boys’ clubs, girls’ clubs, Cub Scouts and Brownies, soccer leagues, senior center, United Way, policemen’s fraternal order, a dozen of the town’s largest churches of all denominations. The Eleanor Barnett Foundation would make thousands of people smile for years to come, and Simon Latch would be Santa Claus. As executor of the will, and sole director of the trust, as well as the attorney for the estate, he would be in complete control. His fees would be substantial.