Landy’s reluctant efforts to find manufacturers, markets, and dealers for banned poisons was not going well. What she had found so far was something she already knew: there were thousands of banned and/or illegal chemicals, compounds, and drugs smuggled into America every year, for every reason, and from every entry point. Billions were spent trying to stop the flood of cocaine, heroin, and fentanyl. Poisons were not a priority and almost impossible to track.
Landy and her husband had filed their no-fault divorce and shook hands on the deal. As career FBI agents who moved frequently, they did not own a home. Their condo lease was up in a few months and she would remain in it until she found another apartment. Simon became a regular guest. He enjoyed being away from Braxton almost as much as he enjoyed the high-octane sex life they had jump-started. It was like a flashback twenty years to law school when they almost flunked out due to extracurricular activities.
But they were no longer twenty, and after a few weeks things cooled off as they slowly realized there was a good reason their old romance had not survived outside the bedroom. In late February, she surprised him with the news that she would be gone for a month on an assignment she could not discuss.
On a snowy day in early March, Tillie walked into Simon’s office and took a seat. She was obviously troubled and got right to the point. “I think it’s time for me to move on.”
He slowly put down a contract he was mulling over and said, “Okay.”
“I cannot in good conscience keep getting paid when we’re so low on cash and the business has dried up. We’re fooling ourselves, Simon, if we think things are going to improve. I keep the books. I see the income, what little there is of it. The phones might as well be unplugged. The front door stays locked, and if anyone knocks it’s usually a reporter. We get at least two prank calls every day from idiots who want you dead. I can’t take it anymore.” She was wiping her eyes.
“What are you going to do?”
“Leave town and go find a job somewhere.”
“Okay. Any ideas?”
“Maybe. I have a good friend down in Sarasota, a kid from school. She says there are plenty of jobs and I can stay with her for a few months. I’ll find something.”
“So it’s come to this?”
“Afraid so. I’ll always cherish these days, Simon, the good ones anyway. There weren’t many bad ones.”
“You’ve been wonderful and I don’t want to see you go.”
“I know. And I know that if you had the income and the business I’d stay forever, but that’s where we are. I’m so worried about you, Simon.”
“Thanks. Unfortunately, there’s plenty to worry about.”
They were silent for a long time as they stared at the walls and remembered the good days. She touched her eyes with a tissue and he felt like crying too. Finally, she said, “I’ll leave Friday.”
“You can always come back, you know?”
“I wish I could believe that, Simon, I really do.”
They stood and hugged for the first time, then hugged again for the last time.
Chapter 40
With Simon focused on his criminal problems, and with Judge Pointer steadfastly refusing to even discuss Eleanor Barnett’s complicated estate, Teddy Hammer quietly pursued his grand scheme. His plan was to attack the will prepared by Simon on the grounds of undue influence. If Simon was convicted of murder, he would go away for a long time and his will would be worthless. If he was acquitted, something no one really expected, then they would have a huge court fight over his actions in preparing the will. Teddy would also attack the will prepared by Wally Thackerman, also on the grounds of undue influence. He was confident he could use the threat of an ethics complaint to bully Wally into backing off.
Once Simon and Wally and their wills were out of the picture, Teddy could reveal his secret. Neither lawyer had discovered that there was a third will, one signed by Harry Korsak in 1988. According to Jerry Korsak, who had a copy of the old will, his father had agreed to leave everything to Eleanor, in trust. Upon her death, the assets would go to Jerry and Clyde in equal shares. Because Eleanor had such strong feelings against the boys, Harry had not told her about the will and she did not sign a similar one at that time.
Teddy at first doubted the story because he had learned to doubt almost everything Jerry told him. However, the old will was straightforward and attempted to protect Jerry and Clyde upon Eleanor’s death. The will had been prepared by a lawyer who died years earlier, and it was a near perfect example of legal malpractice. It virtually guaranteed years of litigation. For example, Harry kept his assets jointly owned with Eleanor while at the same time attempting to shield the assets in a poorly drafted trust. Why the old will was not probated at Harry’s death was not clear. Teddy surmised that Eleanor knew nothing about it and managed to avoid probate because the assets were jointly owned. He was also certain that neither Simon nor Wally knew about the old will. How could they? There were many unanswered questions, but the bottom line was that Clyde and Jerry were the only blood relatives still around. Eleanor’s niece and nephew didn’t even know she was dead.
The most pressing matter was the issue of the assets. What was in Eleanor’s estate? Jerry was convinced there was plenty. He knew his father owned stock in Coke and Wal-Mart, but some of his claims seemed rather grandiose. Before Teddy invested hundreds of hours of work, he needed to make sure there were significant assets. Otherwise, the case was not worth pursuing. To investigate, Teddy befriended the conservator, Clement Gelly, the conscientious young lawyer who had not asked to be involved. Judge Pointer trusted him and leaned on him for the favor.
Teddy convinced Clement to take a trip together. After getting Judge Pointer’s quiet approval, they flew together, at Teddy’s expense, to Atlanta and checked into a splendid hotel in the ritzy Buckhead neighborhood. Teddy had learned the identity of Buddy Brown, a principal in Rumke-Brown, Harry’s old brokerage house. However, his two attempts to get him on the phone had gone nowhere.
Buddy was fully aware of Eleanor’s death and the surrounding drama with her lawyer in Braxton, Virginia. In fact, he had a file with the press clippings and had followed the chatter online. He knew he would be involved at some point, so when the conservator, one Clement Gelly, called and asked for a meeting, Buddy really had no choice but to agree.
Teddy stayed at the hotel and kept busy while Clement took a cab a few blocks away to an office building filled with professionals and firms that seemed to want little attention. Rumke-Brown’s first-floor suite spoke of understated wealth. The walls and floors were decorated in a minimalist theme, with contemporary paintings and strange bronzes on the end tables. The mood was subdued and quiet with soft background music. There was no receptionist because the firm did not allow walk-ins or encourage visitors. An assistant met Clement and led him through the halls to a large corner office where Buddy Brown was waiting with a smile.
The firm’s website followed the minimalist theme of revealing almost nothing. There were a few partners and about a dozen associates, all much younger than Brown. Though his age was not given, he graduated from Emory in 1962, so he was in his mid-seventies. Fit, tanned, vigorous, ready for the next tennis match. No pickleball for him. The same assistant served them coffee and designer water on the conference table. Brown rolled up his sleeves, glanced at his watch, and was ready to donate one hour to the cause, whatever it was.