“Such as?”
“Do you have a church?”
“Yes, sort of. Harry was a Lutheran and we tried to go once a year.”
“That’s an idea. Think big. There are about a million worthy nonprofits you could help.”
“Such as?”
“Such as the Girl Scouts, heart association, orphanages, animal shelters, local library, small colleges, refugees, childhood hunger, environmental groups. You mentioned your work with the spider monkeys.”
“That was a rip-off.”
“Do you like animals?”
“Not really.”
“Okay. Whatever. Sit down tonight and make a list of all the possible groups, causes, and charities that you might want to help.”
“What’s your favorite charity?”
Simon’s lack of generosity was caused by a lack of extra cash rather than an absence of a kind spirit. How could he possibly write checks to help others when he and Paula were underwater and staring at three kids soon going to college? They had not donated more than a hundred bucks in the past five years.
He lied quickly with “The Sierra Club.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s not really for you. Have you thought about leaving some money for your friends?”
“My friends, the ones still living, know nothing about the money. If I told them about it they’d drive me crazy and my life would get very complicated. That’s what money does, Simon, it really causes problems.”
So does the lack of it, he thought to himself but managed to maintain an intelligent frown. He scribbled something on his legal pad and said, “Okay, moving right along. Who prepares your tax returns each year?”
“Why do you want to know?” she snapped, quite defensively.
“Well, because when you die, and I hate to say it that way but that’s the real reason we’re here, right, so when you die and your new will comes into play, the attorney for your estate will have to work with your tax advisor to prepare your returns.”
“Who will be the attorney for my estate?”
“That’s entirely up to you, but it’s pretty common for the attorney who prepares the will to also act as the probate attorney.”
“Kinda like that Wally character.”
“Yes, kinda like that.”
“What was the question?”
“Your tax advisor?”
“Oh yes, he’s this little CPA guy in Atlanta, been doing my taxes forever. One of Harry’s old sidekicks. I talk to him once a year, so you don’t need to bother him.”
“Okay, but it might be important for me to make contact.”
“That’s what Wally said. Why do you lawyers always want to pry into everything?” Another flash of anger, maybe even bordering on meanness. She was suddenly defensive and Simon quickly changed strategies and backed off. He had done a good job so far of gaining her trust and he didn’t want to irritate her.
Pry? Oh yes. What Simon really wanted was some proof that his dear Netty actually owned all that Coke and Wal-Mart stock, in addition to several million dollars just sitting in the bank. He believed her, he wanted so desperately to believe her, but he was also cautious enough to proceed slowly. Clients lied to him all the time. Lawyers, often after a few drinks, loved to tell stories of the outrageous lies their clients had fed them.
He assumed the stocks were held in a brokerage account and a nice, neat, concise summary was sent to Netty each month, same as the bank statements. He gritted his teeth and asked, “Do you have a financial advisor?”
She rolled her eyes as if frustrated and glanced around again, looking for eavesdroppers. She frowned and a ridge of thick wrinkles folded across her forehead. “You mean, like, a stockbroker?”
“Yes, who handles the stocks?”
“Well, it’s complicated. You see, Harry did business for years with a firm in Atlanta, then it merged or something with a bigger firm, and so on. After Harry died, one firm got sold to another. I really can’t keep up with it all. Now it’s all handled by this guy in Atlanta.”
“I see. Is there a person I can talk to about your assets?”
“I don’t know. Why do you want to talk to someone about my assets?”
“Because the IRS may require proof of assets.” Simon had no idea what he was talking about but using the IRS might frighten her somewhat.
She mumbled, “Same thing Wally said.” This startled Simon, but he decided to let it go and push later. He pretended to ignore her last comment, cast an important glance at his wristwatch, and said, “Okay, I’ll get started on this. Let’s meet again in a couple of days and go over a rough draft.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s the first version of your new will. In the meantime, please give some thought to some charities and foundations you might want to include.”
“I thought we talked about that. Thought I told you I don’t have any favorite charities.”
No charities, no friends, no family, no distant relatives. No one to receive the fortune when his dear Netty kicked the bucket. Perhaps that’s why Wally Thackerman did not name a single nonprofit. His scheme basically left everything in a new foundation that would become his own little piggy bank after her funeral, with at least a dozen ways to siphon money into his own pocket. Simon hated to admit it, but Wally’s will was impressive, in spite of its blatant effort at being nothing but a naked grab for money.
Simon vowed to do much better. He capped his pen, pulled his notes together, and said, “There is one thing, Netty. I can’t prepare a simple will if I can’t verify your assets. For most of my clients, this is not really necessary because they are not wealthy. But you’re in a different category.”
She was gazing through the window with a blank stare, as if it were time for another nap. She shook her head and said softly, “All this legal stuff.”
“I know, I know. But it’s important to get this right. Your current will is a mess and will only enable Wally Thackerman to end up with most of the money. That’s not right.”
She looked as if she might cry. “I feel so stupid.”
“Please. I can fix this. But I need to know the name of your stockbroker in Atlanta.”
“Buddy Brown.”
He repeated the name to himself. For some reason “Buddy” didn’t quite fit that profession. He uncapped his pen and scribbled on a paper napkin. “And the name of his firm?”
“Appletree something or other.” She was drifting away, her eyelids fluttering, her speech fading as if fatigued. And for the first time Simon wondered about her mental capacity. She was an elderly woman who suddenly looked even older. Hang on, old girl.
Among the many issues roaring through his brain was the challenge of getting her new will witnessed by two people who could attest to her “sound and disposing mind and memory.” Normally, it was a routine matter with Matilda and a secretary next door going through the motions. Oh well. It was something else he would deal with later.
He walked her to her car and watched her drive away, on the wrong side of the road and with one foot on the brake.
Chapter 5
Simon had a plan, awful as it was, to free himself of Paula, but he was stuck with Matilda. She had worked for him for twelve years and could practice law, or at least his humble version of it, with her eyes closed. She was very good at what she did, tech-savvy, punctual, a real pro at handling their clients and in dealing with lawyers and judges. Contrary to the fib he’d told Eleanor Barnett, Matilda was discreet and had never, at least to his knowledge, breached a meaningful confidence.
They tried to avoid each other’s private lives and Simon was saying nothing about his current dust-up at home. They disagreed and bickered occasionally, but always in private and never pushed things too far. She was once a flirt who’d struck out repeatedly with men, and now seemed to have given up on romance. She and Simon never touched each other, not even a little goodbye hug at the end of a long day. There was no physical attraction, to their relief. Indeed, they were determined to keep their distance and show not the slightest interest in anything beyond the employer-employee relationship. In their early years together, Simon had occasionally glanced at her rear end and legs, admiringly, and approved, much the same way he looked at most younger women, but now he tried not to look. She was only thirty-nine, three years younger than him, and she was gradually adding a few pounds per year. In the kitchen fridge she kept an assortment of diet drinks, sugar-free smoothies, protein shakes, meals-in-bottles, herbal flushes, the kind of junk advertised on cable. Evidently, none of it was working, but, of course, Simon only watched with amusement but would never think of commenting.