“I understand. Just a couple of things. I’ve made a list here of about three dozen charities and nonprofits that I want you to consider naming in your will. Your trustee will be given the authority to distribute the money at his or her discretion.”

  “Who’s my trustee?”

  “Well, right now it’s Wally Thackerman.”

  “That little crook. The more I think of him the more I despise him.”

  “I understand. You mentioned a niece and a nephew.”

  Her chin dropped. Her eyes watered. She suddenly looked very sad. She swallowed hard and said, “I mentioned them only because you asked about relatives. You see, Simon, I have no family. My parents died young. My sister Rose and I were never close. I really never liked her, to be honest. She’s dead now and her two kids are my only relatives. It’s kinda sad, you know, going through life with no family, no kin folks.”

  “I know some people who would say it’s a blessing,” he replied, but the wisecrack went nowhere.

  “Vince Barnett and I tried but we couldn’t have kids. We were so young.”

  “Where is your nephew?”

  “Oh, gosh, who knows? Last I heard he left his wife and kids and ran off with a college girl.”

  Simon was suddenly tentative with his questions. “And you have no relationship with him?”

  “None. I saw him briefly at my sister’s funeral fifteen years ago. He barely spoke to me. We just don’t know each other.”

  “And your niece?”

  A long pause as she managed a slight smile. “Maggie. She’s certainly a better person than her brother, but I haven’t seen her in decades. You see, Simon, their childhood was not good, and Maggie fled as soon as she could. She had to get away from her parents and her brother. She became a veterinarian and moved to Africa where she studies giraffes, last I heard. We’ve had no contact since she was in college, couldn’t even get home for her mother’s funeral. Pretty sad family, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I’ve seen a lot worse. What if you made a gift to the foundation she works for?”

  “To study giraffes?”

  “I’m sure they do good work. Do you know its name?”

  “The giraffe?”

  Simon took a breath as he scribbled something and asked himself if this was one of those moments when the marbles were loose. “No, the nonprofit Maggie works for?”

  “Oh no, of course not. I don’t even know what country she’s in. And besides, she hasn’t bothered to contact me in at least thirty years. So why should I send her a check? I’ll be dead, right? You know, when she gets the check?”

  “Right, that’s the purpose of this will.”

  “So Maggie gets a check she’s not expecting from her dear Aunt Eleanor, who she has obviously forgotten and never really cared about in the first place, and what’s she supposed to do, write me a thank-you note? I’ll be dead, Simon. Who’s going to read the thank-you note?”

  Damned sure won’t be me, Simon thought to himself, but it was an excellent question. “All right, all right, forget the family. Can you think of any person, a friend, neighbor, anyone, who you might want to leave some money to?”

  “No. You’ve already asked me this. So did Wally. I said no.”

  “Well, you left a chunk to Wally.”

  “I did not.”

  “Yes, Netty, in paragraph fourteen, section A, there is an outright gift to Wally Thackerman for $485,000.”

  Her jaw dropped and she shook her head. “That little creep.”

  “He did not explain this to you?”

  “Of course not. I don’t think so. If he did I don’t remember it. Why would he do that?”

  Simon had been looking for an opening to bring up the gift to Wally. As he suspected, she was unaware of it because she had not carefully read the will. She had trusted Wally, just as she would trust Simon, hopefully enough to allow him to simply explain the provisions of the will, hitting the high points and skirting by the fine print.

  “I can’t begin to understand what Wally was thinking,” Simon said.

  “You’re not doing that, are you, Simon?”

  “Of course not. It’s highly unethical and probably grounds for disbarment.”

  “Gobbledygook. Please don’t take advantage of me.”

  “There is no gift to me in your will. Period. As the attorney for your estate and for the trust I will be entitled to fees for my services, but all fees must be filed in public records and approved by the court.”

  She exhaled, obviously relieved. She reached over and touched his hand. “Thank you, Simon.”

  “Just doing my job, Netty. And part of my job is to protect your estate and prevent trouble. For this reason I want you to leave some money to your two stepsons.”

  She jerked back her hand and frowned. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because they might cause trouble during probate. If they find out how much money you really have, then it’s almost guaranteed they’ll hire a lawyer and contest the will.”

  “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.

  Unlike Wally, the greedy little bastard, Simon would not be getting a direct payment of cash upon Eleanor’s death. In the depths of the densest and most convoluted paragraph of that will, Wally included an outright gift of $485,000 to himself. A magnifying glass was needed to find the language. The payment was for “accrued services,” a vague and unique category of testamentary gifts that, not surprisingly, went undefined. It was absurd to think that Eleanor owed that much money to Wally.

  But never mind. It wouldn’t matter. Wally wasn’t getting squat from the will he drafted or the one dear Netty was signing now in the presence of her two attesting witnesses.

  As always, Simon choreographed the execution and asked Tony and Mary Beth Larson if they understood that they were vouching for the mental acuity of Ms. Eleanor Barnett. With enthusiasm, both said yes and eagerly signed their names. There were smiles and even giggles all around. Simon notarized both signatures, and in doing so sealed the fate of the most valuable last will and testament he would ever prepare.

  As his way of saying thanks to the Larsons, he usually took them to lunch, and today he insisted that Eleanor join them. The invitation seemed harmless, and though it was made in good faith there was an ulterior motive. Simon, now with one distant eye on future litigation, wanted the Larsons to spend even more time with his client. They had no way of knowing that they were quite likely to be called as witnesses if the whole mess blew up. The more time they spent with Eleanor, and especially on the same morning she signed her will, the more credibility their testimony would have.

  Of course Simon did not mention their possible involvement in a will contest. The Larsons had been witnessing wills for years and there had never been a problem. Why bother them now? He did have a twinge of guilt because he couldn’t warn them that one day they might get subpoenas, but he forced those thoughts out of his mind for the moment.

  Simon pondered these things over chicken salad in a deli two blocks off Main, a hole-in-the-wall seldom frequented by lawyers and the courthouse gang. He did not want Wally to see him out and about with Eleanor Barnett, who was having a delightful time chatting with Tony and Mary Beth. The Larsons were friendly people, they sold insurance, and Eleanor warmed up to them considerably. She seemed to thrive on the interaction and hardly touched her salad.

  After an hour of listening, Simon broke up the party with a fib about being needed in court.

  The will was done. Properly signed and witnessed and notarized. He had deliberately ignored the matter of the $250 fee, simply because he did not want a check that Matilda might see. Eleanor could keep her money. He had big plans to get it back later, in spades.

  * * *

  Back at the office, Eleanor was saying goodbye when she thought of something. “Can we talk for a moment?”

  “Of course,” Simon said. Whatever she wanted.

  “Well, I’m not sure how these things work, but what happens to Wally at this point?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do we tell him that I have a new will and the one he prepared is no longer valid?”

  That was the last thing Simon wanted. Wally might react badly and become unpredictable. He might press Eleanor to change her mind yet again. He would certainly come after Simon with all manner of threats, though he probably wouldn’t follow through. Sticking his name in her will to the tune of $485,000 cash outright would probably get his license suspended for a year or two, if not revoked. Simon simply did not want to deal with Wally at this point. Their disagreements would erupt later, after her funeral.

  He said, “The law does not require one lawyer to inform another lawyer that a client has signed a new will that invalidates a prior one. It’s simply not done.”

  “It seems like we should tell him.”

  “Not now. Maybe later. The reason it’s not done is because a client, you, has the right to change your mind anytime you want. You may decide next month to change something in your new will. You many even decide to have another lawyer prepare a new one.” Simon couldn’t believe he was uttering such foolishness.

  Eleanor grinned and touched his arm. “I would never do that, Simon. I’m in such good hands now. I didn’t feel this way with Wally Thackerman. I still can’t believe he tried to take my money.”

  “Let’s forget about that. It’s history now. I’ll keep the original will here in my safe and you take a copy home and hide it somewhere. No one should ever see your will, Netty, do you understand? Friends, stepsons, housekeepers—no one sees your will.”

  “I understand.”

  “There’s one last thing we have not discussed, and that’s your final arrangements. It’s a very delicate matter and I think we should do it over lunch in the near future.”