Fall from Grace (11 page)

With a sudden edge, Adam responded, “Whoever conceived it had an opening. Thirty-four years ago, give or take, my mother signed a postnuptial agreement renouncing any interest in my father’s property—including the house she lives in. As I understand it, that particular gem was your work.”

“So it was.” Thomson stopped abruptly, facing Adam. “I represented your father. Given the nature of that document, I couldn’t advise Clarice on what to do—it would have been a conflict of interest. So I referred her to Ed Rogers, now deceased. Only your mother can tell you why she signed it.”

“You don’t know?”

“Not a clue.” Thomson’s speech, flat and unadorned, underscored the discomfort written on his face. “I told Rogers that I had to say in the agreement that Clarice was doing this for ‘consideration’—the legal way of saying she was getting something for giving up her spousal rights. But he never told me what that was. If anything.”

Pensive, Adam listened to the breeze stirring leafy branches. “What did my father say?”

Thomson pursed his lips, as though tasting something bitter. “I asked Ben why the hell she’d sign a document consigning her to economic serfdom, and why he’d want her to. His response—delivered in his most mordant tone—was that this was personal between husband and wife. And that I was his lawyer, not his priest.”

Adam could imagine his father at that moment—the icy voice, the chill in his eyes that made men look away. “Did you give him any advice about it?”

“I surely did.” Thomson shifted his weight, his voice becoming harsh. “Frankly, I viewed this entire episode with suspicion and distaste. Had I been Clarice’s lawyer, I’d have shot her before I’d let her sign. As it was, I told Ben that this miserable agreement might not hold up in court.”

Adam tried to sort through troubled thoughts. “Mom says she expected to inherit from her father. Is that how you recall it?”

Thomson’s eyes narrowed, crinkling their corners. “At some point,” he answered slowly. “I remember learning that Clarice’s father had lost everything. But I’m not sure when that happened. If she signed this postnup after her father’s ruin—which I frankly can’t imagine—then she left herself defenseless against whatever Ben might do.” He gave Adam a meaningful look. “That really would have given her a reason to stay with him, wouldn’t it? Whatever his adventures with other women.”

Adam considered this. “Do you know when he bought the house from my grandfather?”

“I think that was handled by a lawyer in Boston. But the date would help pinpoint when your grandfather Barkley’s fortunes went south.” He shot Adam a querying glance. “You’re not questioning your mother’s explanation, are you?”

“As you said, I’m simply curious. Including about why you told my father that the postnup might not fly.”

Thomson’s probing look persisted. “A central point, to be sure, given that it’s the basis for Ben giving all his money to Carla and Jenny. And, again, completely confidential except from his executor. No doubt you’re simply preparing to defend your father’s will against attack.”

“No doubt.”

A corner of Thomson’s mouth curled. “In any event, under Massachusetts law, the enforceability of a postnuptial agreement is less than that of a prenup—unlike a prospective bride, Clarice gave up marital rights she already possessed. The law views that with less favor. Which, in turn, raises a critical question: Exactly what ‘consideration’ did your mother receive for cutting her own throat? Promoting marital harmony may not be sufficient. Certainly any subsequent change in her father’s circumstances would at least get Clarice a more sympathetic hearing—”

There was a sharp sudden sound of branches cracking, a stirring in the bushes. Instinctively, Adam flinched, bending at the knees, head pivoting to look around him. Then a startled deer flashed across the trail. Catching himself, Adam stood straight again, laughing at himself. “I haven’t seen a deer in years. Where I’ve been working, they don’t have them.”

Thomson gave him a swift look of appraisal. “You’ve been assisting the forces of international beneficence, your mother tells me.”

“Attempted beneficence,” Adam said, and began walking again. “On that general subject, do you have any insight into Dad’s bequest to Jenny Leigh?”

“None. In all the years I knew him, I don’t recall Ben mentioning her at all.” Thomson seemed to ponder this, remaining silent as the trail ahead became wider, closer to the water. “Truth to tell, almost everything about his latest will bewilders me. It’s a fun house mirror of the one Ben instructed me to draft less than three years earlier. Clarice was its sole beneficiary. After she died, Teddy got everything.” Thomson gave Adam a reluctant glance. “You were specifically excluded, and the reason spelled out. Your estrangement from Ben.”

Adam shrugged. “I never wanted my father’s money, and he no longer wanted me as a son. It all makes perfect sense.”

“This new will doesn’t. I can’t begin to explain why Ben left Jenny a million dollars, and gave you a chunk of change along with making you executor. Why would Carla Pacelli want him to do that?”

“I haven’t figured that out. But one possibility is that my father lacked the mental capacity to execute a valid will. Or resist pressure from a striking and seductive woman half his age.”

Thomson frowned. “Why couldn’t he? It’s not like Ben was a virgin. Credit all the lore about him, and he slept with every beautiful woman around but Jackie Onassis.”

“Not at sixty-five,” Adam rejoined, “suffering from brain cancer and abusing alcohol. Those facts might create an opening for my mother.”

Thomson pondered this. “They could,” he replied cautiously. “But it’s more complex than you imagine. Including, I’m afraid, for you.”

Two

The path cleared in front of them, opening to a vivid blue swath of sky. After a few more paces the two men stopped at the edge of a sheer cliff, reminding Adam of the promontory from which Ben Blaine had fallen to his death. For a time, they scanned the Vineyard Sound, its aqua waters dotted with sailboats and glistening in the afternoon sun.

“As you suggest,” Thomson began, “your mother has two lines of attack based on Ben’s mental condition. The first is that he lacked the mental capacity to understand the consequences of this new will. The second is that Carla Pacelli exerted such control over your father that he lacked independent judgment in leaving her most of his money.

“Let’s take the first. Unfortunately for Clarice, to prove lack of capacity she’d pretty much have to show that Ben had the intellect of a termite. The legal standard is appallingly low: about all Carla’s lawyer needs to prove is that Ben knew who he was and who was getting his money—”

“Even if he was drunk when he signed the will?”

“Even so. Drunks are assumed to be sober at the moment of signing; bipolars to be rational; people with moderate Alzheimer’s to be enjoying a lucid moment. And the witnesses Ted Seeley found to watch Ben’s signing—his employees, I’d expect—will swear that he reminded them of Albert Einstein. Believe it or not, the law gives their testimony great weight.”

Though Adam had expected this, he found Thomson’s narrative disheartening. “What about the effects of brain cancer?”

Thomson gave him a long, speculative look. “That would require expert medical testimony, wouldn’t it? Most important, from the specialist in Boston that Phil Gertz referred Ben to—and who’s barred from revealing to Clarice the course of Ben’s treatment, or what he said and did.” He paused, then added, “Unless, as your father’s executor, you waived the physician–patient privilege. And why would you do that when your obligation is to see that Carla Pacelli gets Ben’s money?”

Adam met his eyes. “Suppose I allowed the doctor to testify in order to rebut attacks on my father’s mental state.”

Thomson gave him a wintry smile. “So find out what he’d say. You’ll also want the pathologist’s report on the nature and extent of the tumor.”

“I’ve asked. But George Hanley won’t give it up.”

“George always had a suspicious mind. When it comes to how and why Ben died, and whether someone killed him, this will doesn’t help your mother and brother, does it?”

“Not at all.”

“What a mess,” Thomson murmured. “Back to the subject of Ben’s mental state, Clarice could also use the testimony of a psychiatrist on how brain cancer might affect his powers of reason. Assuming that a shrink feels comfortable opining on a man he’d never met.”

Adam had considered this. “He could base his opinion on what our family says. My mother saw him every day; Teddy and Jack often enough. They can describe excessive drinking, memory loss, slurred speech, and erratic behavior of all kinds.”

Thomson looked at him narrowly. “I’m sure they can—and would. Just as Ms. Pacelli will describe a man of keen intelligence and the saintly temperament of the late pope John Paul. All of which will be regarded by the judge as self-serving bullshit.” Thomson’s voice became flinty. “If your mother has a prayer of showing that Ben’s synapses were shot, it’s through this neurosurgeon. As executor, you can stand in her way or not. I don’t need to reiterate your legal obligations, or the ethical dilemma they create. You can’t get caught helping her and remain as executor.”

“Of course not,” Adam replied blandly. “So let’s move on to my mother’s second line of attack—‘Carla made him do it.’ What would she have to prove in court?”

Thomson sat on an old log that doubled as a bench, making room for Adam to join him. “As far as Ben’s acuity goes, the standard for proving ‘undue influence’ is less daunting—Clarice need only show that his intellect was weakened at the time he signed the will. That shifts the burden to Carla to prove by ‘clear and convincing evidence’ that she didn’t control Ben’s actions.”

“That does sound easier.”

“In the abstract, sure. But ‘undue influence’ usually involves an old person who feels powerless without a caregiver. Carla may have cooked Ben’s favorite dinners, but he was still living with your mother. And whatever Clarice says about him now, he was still moving around in the world without the help of either woman.” Thomson’s speech became sardonic. “Off the cuff, I’d say this was a case of ‘due influence.’ It’s perfectly rational for a man Ben’s age to change his will so he can keep on fucking a woman who looks like Carla Pacelli. It’s just not nice. If that were grounds for insanity, our asylums would be as jammed as our prisons.”

Adam gave a perfunctory laugh. “Still, the man had brain cancer. Mom has to take that as far as it can go.”

Thomson’s voice became somber. “As desperate as she must be, I’d try anything. But there are two other areas in which Carla may have real problems.

“The first is that Seeley created trusts in favor of Carla and Jenny Leigh. No doubt his purpose was to take the money Ben gave them out of the estate, and therefore beyond Clarice’s legal reach—”

“Why bother, when the will already cuts my mother out?”

“My best guess? Ben remembered me saying that the postnup might not hold up. If Clarice can break it, under Massachusetts law she’s entitled to one-third of Ben’s estate—no matter what his will says. That’s not enough for her to keep the house, but it’s far better than where she is now. Frankly, this ugly ploy with the trusts bespeaks Ben’s ruthless determination to leave Clarice with nothing.” Thomson paused, adding slowly, “What did she ever do, I wonder, to make him hate her that much?”

Adam felt a suffocating wave of anger. “Nothing,” he said curtly.

“Whatever the reason, Ben found just the lawyer to help him. Assuming he’s capable of legal research, Seeley must have relied on an old case called Sullivan v. Burkin. That decision cited what was then settled legal precedent: that a husband in this state had an absolute right to dispose of his property as he saw fit—including creating a trust that cuts off the wife’s legal interest in its assets. But our highest court found this rule so unfair that it implored our legislature to change the law.

“Given that half our legislators are crooks or cretins, they did nothing. But the opinion suggests that our courts may not uphold this trick in the future. If they don’t, and if Clarice can invalidate the postnuptial agreement, she’d be entitled to one-third of what Ben gave Carla and Jenny.”

“So we’re back to the postnup.”

“As always. But there’s one more factor that may benefit Clarice. The last will I drew up deferred estate taxes until she died. If she succeeds in bringing the trust assets back into the estate, Carla and Jenny will have to pay taxes on every dime they get. That means the estate will lose almost four million dollars, potentially leaving Clarice with one-third of the eight million dollars remaining. Assuming, again, that she can bust the postnup.” Thomson smiled a little. “If Carla’s the schemer you believe her to be, she won’t like that result one bit.”

Adam thought swiftly. “What if Mom can force a settlement with Pacelli?”

“Then she’ll get the full amount of the settlement without paying any estate tax. The question becomes what she’d have to give Carla in return.”

“And if she can prove my father lacked the mental capacity to execute this will?”

“That would invalidate the will in its entirety—including its revocation of the prior will. Clarice gets everything; Carla, Jenny—and you—nothing. So Carla, and perhaps Jenny, will fight Clarice like tigers.” Thomson shook his head. “I’d hate to think it, but perhaps Ben in his perversity hoped for that.”

A cooling breeze touched Adam’s face. “More than perhaps. It would have pleased him to imagine women fighting over his remains.” His tone became crisp. “So how does Mom keep the money away from Carla until the court decides the will contest?”

“She needs to race to the courthouse claiming that the trust assets are part of Ben’s estate. Once she files, the probate judge will bar Carla from taking the money and haul Ted Seeley, as Ben’s cotrustee, before the court.” He gave Adam a sideways glance. “What you need to do, as executor, is notify your mother that you’re submitting the will for probate. If she’s prepared, she’ll be in court a nanosecond later. No doubt Carla knows that.”

“No doubt.”

Thomson’s eyes became curious. “I gather you’ve met her. And so?”