Sadie joined the boys. “You're not exactly my choice for a death coach, Aanders. I would have preferred someone more mature."
"I'm not going to do it.” Looking at the crossers sitting around the table, Aanders said, “I'm going to pretend I never saw you. Nobody asked if I wanted to be a death coach so I'm not going to do it.” Setting his jaw, he declared, “You're going to have to find someone else."
Sadie shook her head slowly. “You don't have a choice. You've been selected. That's all there is to it."
"You can do it, Aanders. You can learn from Sadie. She knows everything,” Tim said. “She's been doing it a long time and will be a good teacher."
Lora leaned forward. “Tim's right. I trust Sadie. She taught me how to make a death decision. I know what I want, but I have to wait to find someone on the brink before I can complete my journey."
Michael looked up at his mother and then at Sadie before scuffing his shoe against the wooden floor. He hid behind his mother and peeked out at Sadie with concern.
"I've got more years of experience than I care to remember,” Sadie said. “You've got a big job ahead of you, Aanders, but I'll be here to guide you as you learn."
Sadie winked at Michael. It was time to get Michael to admit his true feelings. Every time Lora talked about rejoining her husband, Michael appeared agitated. If she could get him to draw on his inner strength and admit his true feelings, it would give the child a chance to have a say in his death decision. Sadie knew it would be the opposite of his mother's. She also knew she needed to force the subject at the next round table session.
12
Paul Brink's secretary ushered Carl into Paul's office. She placed two folders on the hand-carved mahogany desk before asking Carl if he wanted a fresh cup of coffee.
"How'd you manage to train her to do that? Most secretaries won't offer coffee anymore. That equal rights thing is way overrated,” Carl said.
"No training involved. I hinted at what I liked during the interview and she listened."
"What else did you hint at?” Carl didn't need to ask because he often saw Paul's secretary leave the building after hours. Paul's previous secretary suddenly left his employ after an irate husband stopped by the office and found a locked door.
Paul's penchant for finding voluptuous secretaries chewed at Carl as envy crept back into his thoughts. When they were younger, every time Carl zeroed in on a new conquest, he was bombarded with questions about Paul. Without even trying, Paul fascinated women with his dark, brooding looks and penetrating green eyes, and Carl had to struggle to keep his jealousy at bay. Waiting for the opportunity to provide comfort to Paul's rejects seemed the best way to score.
"None of your damn business, Carl. What happens in this office stays in this office."
"Just like Vegas,” Carl said. He sat on the leather sofa and put one foot up on the coffee table.
Carl knew Paul had dropped a bundle of moola on the furniture in his office. The room contained leather items purchased from a showroom in New York. The furniture was grouped around an ornate area rug, imported from Italy, sitting under a heavy iron and glass coffee table. A mahogany desk finished out the room's grand design.
"Get your foot off the table. You'll scratch the glass.” Paul batted at Carl's boot.
Carl stretched his leg further over the table, placing his foot on a magazine. He pulled it over with the weight of his heel. “Satisfied?"
"I said put your foot on the floor."
"You're not threatening the future sheriff, are you?"
"Believe me Carl, your manners won't improve when you win the election. If it takes a threat to keep your feet on the floor, then that's what I'll do."
Carl slapped his thigh. “Now that's what I like to hear. You said when I'm elected, not if I'm elected."
"I don't know why you want the headache of being elected. It's a lot more responsibility."
"It's double the salary, too. I'm not like you,” Carl said. “I didn't come into a lot of money over the past five years."
Paul tapped his temple. “I used my brain. I picked the right deal.” He cast an accusing glance toward Carl. “Kind of like the way you're taking advantage of Judge Kimmer's passion. I had coffee with Kimmer this morning. He droned on and on and on about fishing. The worst part was I couldn't talk that cheapskate into a new investment.” Paul lifted a letter opener and ran his index finger over the sharp tip. “A whole half-hour listening to that crap. He talked about this piece of tackle and that piece of tackle. Like I care. Every time I tried to change the subject, he'd butt in and start all over again."
"I knew it. I knew it.” Carl cast a line over the coffee table and feigned battling a big catch. “He fell for it. I knew he would."
Shaking his head in amazement, Paul said, “I like your idea of timing it right and having your name splashed all over the front page. Getting that resort away from the Witt sisters will be a major coup. A reporter will be all over it."
"You know me. I always get what I want. Why are you so surprised?"
"I'm not surprised, I'm skeptical.” Running his hands over his hair and patting down the back, Paul said, “Just what exactly does the lawsuit say?"
Carl plopped his foot on the table again and put his hands behind his head. “It's called a Constructive Trust. In other words, a judge has to determine if a constructive trust can be imposed. He can impose one if he believes it morally wrong for the current owner to retain ownership of the property."
"Morally? Like if the current owner is committing a crime?"
Carl had the same misgivings when his attorney explained it so he understood Paul's skepticism. “It's a lot of legal stuff, but it made sense when he put it in terms I could understand.” He leaned back trying to remember how the attorney cut through the legal terminology.
Lifting his cap and scratching his scalp with his little finger, Carl said, “When a person tells a family member he wants his property disposed of in a particular manner and that family member doesn't act upon those wishes, that family member is guilty of unjust enrichment."
"But the judge who handled your grandfather's estate acted on his final wishes."
"That's true. But my attorney said because my aunt has a different version and because she wasn't present during the hearing, it caused the Witt sisters to benefit from an unjust enrichment."
"What kind of money did you promise your aunt to make that claim?” Paul said.
Leaning forward Carl said, “Wipe that smirk off your face. Do I question your business ethics? Besides, anything can happen. My attorney said I had about a seventy-percent chance of winning. I figured I upped that percent by reminding Judge Kimmer about the fun he'll have if I win the lawsuit."
"You wouldn't stand a chance if a different judge heard the case."
"I lucked out when the Witt sisters moved the date up,” Carl said. “The court assigned Kimmer to the hearing when the other judge decided to retire."
"You are one lucky dog."
"My attorney admitted this isn't exactly how the constructive trust law is interpreted, but with a little manipulation he could get the judge to see his point of view. All the judge has to do is re-evaluate my grandfather's intentions and determine whether or not the Witt sisters got what they didn't deserve."
Paul paged through his phone messages as he listened to Carl.
"I don't think the Witt sisters can afford an appeal. I guess this will be the end of it. If nothing else, maybe I'll get a cash settlement out of the deal.” Grinning, Carl added, “Don't forget, the key to the whole case is the fact the Witt sisters deprived Judge Kimmer of the property he wanted."
"I still say that's a conflict of interest."
"I already told you they never listed the property and Kimmer never officially talked to a realtor. Nothing was ever put in writing."