“Let me give you another for instance,” said the Genius. “Let’s say that we all walk out of here, and these fine folks get hit by a bus. And I don’t. That means I’m a millionaire?”
“No. There is still one other beneficiary who’s not here.”
“Him too,” said the Genius. “Let’s say they’re all on the same bus, and it rides over a cliff. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”
“Then, yes, you’ve hit the jackpot. You inherit forty-six million dollars as soon as everyone else is dead. The only condition is that you’re still alive when everyone else dies.”
“Doesn’t matter how they die?”
“No. What matters is when they die.”
A tense silence filled the room, which was prolonged by an anxious exchange of eye contact among a group of strangers who now, for some reason, seemed forever linked to one another. Finally, Gerry the Genius said, “It’s as if she’s encouraging us to bump each other off.”
More silence.
Vivien looked each of them in the eye, then said, “I’m not suggesting that anyone here is so inclined, but if any of the beneficiaries under this will were to bump off the others in hopes of inheriting the whole pie-well, just forget about it. Your motive would be obvious, so you’d never get away with it.”
Miguel chuckled, more philosophical than angry, as if the beauty of his ex-wife’s scheme had suddenly come clear. “So the joke’s on us. She makes us feel close to the money, but no one can really get it. At least not soon enough for it to be of any use to us in our lifetime. We’ll just go on living and hoping we’ll be rich some day, but we’re all just going to die as poor as we ever were.”
Vivien said, “If you’re feeling abused, you can always opt out. Nothing prevents a beneficiary from rejecting his right to an inheritance.”
He looked around the room, seeming to be doing some quick computations in his head as to the odds of his outliving everyone else in the room. “No. I’ll play her little game. I’d be happy to take her forty-six million.”
“And she’d be happy for you to have it,” said Vivien. “And I mean that. Sincerely.”
“So all we can do is wait?” asked the reporter. “Just go on living our lives and wait for everyone else to die?”
“That’s exactly right,” said Vivien.
Gerry the Genius flashed his plastic grin. “And, of course, we should all rest a lot easier and live a lot longer knowing that none of us here is a trained killer.”
He laughed too hard at his own joke. They all laughed, but it only made the moment all the more uneasy.
“Yeah,” said Tatum, catching Jack’s eye as he spoke. “Thank goodness for that.”
Nine
Things were moving fast. On Tuesday morning, Jack and Tatum were in court already. The plan was to move things even faster. Jack didn’t often find himself in probate court, and it was a bit of an adjustment for him. In some ways it was the most uncivil of places in the entire civil court system, the bloody arena in which sisters fought brothers and sons betrayed mothers, all in pursuit of family fortunes. Yet it was regarded as a strangely courteous environment, at least among members of the bar. Lawyers held the door for each other, said good morning, shook hands, knew each other by their first names. They even seemed to talk softly when addressing the court, as if in respect for the dead. Here, the stakes were as high as in any courtroom, but the style was different. That was why they called it “Whisper Court.”
“Good morning,” said Judge Parsons from the bench. He was one of the more respected members of the Miami-Dade County judiciary, a wiry African-American with thick, gray eyebrows and a shaved head that glistened like a brand-new bowling ball.
“Good morning, Your Honor.” The reply was a mixed chorus of lawyers and clients. Since the meeting at Vivien Grasso’s office, the number of relevant players had grown appreciably. Evidently, none of the beneficiaries was willing to play Sally’s forty-six-million-dollar game without topflight legal representation. Ex-husband Miguel Rioshad hired Parker Aimes, the five-time chairman of the probate section of the Florida Bar and a distant relative of the late Will Rogers. (The joke was that he’d never met a decedent he didn’t like.) Reporter Deirdre Meadows was represented by not one, but two lawyers from Miami’s biggest firm. Assistant State Attorney Mason Rudsky had already dumped his first lawyer and replaced him with a former law professor who had literally written the book on Florida’s law of estates and trusts. With Vivien Grasso as personal representative of Sally’s estate, the introductions were starting to sound like a Who’s Who of the probate bar, with one notable exception.
“Your Honor, I’m Gerry Colletti…appearing on behalf of Gerry Colletti.”
There was a light chuckle in the background, which seemed to annoy Gerry. He was apparently the only person in the courtroom who didn’t find it goofy that the client was introducing himself as the lawyer.
The judge said, “Mr. Swyteck, it’s your motion that’s brought us here. Please proceed.”
“It’s really quite a simple motion, Judge. As you know, Vivien Grasso is the personal representative of Sally Fenning’s estate. The law gives her ten days from the date of Ms. Fenning’s death to deposit with the clerk of the court a copy of Ms. Fenning’s last will and testament. As of today, ten days have come and gone, and the will is not on file.”
“But according to Ms. Grasso, she read the entire will to you at her office.”
Vivien rose and said, “That’s exactly right, Your Honor.”
“That’s not exactly right,” said Jack. “She read the entire will to us, except for the identity of the sixth beneficiary.”
Vivien said, “If I may explain, Your Honor.”
“Please do.”
“We’re talking about a forty-six-million-dollar estate. Look at the interest this case is generating,” she said as she turned and pointed to the public seating behind her.
Jack turned and looked with everyone else. The gallery was nearly full, six rows of shoulder-to-shoulder seating.
The judge asked, “Where did the buzz about this case come from all of a sudden?”
Vivien said, “Obviously you didn’t see the paper this morning. Nifty little story about the missing heir in a forty-six-million-dollar game of survival. Doesn’t take long for word to get out when one of the beneficiaries is a reporter.”
Deirdre Meadows sank low in her chair.
Vivien continued. “Now, why do you think the courtroom is nearly full for a Mickey Mouse motion like this one? I’ll tell you why. Because every warm body sitting in the observation gallery this morning works for a lawyer. They’re chomping at the bit, just waiting for me to divulge the name of that sixth beneficiary, so that they go running after him with a business card.”
Jack took another look, panning across a sea of faces that looked guilty as charged.
The judge flashed a thin smile and said, “Funny, but I’m suddenly reminded of something I watched the other night on the Discovery Channel. A helpless deer was surrounded by a pack of hungry coyotes with teeth bared. The pack slowly closed in, jaws snapping, until finally one of them lunged forward and took hold of a hoof. The others piled on. In a matter of seconds the deer was on its back, limbs extended, drawn-and-quartered as the ravenous coyotes pulled mercilessly for a share of the meal. Anyway, I digress. I guess that’s my way of saying that one third of forty-six million dollars is a contingency fee worth fighting over.”
“You bet it is,” said Vivien. “And that’s why I don’t want to publicize the name of the sixth beneficiary until I’ve been able to locate him. If I’m forced to reveal the name, I’m afraid that one of these coyotes, as you say, is likely to reach him before I do. Frankly, I think that’s an utterly distasteful way for someone to find out they’re a beneficiary under a will.”
“I agree,” said Jack. “That’s why I haven’t asked the court to order Ms. Grasso to file the will with the court.”