Richard Patterson - Fall from Grace

“Zero. Nothing at all about Jenny Leigh-or this actress.”

“If the tabloids are right, she wasn’t here. Ms. Pacelli seems to work fast.”

A quizzical smile surfaced in Thomson’s eyes. “You’re in an odd position, it seems. Your father’s executor; your mother’s son.”

Adam breathed deeply, inhaling the crisp, tree-scented air. “‘Odd’ doesn’t cover it. That’s why I need your best legal advice. In confidence, of course.”

“All right. Your familial position may be perverse. But your legal position is simple. As executor, you’re obligated to carry out your father’s will, ensuring that your mother and brother get nothing at all. Which, psychologically, must be excruciating.”

“Only if I let it be.”

“So you may be resigning?”

“I’m considering my choices. As executor, what power do I have to investigate why he left everything to those two women?”

Thomson’s keen expression deepened. “You stand in his shoes as a matter of law. So you, and you alone, can waive the privilege that prevents Ben’s doctors or lawyers from revealing their dealings with him. Including on matters pertinent to this will-”

“In other words, my legal status is unique. Neither his lawyer nor his doctor can tell my mother anything. But I can make them talk to me.”

Thomson nodded. “As I expect you’ve grasped, should Clarice challenge the will, her attorney would very much want to know what Ben said to his new lawyer, and how his doctors think the brain cancer might have affected his powers of reason. But these professionals can only reveal that to you. And, as executor, your duties are in direct conflict with your mother’s interests. Your obligation is to work with Ben’s lawyer, not Clarice’s.”

Adam had the strange sensation of conducting a two-track conversation-the first track what Thomson could say, the second its unspoken implications. “But it’s also true, is it not, that I can gather information to determine whether and how my mother can break the will?”

“For what purpose?”

“To anticipate her strategy. So as to defend and enforce the will, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” Thomson said with quiet irony. “You’re simply being cautious. I suppose there’s nothing to stop you, as long as you’re not passing information to Clarice. But, of course, you know that. Just as you know that Ben’s doctor and lawyer, like me, can’t reveal to your mother what they told you.”

Adam smiled a little. “Just in case I visit him, what do you make of your successor?”

“Young Mr. Seeley?” Thomson said with real scorn. “Hungry, shrewd, prone to legal shortcuts, and fundamentally stupid.” He paused, taking in the trees and foliage that surrounded them. “When I’m in this sacred forest, I should try to be more charitable. Let’s just say that Ted Seeley underrated the difficulty of building a practice on this small island, and that your father showed his usual keen eye for human weakness. Unless hiring Seeley was Carla Pacelli’s idea. I’d be curious to know if she was in the room when Ben and Seeley came up with this abortion.”

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.”