Richard Patterson - Fall from Grace

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.”

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.”