Stuart Woods - Santa Fe Edge

“I felt under a great deal of pressure,” Margie said. “I had worked for Mr. Wilen for more than twenty years, and he had been very kind to me, so, to my regret, I went along.”

“Tell us how the will was changed, please.”

“It was very simple: Mr. Wilen removed the two pages of the will that dealt with bequests and dictated changes to me which reduced Mrs. Keeler’s inheritance to the use of, but not the ownership of, the San Francisco apartment, and an allowance of fifty thousand dollars a month, both for life. I typed up the new pages and Mr. Wilen forged Mr. Keeler’s initials on them with the same pen he had used to sign the will, and he instructed me to destroy the original pages.”

“Did you do so?”

“I did not. I could foresee a time when I might have to reveal what Mr. Wilen had done.”

“And did you do so?”

“Yes. Mr. Wilen was murdered a couple of weeks later, and a few weeks later Ms. Hight was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer. She died a couple of months later. Since they were both gone, I felt I should reveal what had been done to the will, so I wrote to the Ethics Committee of the California Bar Association and told them what had been done to the will.”

Waters picked up four pieces of paper from his table and handed them to Margie. “What are these papers?” he asked.

Margie held up two pages. “These are the original pages from the will, as Mr. Keeler had instructed them to be drawn.” She held up two pages with her other hand. “These are the two pages that Mr. Wilen dictated to me, eliminating nearly all of Mrs. Keeler’s inheritance.”

The judge spoke up. “Hand them to me,” he said. He read all four pages carefully. “I understand that the chairman of Mr. Keeler’s foundation is here with her attorney.”

A lawyer stood up. “I represent the foundation, judge.”

“Have you read these four pages?” the judge asked.

“Yes, Judge, both the chairman and I have read them.”

“Do you have an opinion as to the veracity of this witness’s testimony?”

“Judge, we believe her testimony is accurate, and although accepting it reduces drastically the amount due to the foundation, we feel we must accept it.”

“Is there any other person in the courtroom who has any objections to raise or wishes to contradict this lady’s testimony?”

There was silence in the courtroom.

“In that case I rule in favor of Mrs. Keeler and order that the original pages be restored to the will, and that it receive expedited probate. Mr. Waters, do you have any requests?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Waters said. “We request that the executor immediately transfer the sum of one hundred million dollars, or securities in that value, and that she be given the free use of Mr. Keeler’s airplane and its hangar, and that bills for the support and fuel of the airplane be paid by the executor until the will is probated and all the funds dispersed.” Waters held up a document. “I have prepared an order to that effect.”

“So ruled,” the judge said. “Give me the order.” He signed two copies and gave one to the executor and one to Waters. “This court is adjourned.”

BARBARA HAD TO SIT DOWN, and she had to work very hard not to pee in her pants.

Waters sat down beside her and handed her the court order. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m very well, thank you. I just need a moment.”

“Take your time.”

The executor walked over and introduced himself. “Mrs. Keeler, if you will give me a voided check on your bank account, I will transfer the funds in cash immediately.”

Barbara ripped out a check, wrote “VOID” across it and handed it to the man.

“And as soon as I get back to the office I’ll fax a letter to the FBO ordering that you control the airplane and that bills are to come to me, until the estate is settled.”

“Thank you so much,” Barbara said, giving him a winning smile.

Half an hour passed before Barbara could collect herself enough to allow Ralph Waters to walk her out of the court-house and put her into a cab.

As Waters held the door for her, she grabbed him and gave him a huge, wet kiss. “Send me a big bill,” she said, “and on top of that, I owe you the best blow job of your life.”

She got into the cab, and the stunned lawyer mustered enough control to close the door and wave her off.

Barbara gave the driver the address of her apartment building, but as they were driving toward home, she saw an important sign hanging in front of a plate-glass window. “Stop!” she said, and the cab skidded to a halt before the premises.

“What’s the matter, ma’am?” the driver asked, alarmed.

Barbara handed him a hundred-dollar bill. “Absolutely nothing,” she replied, opening the door and getting out. “Have a wonderful life!” She opened the door to the business and walked inside.

A distinguished-looking, middle-aged gentleman, clad in a double-breasted blue blazer with brass buttons, approached her with a welcoming smile. “Good morning, madam,” he said smoothly in a mid-Atlantic accent. “How…”

“That is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Barbara said, interrupting and pointing. “Exactly what is it?”

“That,” the gentleman said, “is the brand-new Bentley Mulsanne, and this is the first of its kind to reach the San Francisco market. By the way, my name is Charles Grosvenor,” he said, handing her an engraved and embossed card.

“How do you do? I am Mrs. Walter Keeler. I don’t suppose this one is for sale,” Barbara said.

“Actually, it was a special order by a regular customer, but we received word only this morning that he has suffered a serious illness and will be unable to complete the sale.”

“How very sad,” Barbara said, looking through a window at the gorgeous interior. “I’ll take it.”

“This example is in Aspen green with an interior of saffron and green leather, and trim of burled English walnut.”

“I’ll take it,” Barbara said.

“It has a twin-turbocharged, twelve-cylinder engine rated at six hundred horsepower.”

“I’ll take it,” Barbara said.

“The base price of the car is two hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars, but this particular Mulsanne is equipped with every option available for the car, bringing the total price to three hundred and forty-five thousand dollars, plus sales tax of nine-point-five percent, making a total of three hundred seventy-seven thousand, seven hundred and seventy-five dollars.”

Barbara sat down at the salesman’s desk and withdrew her checkbook from her purse. “To whom would you like the check made?” she asked.

“Bentley of San Francisco,” Grosvenor replied.

Barbara wrote the check, ripped it out and handed it to the man. “I’m going to need a driver,” she said.

“We will be pleased to supply you with a uniformed chauffeur until such time as you are able to hire your own person,” he replied. “May we arrange automobile insurance for you? We recommend Chubb.”

“That’s fine. They insure my apartment. My address and phone number are on the check. Tell them to add the car to my policy.”

“Do you require a personalized number plate?”

“Yes. Make it KEELER.”

He wrote down the name. “We will be happy to make that application for you. Will you excuse me for a very few minutes while I have the ownership paperwork prepared for your signature?”

“Of course,” Barbara said, walking over to the car, opening the driver’s door, seating herself inside and closing the door with a satisfying thud. The man was calling her bank, of course.

She explored the car’s interior, opening the glove box and the center console, running her fingers over the leather and walnut. She adjusted the seat and steering wheel, switched on the ignition and tried to figure out the radio. Soon she had a soft flow of lovely classical music playing through hidden speakers.