Perri O'Shaughnessy - Unlucky in Law

He examined the books in cases against one wall. Yes, he could imagine himself, glasses on his nose, a client across from him needing his help, leafing through one of those red tax books, slapping it shut with satisfaction.

The lawyer looked up. “Tell me, Mr. Wyatt, why did you come to me?”

“Pretty obvious, isn’t it? I want to know the terms of his will, which I was left out of. This is California. My mother, who was legally married to the guy, was entitled to half the estate, wasn’t she, at least whatever he made while they were married. Well, she got gypped.”

“Ah,” he said. “I contacted your mother after you called, because I had a few questions, too.”

Well, in that case, Gabe thought, annoyed, why the big show about reading his notes again? He must have read them before calling Wanda. Maybe he was the forgetful type. Or maybe he was stalling Gabe for some reason.

“I was not aware Mr. Zhukovsky had remarried. However, he and your mother signed a prenuptial agreement. They weren’t that common in those days, but apparently it was something he had drafted by another attorney. She was kind enough to send me a copy. It’s all very aboveboard.”

“Secretive bastard didn’t even want his own lawyer to know about my mother,” Gabe said. “Either that or he didn’t trust you anymore.” He laughed.

The way Turk’s jowls hardened showed he did not find Gabe’s little joke funny at all. He was younger than Gabe’s mother, maybe in his middle to late fifties, not too wrinkled, but with a receding hairline he tried to disguise.

Turk tapped a pen against the edge of the desk, arched his back, and got comfy in his leather swivel chair. “I’d like to know more about your interest in the will, if I could.”

Inside, Gabe laughed at the language. He could do that too, push people around with a delicate hand. However, unlike this fancy attorney, he didn’t have to. “I don’t see why,” he said. “Obviously, I have a right to know.”

“This will was written and probated more than twenty years ago. Naturally, I’m curious.”

Gabe got it now. He might not appear aggressive, but old Turk wasn’t going to give until he understood the scene. Well, Gabe considered, what would it cost him anyway? Nothing. This guy couldn’t tell anyone about what they said in this room. Gabe didn’t have to go to law school to know that.

“I only recently found out my mother was married to the guy, okay? Otherwise, I promise you, I would have stopped by earlier.”

“You had no idea?”

“None at all. My mother kept the information from me.”

The lawyer nodded. “It’s straightforward,” he said. “He wrote the will right after he married your mother, but before you or your brother were born. Other than a few small bequests to charity and to his church up in San Francisco, your father divided his estate between his first two children, Christina and Alex Zhukovsky.”

“How much did they get? Exactly.”

Turk’s nose hid behind the file for another minute. Then he put it down and stroked it with his hands. “I can’t say exactly. That is not in the will, of course. Assets are calculated after debts are paid, holdings are sold, and so forth. But I believe, at least, if memory serves me, each of the heirs received roughly a million dollars.”

“Each.”

“Yes.” He kept his hands on the file as if holding tight to something precious. They looked cold, and the buff color of his skin roughly matched the manila folder.

“That’s a lot of apple pie.”

Turk shrugged. “I don’t know how he made his money. He must have invested wisely over many years.”

“You know what my mother got?”

“Three hundred thousand dollars, invested in an annuity with certain restrictions that passed outside the estate.”

“Four hundred a month to take care of her for life. I bet she thought that was some chunk. What a laugh by comparison, huh? She’s always had to work, you know, for as long as I can remember. While that- Ever seen Christina’s apartment?”

The lawyer said nothing.

“Well, I have. It’s a penthouse. Must have cost her a bundle. Maybe she owns the building. In those days, back in the seventies when he died, two million bucks was worth something, wasn’t it?”

“That’s certainly true.” The lawyer smiled slightly. He was still trying to figure Gabe out.

“There’s another issue.”

“Oh?”

Gabe couldn’t help laughing. “Well, I told you about this Romanov connection. Somehow Christina latched on to the idea that her father, our father, wasn’t just a page to the last tsar of Russia. She thinks he was his son.”

Alan Turk let out a snort of disbelief. “His son? His son ? You mean, like the Anastasia stories?”

“She went to Russia and met some people and came back believing it. And she’s ready to go public with the idea, too.”

Gabe enjoyed the flabbergasted look on Turk’s face. “She must have some sort of psychiatric problem!”

“Yeah, delusions of grandeur,” Gabe said. “But even my mother says the old man talked more and more about Russia before he died. He said he couldn’t tell her all of it. He said he had decided when he came to America to keep his secrets.”

“You mean Christina’s going to say that she’s some sort of heir of the Romanovs?”

“The heir to the throne. She was the oldest of Constantin’s kids, and even though she was a daughter she thought she could be recognized by the Russian church, then the people. She thought she had a shot at it.”

“At what! There hasn’t been a monarchy in Russia since 1918!”

“Don’t ask me,” Gabe said. “Maybe she just wants to cause an uproar. Or the people behind her do. But here’s what I’m thinking. I know it’s a long shot, but maybe it’s true.”

“You’re joking!”

“Kind of, yeah. But. If it’s true-one chance in a million, I know-well, then, the old man might have escaped with more than the shirt on his back, you know what I mean? That’s why I think we need a thorough accounting.”

“I performed a thorough accounting. I’ll make you a copy of the Inventory and Appraisal filed with the Probate Court twenty-five years ago.”

“I’ll demand another search of that house he lived in. You didn’t know about this theory. We ought to search the chimney and under the house. And check if Christina or Alex grabbed anything they shouldn’t have before you did your inventory.”

“That’s assuming you have a claim.”

“Isn’t there a claim here?” Gabe said, looking the lawyer right in the eye. “I’ve been doing some reading. Our mother’s agreement with Constantin Zhukovsky doesn’t mention me and it doesn’t mention my brother.” He motioned toward the file Turk clung to so fondly. “Go ahead. Review away.”

“That isn’t necessary. You’re right. The agreement doesn’t mention you or your brother.”

“When people write wills, they are often advised by their lawyers to use a kind of general bequest-like, ‘I leave my estate to my children,’ unstated meaning, all of them, born or unborn, named or unnamed, right? But my father’s will didn’t mention us at all, did it?”

“The only heirs are specified. He was adamant.”

Protecting himself from any accusation that he did a piss-poor job, Gabe thought. A lawyer worth his salt would plan for the chance a child could be born or adopted after the will was written. “Therefore…” He was playing a little game, waiting to see if the lawyer was just testing him. Maybe he thought Gabe was dragging things out but knew nothing. “Come on. Help me out here.”

“You want to know if you and your brother have a right to some of the money your half-siblings inherited under your father’s will.”