James Grippando - Last to die

This is not a threat. I am simply sharing information with the rest of you. All of the beneficiaries under Sally Fenning’s will are in grave danger. I mean all of us, including me. I wish I could say more, but all I can say is this: If you choose to stay in this game, be careful. Be extremely careful. Please take this very seriously.

The letter wasn’t signed, but there was a typed name at the bottom. Miguel read it, then picked up the phone and dialed his lawyer. He was routed to voice mail, with a cheery instruction from Parker Aimes’s secretary to speak clearly after the tone.

“This is Miguel Rios calling about the Sally Fenning estate. I wanted to let you know about a letter I received in the mail. It’s from Alan Sirap. The sixth beneficiary.”

It was time to find out more about Alan Sirap.

Jack had received a phone call from Tatum on Thursday night, and by mid-morning Friday, Jack had confirmed that all five of the other beneficiaries had received the same letter. Still, no one seemed to know who Mr. Sirap was, or at the very least they were unwilling to share what they knew. Jack set up a lunch meeting with Vivien Grasso. As the lawyer who had drafted Sally’s will and as personal representative of her estate, Vivien was charged with the responsibility of locating all the heirs. In light of the latest letter, Jack wanted an update on how the search for Alan Sirap was going.

“This is one strange letter,” said Vivien. Jack had shown her Tatum’s copy, and she’d read it quickly.

Jack looked up from his menu, which he was only pretending to read. Old Lisbon was his favorite Portuguese restaurant in Miami, and for lunch he always ordered the house specialty, grilled squid and french fries. It wasn’t for everybody, but it was definitely for anybody who was tired of the typical calamari à la Friday ’s-breaded, deep-fried, and drowning in enough marinara sauce to make a hockey puck taste good.

“Strange is one word for it,” said Jack. “Scary comes to mind as well.”

She smiled wryly and handed back the letter. “Come now, Jack. Something tells me that your client doesn’t scare easily.”

“I have a feeling yours didn’t either.”

“Sally had a rough life. But yes, she was pretty tough, too.”

“How well did you really know her?”

“How well do we know any of our clients?”

“Some better than others.”

Vivien squeezed a wedge of lemon into her iced tea. “I deal with very wealthy clients. Most of them guard their privacy rather fiercely. Sally was no different.”

“So what you’re saying is-”

“I knew her well enough to draft her will. That’s what I’m saying.”

A waiter brought them fresh baked bread and a dish of olive oil for dipping. Jack tore off a chunk but kept talking. “Vivien, you’ve known my father for years. You’ve known me almost as long. So you know I’m on the level when I tell you that anything you say here is just between you, me, and the grilled squid, right?”

“Oh boy. Here it comes.”

Jack smiled a little, then turned serious. “Was it Sally Fenning’s intention to construct some sick game of survival of the greediest?”

She drummed her nails on the table, as if debating how to answer-or perhaps whether to answer.

“I’m not trying to put you in a bad spot,” said Jack. “But some weird stuff is happening.”

“It’s okay. To be honest, the last thing I want is for you or, worse, your father to think that I would allow myself to be part of a bloody vengeance campaign. So let me put it this way. I concede that drafting Sally’s will so that everything goes to the survivor of six potential heirs is certainly unorthodox. But I never imagined that threats and bodily injury were part of Sally’s plan.”

“Then what was her plan?”

“This is the way I understood it. For Sally, there was no bright side to money. When she needed it, she didn’t have it. When she had it, she wasn’t happy.”

“That much I seem to have figured out.”

“As far as she was concerned, money was a curse. So she decided that when she died, she’d share the curse with people she didn’t like. The way we structured her will, each of Sally’s heirs would live their whole life thinking they were just a heartbeat away from inheriting forty-six million dollars. But only one of them would ever see the money-and by the time they got it, he or she would probably be too old to enjoy it. It was vindictive, but it wasn’t criminal.”

“What did she tell you about her enemies-the heirs?”

“Names, addresses, Social Security numbers. Except for Alan Sirap. For him, I just got a name. Sally promised to provide an address and a Social Security number, but she never got around to it. Frankly, with a healthy twenty-nine-year-old woman as a client, I wasn’t exactly hounding her every day to get it to me. The will was valid without it.”

“From what you’re saying, I assume that you didn’t do a background check on any of the beneficiaries in Sally’s will.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“So you have no idea why my client was named as a beneficiary.”

“Not really. Do you?”

Jack got out the proverbial tap shoes, unable to tell her that Tatum was a hit man. “Based on what I’ve learned about the others, I can only surmise that Sally considered him an enemy.”

“Sally didn’t explain in any great detail why she chose Tatum Knight or any of the others.”

“That didn’t strike you as odd?”

“If a client doesn’t want to lay out every dirty little detail about her chosen heirs, it’s frankly none of my business. It was Sally’s prerogative to leave her money to whomever she wished, even her enemies. Even if it meant disinheriting her own sister.”

“Rene, right?” Jack had been meaning to follow up on Sally’s sister ever since her name had come up in the meeting with Sally’s bodyguard, but it wasn’t easy for a sole practitioner with other paying clients to jump right on top of every little lead.

“Right. She’s Sally’s only surviving relative.”

A busboy came by and refilled their water glasses. Jack waited for him to leave, then asked, “What do you know about her?”

“I know that Sally worked side by side on a humanitarian mission with her sister for some time in Africa.”

“When?”

“Before Sally remarried.”

“Did they have a falling out?”

“Not that I know of. The only impression I ever gained from Sally was that she loved her sister dearly.”

“But she left her nothing in her will.”

“Go figure.”

Jack glanced out the window. The passing cars on busy Coral Way were just a blur. “I guess vengeance can be sweet,” he said in a detached voice. “But why would a woman with no other family completely disinherit a sister whom she loved?”

“I can’t answer that,” said Vivien.

“There’s probably only one person alive who can. Does Rene still live in Africa?”

“Yes. I sent her a notice of Sally’s death.”

“So you have an exact address for her?”

“At the office. She’s in Côte d’Ivoire.”

Jack thought for a second. “I’ve always wanted to go to Africa.”

“Now you’ve got an excuse to go.”

The waiter returned to their table and asked, “Are you ready to order?”

“I wonder if I should update my shots,” said Jack.

The waiter shot an indignant look.

“No, I’m sorry, I meant…Oh, never mind.”

I the spirit of China Grill, Smith amp; Wollensky, Joe Allen’s, and countless other successful New York eating establishments, Restaurant Nobu seemed to work even better with a Miami Beach suntan.