Karolina's Twins

by Ronald H. Balson

  Shirley held his hands up again. “Look, can we just be frank with one another? Arthur’s mother is debilitated. In her old age, she’s chasing phantoms and fairy tales. It’s not just about the money, it’s about helping to keep her within the boundaries of reality. You have an obligation to the profession. As a lawyer, you may not walk her down some illusory path that has no reasonable chance of a positive outcome.”

  “Are you finished?”

  Shirley sighed and slowly shook his head. He nodded to his associate, who took another document out of her case. “I’d hoped to avoid this, but here is a Petition for the Adjudication of a Disability, to declare Mrs. Woodward disabled because of mental deterioration, and to appoint Arthur as the guardian of her person and her estate. We will file this petition Monday unless I get a call from you. I’m sure you understand me.”

  “You would file such a petition and strip this courageous woman of her property and her dignity just like the Nazis did seventy years ago? You’d have Arthur put her in some home? Have you no conscience?”

  “I have a client who pays us very well.”

  Liam jumped to his feet. “Get the fuck out of this office, you slimy hack!”

  “Sir! You will not address me…”

  “Out! Either walking or flying. Now!”

  Shirley looked at Catherine. “Really, Ms. Lockhart?”

  She smiled. “You’d better do as he says.”

  Shirley gathered his papers. “You’re making a big mistake.”

  Liam took a step around the table.

  “All right, I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” Shirley grabbed his coat and hurried out the door.

  Catherine sat down hard. She had tears in her eyes. “Maybe I should have tried to reason with him. Now the damn thing’s escalated.”

  “Do you honestly think that would’ve made a difference? He’s got his marching orders from his client, who pays very well.”

  “I feel so badly for Lena. I have to get her in and warn her.” She picked up the phone and dialed. Liam sat back in his chair, gripping the armrests and shaking his head.

  “Lena?” Catherine said into the phone. “I just finished a meeting with Arthur’s attorney.” Pause. “I know.” Pause. “I agree.” Pause. “No, I don’t think we should ignore him. Can you come by tomorrow morning?” Pause. “Great. See you then.”

  TWELVE

  “LENA HAS A TEN o’clock appointment with me this morning,” Catherine said.

  “Well, then, we’ll have plenty of time for breakfast,” Liam said, flipping three eggs over easy. Beside the stove, a plate of bacon lay covered up with a napkin.

  “Actually, if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll just have some toast. I’m feeling a little queasy this morning.”

  “You need your protein. What good is a piece of toast? Dried bread? What kind of nourishment is that for my little tyke?”

  “It’s the only kind I’ll keep down.” She muffled a burp. “What did you find out about the Woodward family yesterday?”

  “Much like you thought, except the investment firm of DMW Inc.—standing for D. Morris Woodward—was a lot more successful than we expected. It was sold last year for seventy-five million dollars to Progressive.”

  Catherine nodded. “So, there is a sizable estate involved.”

  “And a very good reason for Arthur to want to get his hands on Mama’s money. Before the sale, he was vice-president of operations for DMW. When the business was sold, Arthur took a consulting position at Progressive, but he only lasted six months. From what I can find out, he was not well liked and was asked to resign.”

  “Now, there’s a surprise. Were you able to find out how much of the seventy-five million sales price went to Arthur?”

  Liam shook his head. “It was a privately held company. They didn’t have to report the shareholders’ equity, nor their distributions. I’m assuming Arthur did all right; he lives in a seven-figure house in Barrington. He also owns a seat on the exchange and trades under the name of Arthur Woodward Investments. But Lena was the sole heir to her husband’s estate according to the will filed with the probate court.”

  “How big was the estate?”

  “The probated assets were small. But that doesn’t really tell us anything. I’m assuming that Lena and her husband had a sophisticated estate plan and owned everything in joint tenancy or through a trust, and the assets passed to Lena outside probate as the surviving spouse.”

  “So, Arthur may not have inherited anything when his father died?”

  “Maybe not, but he may have received a portion of the sales price when the business was sold.”

  “It’s puzzling. If he’s living so comfortably, why would he covet his mother’s money?”

  “Well, two reasons come to mind.” Liam slid the fried eggs onto a plate with a few pieces of bacon and walked over to the table. Catherine’s hand shot up like a stop sign. “Liam, please don’t set that on the table. Seriously, my stomach. Would you mind eating at the counter?” She turned her head and waved her hand. “The smell. I’m sorry.” She ran out of the kitchen and down the hall.

  A few minutes later Liam met her in the living room. “Are you okay?”

  “Sorry. Your little tyke didn’t care for bacon and eggs this morning.”

  Liam smiled. “So, back to Arthur. Why would he covet Mama’s money? My hypotheses: first, even though he appears to be wealthy, we don’t know his present financial condition. I haven’t found anything negative—no lawsuits or judgments, his credit rating’s good—but he may be overextended. He lives pretty large. His current investments may be risky; maybe he’s in over his head on some market positions. Who knows? For all we know, he may have leveraged his expectancy. He may have convinced others to extend credit on the representation that he’ll inherit his parents’ estate.”

  “Second reason?”

  “He may just be a covetous, greedy kid, who wants to control the entire Woodward fortune.”

  “Enough to sue his own mother?”

  “Apparently so. Although the mystery is, why does he make the lawsuit contingent on Lena’s abandonment of her search for Karolina’s daughters? The cost of that search, even including you and me, is peanuts. It wouldn’t reduce the amount of his inheritance by even one percent. Why demand that Lena stop seeing you or face a competency hearing? In other words, why are the two tied together? Makes no sense.”

  * * *

  LENA ARRIVED AT CATHERINE’S office a little after ten A.M. Catherine handed a copy of Arthur’s petition to her. Lena read it and shook her head. “Why would Arthur say these things? It’s all untrue.”

  “I’m sorry,” Catherine said. “I told you his lawyers were very aggressive.”

  “But Arthur signed the petition himself. It was notarized. He swore it was the truth. And it’s not.”

  “We’re going to need your medical records, Lena. They’ll help us prove his allegations are unfounded.” Catherine handed a HIPAA release and medical authorization form to Lena.

  “When would we have to answer this petition?” Lena said.

  “Well, it hasn’t been filed yet. If he files it, as he’s threatened, Arthur’s attorney can set the matter for an initial hearing fifteen days later.”

  “Can he really do this? Can he take all of my property and put me in a home?”

  “Could he? Not if I have anything to say about it. Arthur is the petitioner, and he has the burden of proving his case. He’ll have to come to court with solid medical evidence to prove that you’re disabled and lack the capacity to make personal and financial decisions.”

  “There won’t be any medical proof. My doctors won’t say I have dementia. They’ve known me for years.”

  “Unfortunately, it won’t be just your doctors. He’ll have another doctor or two, ones that he hires, who may or may not be honest. But they’ll be professional testifiers and your doctors are not. Without a doubt, Arthur’s doctors will review your medical records and offer their opinions that you are not
capable of managing your affairs, as they have probably done dozens of times in dozens of competency cases against people they’ve never treated.”

  “A doctor who doesn’t know me?”

  “Correct. He will have read your medical records and information given to him by your son, and maybe some other people, and he will give his bought-and-paid-for professional opinion that…”

  “What other people?” Lena said with a start.

  “I don’t know, Lena. What other people might have information about your day-to-day activities?”

  “No one who would say I’m crazy.”

  Catherine held her hands up. “Look, at the end of the day, Arthur has to convince the court by solid evidence. Not just unsupported opinions. His doctor/witness will not carry the same evidentiary weight as your own doctor, someone who has treated you for years.”

  Liam interrupted. “Lena, help us make sense of this. Arthur’s attorney said he would file the petition unless you stopped meeting with Catherine. All the theories that we’ve considered—Arthur’s inheritance expectancy, his control of your money, possible financial trouble—would involve very large sums of money. Millions. The fees and costs of finding Karolina’s daughters would be no more than a few thousand dollars. Maybe ten or fifteen thousand max. Why would Arthur launch a nuclear attack to save a few thousand dollars?”

  Lena stared at her folded hands. “I think I know.”

  Liam and Catherine looked at each other. Neither said a word.

  “It’s about my will. After my husband died, I had a lawyer draw up a new will for me. Arthur knew I changed my will.”

  “And you excluded Arthur?” Catherine said.

  “No. Not exactly.”

  “Does Arthur know what’s in your new will? Does he know he’s been partially disinherited?”

  “No. He has no idea what’s in my new will.”

  “I read your husband’s will,” Catherine said, “the one that’s on file at the courthouse. Mr. Woodward left everything to you, and if you were not alive, then it all went to Arthur. So Arthur was in line to take the entire estate if you predeceased his father. Arthur was what we call a successor beneficiary. Before you changed your will, did it mirror your husband’s?”

  Lena nodded. “My husband and I had our wills drawn at the same time, years ago. They were reciprocal. Arthur was to inherit everything when my husband and I were both dead. And our trusts were pretty much the same.”

  Catherine leaned forward. “Lena, you don’t have to tell us or anyone else what’s in your most recent will or your trust. That’s your private business.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I take it you did not give a copy of your new will or trust to Arthur?” Liam asked.

  Lena nodded. “I did not.”

  “Because you didn’t think he would approve?”

  “Well, as you said, it’s my private business.”

  “The lawyer who prepared this will, was he also Arthur’s lawyer?”

  “Of course not. There is no way that Arthur knows what’s in my will or my trust. But he does know that I signed a new will.”

  “How does he know that?”

  “He saw me take a copy of my old will out of the wall safe and he asked me where I was going. I told him I was going to the lawyer’s office. When I returned, he asked me what I had done, and I told him that was an inappropriate question.”

  Liam looked at Catherine and shrugged. “Not hard to figure.”

  “Well, getting back to the petition, I will need copies of your medical records and your permission to talk with your doctors,” Catherine said.

  Lena picked up the petition and shook it. “The lies he asserts in this paper: I can no longer manage my affairs? I’m confused about my day-to-day activities? My doctors have suggested that I give up my home for residential care? I have become a danger to myself and to others? Where does he get any of that?”

  “Those are broad, general allegations. He’ll have to provide factual proof in sufficient detail in order to win his case. The generalizations don’t bother me as much as the allegations on page three, the part that reads, ‘Respondent is obsessed by existence of imaginary children. She has recently devoted all of her energies and substantial sums of her savings on a quest to find beings that don’t exist in the real world. No rational person would engage in such bizarre and delusional conduct.’”

  Lena bowed her head, as if it had suddenly become very heavy. “Arthur, Arthur. Even though he’s had a very advantaged life, Arthur’s always been an insecure boy and I’m sure I share the blame. In the survivor support groups it’s always an issue. Family relationships can be a struggle. I tried so hard with Arthur, believe me. But as a boy, he kept to himself a lot. Always in his room. Arthur and I … we could have been closer. Still, I never thought it would come to this.”

  Lena tapped her finger on the page. “Could a court find that I was delusional and send me to a home? I do believe that Karolina’s children exist.”

  “It’s not as simple as that. A delusion is a mental disorder, a belief in something that no person of sound mind would believe. But to find you incompetent or incapacitated, the court would have to find that the delusion has such a controlling influence over you that your personal and financial well-being are at risk.”

  “Well, isn’t that what Arthur’s saying?”

  Catherine nodded. “Yes, it is. The petition has been artfully drawn. And I have to alert you that there’s a solid line of cases in Illinois holding that a will is void and invalid if it was influenced by an insane delusion. Such a finding would mean that your new will and trust would be set aside and your old will would be probated.”

  “And Arthur would then take my entire estate when I died?”

  “Correct.”

  “So, how do we defeat him?”

  “With evidence. Of course, the most convincing way is to show that the girls existed.”

  “In fifteen days?” Liam said.

  Catherine shook her head. “I’m sure I can buy us some time. But are you sure you want to proceed? This affair will be painful. And we could lose. We may not be able to find the proof that the twins are alive now or have ever been alive. Arthur could wind up appointed as your guardian. You could end up in a home.”

  “You should at least consider the alternative,” Liam added.

  “Which is?”

  “I think we could probably negotiate a deal at this time,” Catherine said.

  “A deal to break my promise to Karolina, abandon my search and tear up my new will? No way. I won’t do it. I’ll fight him. Can I count on you to help me?”

  “All the way,” Catherine said. “I’ll get to work preparing a response to Arthur’s petition. I assume they will file it Monday and set it for hearing in early January.” She stood and started to walk out of the room.

  “Don’t you have time today?” Lena said. “As long as I’m already here?”

  “I’m just getting a glass of milk, Lena,” she said, smiling, “but not right out of the cow. Let me get my notes.”

  Liam reached for his coat and said, “Cat, Lena, you’ll have to excuse me. I have a little work to do outside the office. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

  THIRTEEN

  “WHEN LAST WE SPOKE,” Catherine said, “you told me that you and Karolina had found each other.”

  “Right. It was May 1941. I was overjoyed reconnecting with Karolina, but I could see that, like so many of us, she had taken an emotional beating. I wished that I could move in with her. I could have helped her. We could have helped each other. But I felt responsible for Yossi. He was growing weaker by the day and had no one to look after him.

  “I brought Yossi food each night. I took him to the synagogue three times a week. I brought him books from the synagogue library. When his eyes were too tired, I would read to him. Each evening I would read a section from his bible, the portion for the day. It became hard for him to walk even a few blocks. He was so bere
ft of energy, so frail that I thought he was going to snap like a twig. I was fighting his old age and the attritions of our oppression.

  “‘Tell me about your family,’ I said to Yossi one night. His eyes glassed over. ‘They’re all gone now. My Rivka died twenty years ago. We had one son, Ephraim, who moved to Lithuania.’ He shook his head.

  “‘Any grandchildren?’

  “Yossi started crying and said, ‘I cannot talk about it.” So we left it and I didn’t bring it up again. But for all his pain, he was usually upbeat. I attributed that to his faith and I began to realize that whether there was a God or not, He existed for Yossi. In the direst of circumstances, Yossi found hope and comfort from his religion. I could understand the measure of his devotion, but I was not capable of such beliefs.

  “By the end of summer, the ghetto’s population had grown significantly and now held many thousands, not just from Chrzanów but from surrounding communities. Our basic infrastructure could not support the lives of all these people. Just a simple walk around the ghetto would convince you that attrition was the Grim Reaper’s major tool. His harvest was evident each day. Initially, before they built the gas chambers and crematoriums, the Nazis’ principle killing machine was attrition. Death by starvation, malnutrition, parasites, disease and lack of medical care took dozens a day. In the winter, people froze to death.

  “Our living conditions were unsanitary, no matter what we did. Buildings in the ghetto were old and few had indoor plumbing. The ghetto’s public toilets, nothing more than outhouses, were not designed to service thousands of people. Our confined area was teeming with all sorts of diseases, lice, rodents, pestilence. It was a constant battle, and it seemed as though new deaths were reported every day.

  “One night, in early September, I met Karolina on our way back from the Shop. She was carrying a paper bag.

  “‘I have a wonderful dinner for us tonight,’ she said. ‘In this magic bag, I have duck, goat cheese, bread and butter. Can you believe it?’

  “‘Are you serious? We could get arrested. Where did you get that?’