by Tom Berreman
“Whatever,” Jason said. “Then I will insist Allison Dahlstrom also attend, she has the right.”
He was not optimistic this meeting would go any better than their earlier meeting at the hospital.
“Okay, we’ll see you then,” Ginsburg said as he disconnected the call without time for Jason to respond.
“Allen Ginsburg, I presume,” Allison said as she returned to the deck, sensing his frustration.
“What a jerk. We set up a meeting for tomorrow at ten, but Brent insists on attending, so I told him you would be there too. Okay with you?”
“Sure,” she said as she walked toward the edge of the deck. She had put on a sheer, white cotton coverup, and as she leaned against the railing, staring out at the Pacific, the sun cast a black and white silhouette of her bikini-clad body.
Her high, well-proportioned breasts, not too large but not too small, brought back memories of the time he saw her naked at the clothing optional beach in Cabo San Lucas over a decade before. He remembered smiling as she sauntered through the sand after a swim in the surf and felt his ego swell as every man on the beach stared at her. Most were sure their sunglasses concealed their gawking from their spouses’ attention, but dark glasses didn’t hide the direction of their stares. A couple men casually repositioned their towels over their laps.
Jason had to stifle these thoughts from his past. They had been in their early twenties, and lived their entire adult lives without seeing each other. But the memories still brought a smile.
“What’s causing you to smile like that?” she asked as she turned to join him at the table.
“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about how I’d love to punch that narcissistic little brat right in the nose.”
“I hope I’m there when you do,” she said. “I’m going upstairs to change. Can I get you something when I come back?”
“Sure, should we have some wine?”
“Yeah, that would be great. I’ll be right back.”
Jason walked over to the railing where Allison stood minutes before and stared out at the Pacific. Unanticipated thoughts overwhelmed him.
A beautiful woman he loved more than a decade before was in a bedroom upstairs, twenty feet away from him at that moment, naked as she showered the salt water from her body. And Megan, the woman he planned his future around, was thousands of miles away. Their Skypes had become less emotional, no I miss you or I love you from her end, just what’s new with you. The last time he finished a call with I love you all she said was good night.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Allison had returned to the deck holding a bottle of Chardonnay and two glasses. She wore a lightweight, floral patterned sun dress, her wet, blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders. He could see she skipped her undergarments.
Living close to his former lover only intensified his emotional anxiety while he missed the woman he loved. And he was afraid Allison was plotting another night together between the sheets.
But his fears were unfounded as they drank their wine, chatted about nothing important and went inside early. They each retreated to their bedrooms, hers upstairs in the main house, his in the guest house.
They both fell asleep with pleasant memories of a long past love affair.
Chapter 29.
“Gentlemen,” was all Jason said as he and Allison stepped into the ornate conference room in the law offices of Jamison Mattoon & Thorsby. Portraits of three bearded, grey-haired men adorned the mahogany-paneled wall, Jamison, Mattoon and Thorsby Jason assumed. The conference table, surrounded by twenty-four high back leather chairs, was more than adequate for their meeting. Jason was sure it was an attempt by Ginsburg to establish power in their negotiating relationship.
Chatfield & Smythe’s board room would put this one to shame, he wanted to say, but remained silent.
“Mr. Burke,” Ginsburg said as Jason and Allison took their seats at the table. “Something came up this morning that has a material impact on our predicament. Last week Mr. Louis Hartwig, CEO of Pacific Coast Industries, presented me with a rather generous offer to purchase all of Jennco’s outstanding common stock.”
Allison seemed to approve, with a serious, focused expression as she nodded her head. Brent didn’t appear as enthusiastic.
“At the time of his initial offer,” Ginsburg continued, “he assumed ownership of the shares passed only to the three Jennings children if their father passed, which is why he approached only me. When I informed him of Ms. Dahlstrom’s minority interest, he wanted to reevaluate his offer. This morning, Mr. Hartwig called me with an offer to purchase all outstanding Jennco shares for two thousand dollars per share.”
This caught the attention of everyone in the room.
“Was this an unsolicited offer or did you approach him?” Jason asked.
“It was unsolicited. He’s convinced that combination of the two companies would create a dominant force in the autonomous vehicle component marketplace.”
“That values the company at two hundred million dollars,” Jason said.
“Yes, it does. And he is aware there are issues to resolve regarding probate of the estate and agreed to keep the offer open for thirty days.”
After a moment to let the news sink in Ginsburg continued.
“And while we’re discussing probate issues, let’s turn to the original purpose for our meeting. Our time together today will be rather short. Brent and I have discussed the matter and our position is clear. Both Curtis and Laura have succumbed to the injuries they received in their horrific accident. And that is the reason for the simultaneous death clause in Mr. Jennings’ will, mandating an arbitrary survival period, in this case thirty days. This is commonplace in most wills. Under well-established legal precedent concerning will construction, they are both deemed deceased. That being said, as Laura did not survive Curtis by thirty days, under the terms of his will his three children inherit his entire estate.”
“How do you reconcile your analysis with the monitor at Laura’s bedside registering a strong heartbeat?” Jason asked.
“But for the life support keeping her alive, that monitor would flatline in minutes.”
“And where did you earn your medical degree?”
Before Ginsburg responded Jason continued.
“And that is an appropriate segue to my next point.”
“And what is that?” Ginsburg asked, his arrogance only adding to Jason’s disdain for his opposing counsel.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about, the mysteriously vanished health care directives.”
“We’ve been through this--”
“Just let me finish,” Jason interrupted. “Allison and I found copies of executed directives for both Curt and Laura. There was a note in the file the originals were in a safe deposit box at Pacific National Bank. The directives were clear. Curt desired no continued life support if he was in a persistent vegetative state, and Laura’s stated she was to receive all available life support until the doctors determined her death to be a medical certainty.”
Brent crossed his arms so hard against his chest he appeared about to erupt. His reaction caused Jason to smile.
“Again, Mr. Burke, we’ve--”
“Shut up and let me finish,” Jason said, becoming more aggressive. “Shortly after reviewing the documents Allison and I left the house to get Ryan at school. That’s your stepbrother, in case you’ve forgotten,” his last comment directed at Brent.
Jason smiled as Brent’s arms increased the tension across his chest.
“And when we returned, the documents had mysteriously disappeared. Somebody entered Curt and Laura’s house, most likely someone with a key, and--”
“Don’t look at me,” Brent said. Jason looked him straight in the eyes when he made his last comment and received the response he expected.
“We attempted to access Curt’s home computer,” Jason continued, ignoring Brent’s denial, “perhaps to find electronic copies as he often drafted his own
legal documents. But the hard drive was scrubbed. Ryan told us he used the computer the evening before to prepare a presentation for his American History class. So, it’s clear whoever stole the documents scrubbed the computer. And despite the note in Curt’s files to the contrary, according to your client the safe deposit box contained no original documents. But I’m not sure I believe him.”
“Why should that fucking gold digger get what’s rightfully mine?” Brent shouted. “I’ll fight you to the bitter end!”
“Like shredding the original health care directives?” Allison responded, her first, but timely, addition to the conversation.
“You bitch,” Brent responded as Ginsburg placed a firm grip on his client’s forearm.
“Intelligent come back,” Jason said. “I’m sorry, but this meeting is over.”
He and Allison stood and began to leave the conference room. Seeing the potential for one last strategic comment Jason stopped and turned.
“Just be on notice we have every intention of honoring Laura’s wishes and will continue life support until the doctors determine her demise is a medical certainty, which could be longer than thirty days, I must add.”
Jason’s last comment caused Brent to stare at him with eyes burning hatred.
“And if you intend to ignore the wishes your father memorialized in his health care directive and keep him on life support, just to shut out the inheritance to his beloved wife he intended,” he continued, his attention directed at Brent, “that’s up to you.”
At the hospital the day before Jason sensed a split in the family loyalties, causing him to add one more comment.
“And the consensus of your siblings.”
Chapter 30.
Following the meeting in Ginsburg’s office, Jason and Allison stopped at a café for lunch, taking a table under an umbrella on the sidewalk in front. Sipping iced tea waiting for their lunches they talked about Hartwig’s offer, and both agreed it would be in Ryan’s best interests to cash out instead of owning a minority interest in a company run by Brent Jennings. The conversation morphed into rehashing the math in Curt’s will.
“You know, if we can prove Ryan is Curt’s son it would dramatically change Hartwig’s offer,” Jason said. “Regardless whether Laura survives, the Dahlstrom family would own a controlling interest in Jennco. Brent and his siblings would have a significant input on how to manage the company’s affairs, but the Dahlstrom family would have the power to make all material decisions.”
“But how do we do that?”
“I’m not sure, but I want to look through his home office again in case we missed something.”
They put their conversation on hold as the server delivered their sandwiches, his a BLT, hers Tuna Salad.
* * *
Jason opened the closet door in Curt’s home office and saw several boxes. They were each labeled with its contents, old photos and other family memorabilia. Behind a box of old 8mm family movies a banker’s box caught his attention, its label read Ryan. He pulled the box from the top shelf and placed it on Curt’s desk.
“Any luck?” Allison asked, standing in the office doorway.
“I’m not sure,” he said as he sat at the desk and opened the box. Allison sat in the chair across the desk from him.
As he paged through the file, he found what he hoped was an answer and not another question.
“It looks like Curt was paying Laura child support,” he said as he slid several cancelled checks across the desk. “On the first of each month he wrote a check to Laura for two thousand dollars, but wrote the last check the month before their wedding. And look at the notation in the transaction memo.”
Each check’s memo stated Ryan.
“He also wrote several checks a year to Ventura Academy.”
“That’s Ryan’s school.”
“And each check’s memo states Ryan Dahlstrom Tuition.”
“Those all sound like payments a father would make.”
“Exactly.”
Continuing to look through the files, another labeled 529 Plan drew his attention. He pulled the file and found account statements addressed to Curt dating back ten years for a California 529 Plan, a vehicle for parents to save pretax dollars for their children’s college expenses.
The named beneficiary was Ryan Dahlstrom.
“What does all this mean?”
“It is nothing more than circumstantial evidence suggesting Curt is Ryan’s biological son. Ginsburg could argue he helped a loyal, long-time employee, a single mother struggling financially. Nothing more than a generous boss helping a friend. We’d have to get a DNA test to be sure.”
“That should be simple enough.”
“It should be, but I expect nothing about this case will be simple. I suggest we tread lightly. We would need the family’s consent, and if we ask Brent, I’m sure he would do whatever he could to stop it. I hate to over-lawyer this, but it’s best we get a court order compelling a DNA sample.”
“Looks like nothing will be easy dealing with this family.”
Chapter 31.
Eric Rogers was returning from a visit to the small general store several miles from his cabin. He drove along the winding, two lane, Oregon country road, overhanging bows from the tall pines only several feet from the shoulder on each side creating an illusion of driving through a tunnel. A siren startled him, and he glanced at his rear-view mirror. The local volunteer fire department truck was speeding behind him. He slowed and pulled as far to the right as the narrow road permitted as the truck raced by.
He panicked when the truck turned into the narrow, gravel driveway marked only with a carved wooden sign reading Rogers.
As he turned into the same narrow forest lane, he noticed an eerie orange glow and sensed the smell of a fire. The summer had been unusually dry, but there had been no reports of wild fires in the vicinity. Volunteer fire fighters milling about with no sense of urgency greeted him when he made the final turn into his property. They had arrived too late to save his cabin, which was nothing but a pile of glowing embers under a haze of smoke trapped by the humid forest air.
He hung his head in despair.
* * *
As Eric was leaving the store earlier the proprietor had asked if his friend ever showed up.
“What friend?” he asked.
“I don’t know. This morning, some guy stopped in and asked if I could tell him which road your cabin was on. He said he was here once before, but all these country roads looked alike to him. I gave him directions, just assumed he was a friend of yours that got lost.”
Hartwig.
* * *
“No, I’m fine. But my cabin is a total loss. The fire marshal said it was a propane gas leak, but I had my system inspected six weeks ago,” Eric said. He had called Adam Ritter, the only person he could trust now that Curt Jennings lay comatose in a hospital bed. “This fire will set me back three months, it destroyed most of my R&D documentation.”
“Didn’t you save your files to the company’s cloud storage?” Adam asked.
“No. You were at the meeting when Curt told us he was concerned we had a mole in the company. After you left, he told me to work old style, in local mode on my laptop and all my work saved to an external hard drive, both now useless hunks of melted plastic. I have the revised schematic saved to a flash drive, I’m not sure why but I put it in my pocket before going to the store. I’m convinced I resolved the problems your diagnostics uncovered, but we need to redo all my procedures to document compliance with the program testing protocol.”
“So, you’re saying it’s not the end of the world?”
“Well, I’m not sure, but it will set me back months. And I have this terrible feeling the fire wasn’t an accident, that someone was watching my cabin. And as soon as I left they broke in, copied my R&D files and burned the place to cover their tracks.”
“Oh, come on, you’re being paranoid.”
“Maybe, but a stranger stopped at the local store
this morning asking for directions to my cabin. The guy told the owner he’d been there once before but couldn’t recall which road it was on. That had to be a ruse, other than my family you’re the only one who’s been there.”
Eric coughed, having inhaled enough lingering smoke to irritate his throat, before he continued.
“And you know damn well Hartwig will resort to any shitty stunt available to steal trade secrets.”
Chapter 32.
“Sorry I’m late,” Brent said as he sat next to Ginsburg at the counsel’s table in front of the probate judge. “I was visiting a friend in Oregon over the weekend and hit terrible traffic on the way home this morning.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Ginsburg said.
The day after meeting with Jason, Ginsburg brought a declaratory judgment motion before the probate court to determine whether the thirty-day survival clause in Curt’s will applied to him and Laura on life support. A declaratory judgment would provide a judicial ruling on the consequences of either party maintaining, or ceasing, artificial life support regardless of what the other party chose to do.
“Are we ready to proceed?” Judge Anderson asked.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Ginsburg replied. “And again, I apologize for the delay.”
“Very well,” she said, pushing her glasses to the bridge of her nose as she looked down at her notes. “I must admit, this is an interesting conundrum, and one of first impression for this Court. The thirty-day provision addresses the death of the benefactor and the beneficiary in a common accident. It is an arbitrary waiting period to avoid the often impossible task of determining who died first in such an accident.
“Based on my review of relevant legal precedent, prolonging life by artificial means does not extend the time of death for the thirty-day predeceased rule, it can only be measured by the duration of the parties’ post-accident survival without artificial life support.”
Brent performed an obnoxious fist pump inappropriate for a courtroom. Ginsburg just shook his head and looked down at his notes for no other reason than to avoid eye contact with the judge.