Life Support

by Robert Whitlow

  Ted blinked back the tears. Usually, he played with his eyes open as he stared into the darkness. Sometimes, glimpses of light flashed by the corner of his vision as unseen messengers gathered to watch and wonder. Occasionally, he played with his eyes shut and enhanced to the fullest his sensitivity to the sounds produced by his hands. But always, from beginning to end, it was a spontaneous composition never heard before nor reproduced again. It was a new creation and flowed from the depths of the musician’s spirit to the place where anointed music goes.

  Ted could change from one key to another as effortlessly as a landscape artist selecting a different color. The sounds began to build. He transitioned to the deep-throated notes of the lower octaves. He stayed for several minutes in the lower range and let the call build in intensity. Ted had learned not to hurry from one theme to the next and sustained the suspense until the urge to move higher became irresistible. When his hands finally climbed up the keyboard, the sound exploded as the entire range of the piano’s capabilities was fully revealed. Nature answered with thunder from a distant lightning strike. Ted lost himself in the music and found himself in the manifest presence of God—the place where all the praise of a lifetime is not enough.

  An hour later the last note softly soared away. Ted let out a deep breath and lifted his hands from the keyboard. His burden lifted. His petition set free.

  8

  A persistent vegetative state or other condition of permanent unconsciousness.

  S.C. CODE 44-77-50

  Driving to work in the morning, Alexia turned on a local radio station and learned about Baxter Richardson. The news report was short on details.

  A member of a well-known Santee family, Baxter Richardson, was seriously injured while hiking yesterday with his wife in the mountains near Greenville. Richardson was airlifted from the area by helicopter and taken to Greenville Memorial Hospital, where he is listed in critical condition.

  Ezra Richardson was one of Ralph Leggitt’s biggest clients. Alexia didn’t do any legal work involving Mr. Richardson’s business holdings, but she’d heard that Ralph Leggitt often filled in the blanks on his daily time sheet with a single entry: “Richardson—General Matters.” Two hundred thousand dollars in annual legal fees to the local businessman was as certain as the monthly phone bill. The peripheral benefits reaped by Leggitt from minority ownership interest in some of Richardson’s ventures were not included in law firm revenues.

  Alexia hadn’t been invited to Baxter and Rena’s wedding, but everybody in town was familiar with the details. Five hundred carefully selected guests from Charleston, Georgetown, Santee, and other areas of the coast came to celebrate the wedding of Ezra Richardson’s younger son. The bride and groom stood under a flower-draped gazebo at the family’s summer house overlooking the Santee River. Rumor had it Rena Richardson’s dress cost fifty thousand dollars.

  Ralph Leggitt made it to the third row on the groom’s side of the open-air seating and had a picture of Ezra and himself standing beside the wedding gazebo. Alexia had seen the photograph at the Leggitts’ home during the firm Christmas party.

  Alexia parked in her customary spot in the back corner of the parking lot near a palmetto tree. Gwen stopped her before she went into her office.

  “Did you hear about Baxter Richardson?” the secretary asked.

  “Just a blurb on the radio about a hiking accident. Do you know any details?”

  “Mr. Leggitt was on the phone with Mr. Richardson first thing this morning, so he probably has the full story. He asked the partners who were here to come into his office. Leonard and a couple of the others are in there now.”

  Gwen opened the middle drawer of her desk. A black wire ran from a tiny radio to her ear. “I’ll let you know the news.”

  Alexia smiled. “So if you type a letter that has the weather forecast and the tide schedule in the second paragraph, I’ll know you were listening to the wrong ear.”

  Gwen lowered her voice. “This is huge news. If Baxter Richardson dies, can you imagine how rich his widow will be? She’s in her mid-twenties and would be set for life.”

  “Gwen, that’s morbid.”

  “When you get to be my age, you’ll learn that men are fickle, and a girl’s best friend is a big bank account.”

  Alexia didn’t argue. Her primary job for her clients was to accomplish what Gwen believed.

  “Anyway,” Alexia said, “the radio said he was in critical condition. People usually get better when they say that.”

  Gwen scooted back in her chair. “You never know. I want to stay on top of it.”

  Alexia went into her office and listened to her voice mail messages. Marilyn Simpson had called. Her husband had issued a stop payment on a check he’d given her for groceries, and her finances were in shambles. She’d called the two lawyers Alexia suggested and neither of them would take her case. Grim-faced, Alexia wrote down the pertinent information from the call. She had to get Marilyn a lawyer first thing. She was about to pick up the phone and call a well-known divorce attorney in a nearby community when the phone buzzed. It was Leggitt.

  “Alexia? Are you there?”

  She pushed the talk button. “Yes, sir.”

  “Come into my office.”

  Alexia walked down the hallway. After her experience the previous day, it felt like a return to the school principal’s office. She knocked and entered. Four of the partners were sitting around the conference table. A speakerphone was in the middle of the table.

  Apprehensive, Alexia sat beside Leonard Mitchell, who was eating a doughnut and skimming the Wall Street Journal. On the other side of Leonard was Kenneth Pinchot, the firm’s senior litigator. Pinchot, a tall, distinguished attorney with carefully combed gray hair, always wore expensive suits with a silk handkerchief in the front pocket of his jacket. Looking slightly bored in response to required attendance at an early morning meeting, he nodded in greeting to Alexia and took another sip of coffee. Across the table from Pinchot was Bruce Fletchall, Ralph Leggitt’s alter ego and the lawyer who did most of the work for which the senior partner took credit. Bruce, a bookworm attorney who wore thick rimless glasses, was squinting at some documents and making notes on a legal pad.

  “Did you hear about Baxter Richardson?” Leggitt asked Alexia.

  “Only the radio announcement about a hiking accident. What happened?”

  “He fell down a cliff near a waterfall outside Greenville. He’s in a coma with head and spine injuries. Ezra flew up last night in his plane and talked with Rena at the hospital. I’m going to phone him in a few minutes and wanted you to work through some documents with us.”

  Relieved that the meeting was not about her foibles of the previous day, Alexia relaxed.

  “What kind of documents?” she asked.

  Leggitt took the papers from Bruce and slid them across the table to Alexia. The top sheet read Last Will and Testament of Baxter Norris Richardson.

  Leggitt continued. “This was prepared by Dennis a couple of weeks before he left. It’s short and to the point.”

  Dennis Lipscomb, an estate-planning specialist, had worked with the firm for seven years before leaving to take a management position with the trust department of a bank in Columbia. The firm had not yet hired someone to fill his niche.

  Alexia flipped through the will. Because Baxter and Rena had no children, it was relatively simple. If Baxter died, Rena received everything. Testamentary transfers from husband to wife aren’t subject to estate tax so there wasn’t any need for fancy trusts. She couldn’t imagine why there would be a problem with the will. She shifted into divorce lawyer mode.

  “Was there a prenuptial agreement?”

  “No,” Leggitt responded. “Dennis drafted one to protect Baxter in case Rena filed for divorce, but Baxter didn’t want to make her sign it. According to an e-mail in the file, he thought it would send the wrong message to Rena and told Dennis to drop it.”

  “Young love believes it will bloom forever,” Pi
nchot added dryly.

  “I wish some of the wives I represent had been so lucky.” Alexia shrugged. “Is there life insurance on Baxter’s interest in the family businesses in case he dies?”

  Leggitt turned to Bruce Fletchall. “That’s your area.”

  The studious lawyer spoke in a soft voice. “There are several older agreements. We were in the process of changing them, and Baxter was scheduled to come in next week to sign several new ones. All of the buyouts signed before the marriage provide for payment to various Richardson companies if Baxter dies.”

  “How much insurance?” Alexia asked.

  Fletchall rubbed his left temple while he ran mental calculations. “Around twenty-five million.”

  Alexia was stunned. “For a minority interest?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how much would Rena get outside the business holdings?”

  “Standard stuff—the house, personal belongings, and any personal insurance Baxter was carrying.”

  “How much would that be worth?”

  “A couple of million, and she would inherit his interest in companies not subject to buyout. The new buyouts would have given her over twenty million, but Baxter never signed them.”

  “Bad timing on the accident from Rena’s point of view,” Alexia replied.

  Ralph Leggitt answered, “Maybe, but that’s not the problem. Baxter is still alive, and we don’t have a fight between Rena and the family over the assets of an estate. The immediate concern is control of Baxter’s medical care. In addition to the will, Dennis prepared a health care power of attorney that gives Rena the right to make decisions about Baxter’s medical treatment. Dennis didn’t cross-check other Richardson files”—Leggitt paused and looked over his glasses at Alexia—“a disturbingly common problem here at the firm. If he had, he would have discovered that Baxter had previously given his father authority over his affairs in a durable power of attorney.”

  “Which wasn’t revoked after the marriage,” Bruce added.

  Alexia had a working knowledge of powers of attorney because they often came up in the divorce cases she handled. A health care power of attorney allowed a person to designate someone to direct his or her medical care in case of a serious illness or injury. A durable power of attorney was a much broader document that gave the holder the right to manage a person’s legal affairs even if the person who signed it became mentally incompetent.

  “Doesn’t the health care power of attorney take precedence over a durable power of attorney in the area of medical decisions?” she asked. “The specific grant of authority should override a general one.”

  Fletchall shook his head. “You have logic on your side, but not the Code of South Carolina. Under the current law, a durable power of attorney that grants authority over health matters trumps a health care power of attorney and gives Ezra the right to call the shots on medical care. There is also a declaration of desire for a natural death signed by Baxter.”

  “What election did he make?” Alexia asked.

  Fletchall slid a single sheet of paper across the table. “He wants the minimum effort allowed by law to keep him alive.”

  Alexia read the statutory language.

  If I am in a persistent vegetative state or other condition of permanent unconsciousness,

  __________________I direct that nutrition and hydration BE PROVIDED through any medically indicated means, including medically or surgically implanted tubes.

  BNR I direct that nutrition and hydration NOT BE PROVIDED through any medically indicated means, including medically or surgically implanted tubes.

  Alexia stared for a couple of seconds at Baxter’s signature at the bottom of the sheet. When the young man had signed the paper four months previously, he had done so without a clue that before his next birthday his instructions might be a sword of Damocles hanging over his head.

  “Does he meet the criteria?” she asked.

  Leggitt shrugged. “We don’t know. Ezra hasn’t talked in detail with the doctors. If Baxter isn’t going to come out of the coma, it doesn’t matter what Ezra or Rena wants to do, and the conflict over control of medical care is moot. Baxter has already issued orders to terminate life support.”

  Bruce Fletchall spoke. “Here’s a copy of the health care power of attorney and the durable power of attorney.”

  Alexia quickly scanned the health care document. It contained the standard language used by husbands and wives and reflected the trust implicit in the marriage relationship. One of the first things Alexia did for her clients in divorce cases was revoke any outstanding power of attorney and remove any control the estranged spouse had over life-and-death issues. She picked up the durable power of attorney. It was thicker than all the other documents combined.

  “Don’t try to read the durable power of attorney now,” Leggitt said. “It’s extremely broad in its scope. Ezra made Baxter sign it as soon as he turned eighteen. It gives Ezra the ability to do everything Baxter could do—buy, sell, borrow, transfer stock, and dictate medical care. He didn’t want Baxter running wild without the ability to rein him in by controlling the money. As far as I know, Ezra never used it. Baxter has worked in the family business for several years now, and although he isn’t a brilliant entrepreneur, he hasn’t given his father any trouble.”

  “The medical provisions are on page thirteen at the bottom,” Fletchall added.

  Alexia’s mental wheels were turning while she listened. “Who wants to disconnect Baxter from life support?”

  Leggitt and Fletchall both spoke at once, “Rena.”

  “Why?”

  Ken Pinchot wrinkled his patrician nose. “That’s easy. She wants him out of his misery or out of her way. Take your pick. I vote for number two.”

  Leggitt shrugged. “It’s not that simple. We’ve been discussing the situation, and I’ve talked with Ezra. We want you to go to Greenville. You’re a woman who knows how to convince women to trust you. Get inside Rena’s head and find out what she’s up to. Ezra doesn’t want to take action with the durable power of attorney unless he thinks Rena is trying to hurry up an inheritance.”

  Alexia’s guard went up. “But it sounds like there’s already a conflict of interest between Rena and Mr. Richardson. If he is going to use the durable power of attorney Baxter signed before the marriage to transfer property out of Baxter’s name, there is going to be a lawsuit. I don’t want a repeat of yesterday.”

  “That was stupid, Alexia,” Leonard blurted out. “Why didn’t you—”

  Leggitt cut him off. “The conflict in this situation is still theoretical. We’d like to keep it that way. Your job is to help our client—the entire Richardson family.”

  Alexia was skeptical.

  “This is your chance to really do something significant for the firm,” Leggitt continued. “If we can help the Richardsons through this difficult time, it will help our overall relationship with them. Ezra still sends part of his business to the Rollins law firm in Charleston, and I’d like to get it all. This is a great opportunity for you.”

  All Alexia saw were land mines.

  “We believe you’re the one to handle this,” Pinchot added in a serious tone of voice. “That’s why we brought you into the partners’ meeting.”

  “What if it blows up?” she asked.

  “You can only do your best,” Fletchall said quietly. “I’m not sure it will work myself, but I don’t see any better options at this point.”

  Everyone was silent for several moments. Still uneasy, Alexia wanted to say no but couldn’t see how to refuse without appearing grossly insubordinate. She spoke slowly, “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

  Leggitt gave her a congratulatory smile. “Good. We’ll send you up in a private plane. Be ready to leave in ten minutes. I’ll call Ezra and recommend that he avoid any contact with Rena until you are on the scene to mediate any problems.”

  Alexia hurried back to her office with a folder containing copies of the documents from Baxt
er’s file in her hand.

  “Gwen!” she called. “Come in here.”

  “Did they chew you out again?” the secretary asked belligerently. “If they did, I think—”

  “No, it wasn’t about me,” Alexia interrupted. “It’s the Richardson situation. I’m leaving town in ten minutes to go to the hospital in Greenville. Call the people on my appointment calendar and reschedule for early next week.”

  Gwen paused. Then she added in a matter-of-fact voice, “It’s the money. The poor, young wife wants the money, and the Richardson family is trying to squeeze her out.”

  Startled by Gwen’s accuracy, Alexia didn’t immediately respond. Her secretary had been married three times—once widowed and twice divorced. She knew both men and in-laws.

  “Well?” Gwen insisted.

  “Not exactly,” Alexia replied hesitantly. “Listen, I don’t have time to talk. I have to leave in a few minutes.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Gwen said with satisfaction. “The truth is written all over your face.”

  After Gwen left the office, Alexia stopped to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything. She saw the open phone book on her desk and remembered Marilyn Simpson. She wrote down the phone number for the other lawyer on a slip of paper and put it in her purse so she could call while driving to the airstrip.

  Returning to Gwen’s desk, she asked, “What am I forgetting?”

  “Don’t let them mistreat the girl. Her husband is dying, and someone will need to stand up for her.”