by Ray Merritt
“So, whassup?” I uttered.
“Tuck, I don’t know where to start.” There was stress in her voice.
I smiled lamely, then launched into another White Rabbit routine. “Begin at the beginning and go on ’til you come to the end: then stop!”
That elicited a wan smile.
“OK, I should start with the Will contest. As you know, Tremaine has filed a broadside complaint in Supreme Court, alleging that the most recent Will Ben executed was invalid for a number of reasons and that the earlier Will naming her as executrix should be probated. Additionally—and this is new—she wants to be appointed Leo’s personal care guardian as well as his property guardian and she wants her yet-to-be-born child recognized under the Will and the Trust as a full heir.
“Tuck, this really could be serious trouble. If Tremaine can successfully argue that Ben did not have requisite capacity to execute his most recent Will, or that Evan and I inappropriately induced him to change his previous Will so that Evan replaced her as executrix, then Tremaine would take Evan’s place under the old Will and in all likelihood gain control of Ozone. It could break just right for her. The board of Ben’s foundation consisted of Ben, Dorothy, Evan, Tremaine, and Abelard. With Ben gone, and if Evan is knocked out for conflict reasons, then it’s just the wife, the daughter, and the executive director—and my strong guess is that Tremaine has Abelard in her pocket . . . and other places too. So she would control the vote of the foundation’s 800,000 Ozone shares.”
“What are the chances that she’ll succeed?”
“On the law and the facts, she shouldn’t. I know of no medical evidence that would corroborate her claim that Ben lacked capacity. Ben may have been fox crazy, but he still had his marbles. As to undue influence, that is laughable. Ben came to me. I didn’t reach out to him. And luckily, I had two associates present when we conducted the Will planning sessions who will testify to that effect if necessary. To create a binding and valid Will, all you need to know is the nature and consequences of a Will, the general nature and extent of your property, and who you want to leave it to. Clearly Ben passed those tests. And his prec letter in many ways further validates that . . . and that was quite recent.”
“So you’ve decided to produce the letter?”
“Tuck, we just don’t have any choice, no matter what Evan says, especially in this court. I’m sure the judge will side with de Vil. They go way back.
“As to the other issues Tremaine raised, it is not that clear-cut. Ben was appointed Leo’s guardian when he turned twenty-one and there was no successor appointed at that time. I had asked Ben to put his wishes in the Will, but he told me he was taking care of it. He brooked no conversation on the subject. He didn’t like to acknowledge Leo’s condition. I felt it was part of a lifelong denial. Tremaine’s position is that as Ben’s wife she has been involved in the selection of doctors and caregivers for Leo. In fact, she did introduce his doctor, Eloise Thompson, to Ben. She is going to argue—I understand from conversations with de Vil’s office—that they consider Dorothy’s lifestyle and relationship with Eloise to be disqualifying. They are also seeking a court directive ordering Eloise to have Leo brought back to New York. He’s presently in Paris with Dorothy. Even if Tremaine wins on that motion, I doubt seriously if a French court would act quickly on this. And they’re also suggesting that Dorothy may be conflicted because of her position at Ozone. They will argue that she might not be objective when it comes to voting Leo’s shares.
“Concerning the child Tremaine is carrying, the inheritance rights are complicated. New York law has an odd provision on children born after their father’s death. They have a right to an inheritance only if the deceased father had no children, which is not the case here. If he had children and provided for them in his Will, then any after-born child would be entitled to only what was left to the father’s other children. In Ben’s case, his children were previously and amply provided for in the Family Trust, but all Dorothy and Leo get under the Will are a few of his personal possessions.
“Another factor is that there doesn’t seem to be any evidence—or even allegation—that Ben knew Tremaine was pregnant. If he did, I’m sure he would have made provisions for the child. The issue could also be complicated by the provision in the current Will that leaves money to Kati’s child, if there is one at the time of probate, but specifically precludes that child from being included in the Family Trust. If the current Will is rejected, it will be a windfall for Tremaine.”
“Any other news I should know about?”
“Plenty, Tuck. It just keeps coming. This could not have come at a worse time. If Tremaine wins on all counts, control of Ozone could go over to her. Think about that. She would control Leo’s shares, the foundation’s shares, and the shares, if any, that would be allocated to baby Bentley. The math is compelling. She would then be able to vote all those shares except Dorothy’s. She would be the new Ben!
“In that scenario, Evan is toast. He loses the estate business and the foundation business and even Ozone itself as a client. And he will, as you know better than anyone else, be looking for a scapegoat. He has already complained that I should have had Ben provide for Leo’s custody and that I should have read the prec letter the day Ben gave it to me, notwithstanding the direction to the contrary on the envelope, and then destroyed it, or at least given it to him. He had one of his hissy fits and it was really painful for me, considering he was very involved with Ben’s Will prep. You should have heard him.”
I could empathize.
Old WASPs sting hard, especially their own.
Even though he was good to me in many ways, Evan was quick to lash out if things did not go well. I have felt his sting several times. The most abusive was when I took off for Disney.
Charlotte’s eyes went moist.
Reflexively I reached over and took her arm, rubbing it the way I did with Alice when she was upset. It seemed the natural thing to do. She closed her eyes for a long moment and then rebounded.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get weepy, but they’re heaping a lot of bad stuff on my plate. And there is really no one else I can talk to. Forgive me?”
“No problem. Now how ’bout another glass of that pinot. It’s pretty good, don’t you think?”
She nodded, her lips reluctantly parting to form a weak and sad smile. Drawing a long breath, she pushed on.
“It’s just not fair. I’ve played by their rules. You know the deal for women partners here. Loose suits, flats only, no open toes, no burgundy nails, no name brands, no pink. Only jewelry from grandma—dainty not dangly. If you assert yourself you are a feminazi. If you let your intelligence be too obvious, you’re a cliffichick. The men’s idea of dress-down is to shed their coat and tie. That doesn’t work for us. Our only option is to lose the pearls. My mother always said that beating boys will not make you happy or married.”
Unfortunately she was right. As embracing as Big Law presents itself as being today, in reality it still remains mad-men-centric. Most women are relegated to servicing the clients of rainmakers. They get the work but not the rewards.
Men get the plums; women get the pits.
More than 50 percent of the lawyers in the Firm are female. Five percent make partner. And none are on the Executive Committee. Some argue it’s a gender thing—familiarity is tantamount to flirtation; flirtation invites harassment; harassment ends your chances of moving up the ladder. Most male partners are leery of championing a woman too vigorously—afraid of rumors, and fearful that the demands of motherhood will pull them away just when you need them. And adding to that was Charlotte’s innate paranoia. She once confided in me that she had changed her last name from Cavatica to Williams. Felt her family name was too ethnic and would diminish her partnership chances.
It’s nice not being part of that bull dung anymore.
“The word is that Russett is preparing some kind of takeover of Ozone. I’m not privy to what’s going on. I can hardly get a word in edg
ewise with Evan. He’s always huddling with the corporate guys.”
I understood her frustration. “Big Law babes”—women partners in large firms—remain a step behind and below. Virtually all of the Firm’s corporate clients have male CEOs, like Ben. They all want their primary lawyer to be their confidant, collaborator, confessor, and if you’re not lucky, coconspirator. The partner who brings in the business ends up being part-time buddy, part-time shrink, and full-time quarterback. When it comes to personal matters, he’s a lot like your favorite bartender. CEOs want to talk about their personal life as well as their business life to someone who doesn’t remind them of their wife.
Charlotte lowered her voice. I suspected she had realized it was too shrill.
“Tuck, you didn’t hear this from me, OK? Our grayhaired leader Wiggie has announced he is retiring at the end of the year. And he has not anointed his successor as chair of the Executive Committee. So the battle is on to replace him. The partners are all a bit edgy, praying to land on the right side of his successor.”
I was all ears. This was high drama. Regime changes rarely occur voluntarily, and when they do, succession is usually preordained.
“Trombley has put himself forward as you might suspect. His claim is seniority and billings. Hard to argue with either. He will be the last remaining partner named on the masthead who is still practicing. And Ozone and the estate contest will assure his position as top biller again this year. Gordon Brady is his main competitor and is lobbying to be cochair with Dan Finn. They are both very popular. They are waging a whispering campaign against Trombley, suggesting he’s going to get dirt on himself as the Baum case progresses. You know he doesn’t really have many friends in the Firm.”
She wasn’t calling him Evan anymore.
“Unfortunately for me, it’s all about the Will contest. Tremaine’s guns are blazing. She’s even claiming Ben had lost it, mentally and physically, which are distinctly different allegations from ‘lack of capacity.’ They are alleging that he recently became unbalanced. They’re even trying the spittle and piddle offense.”
“The what?”
“That he was incapable of controlling his bodily fluids—involuntary dribbling and incontinence—signs of advancing Alzheimer’s. They allege that his secretary was his de facto caregiver. You can see that all this circles back to me and the Will.”
“Charlotte, you’re being . . .”—I almost said hysterical—“too hard on yourself. Those charges are utterly groundless.”
“I know, but hindsight doesn’t help. Ben had been so adamant about his decision to get rid of Tremaine that I assumed the letter of marriage termination was prepared and on its way out, which is what he told me. And, you should know, Trombley wants your investigation closed down immediately. He’s playing hardball. If I have to, I just might go to the Bar Association and the DA with this. Ethics trumps confidentiality here. Of course, my career at the Firm—or any firm—would then be over. I’m horribly depressed over all this. If people keep putting you down, you start believing they’re right.”
“Whoa! Despondency, depression, and despair . . . these are not in the lexicon of future senior partners. You know that. The appearance of confidence and calm in the face of this is even more important than competence. Don’t let Evan up the emotional ante. He is a master at using guilt as a weapon. You’ll survive this, I promise. And don’t make Evan your mortal enemy. Remember—a fight to the end rarely has a winner. I’ll protect you from Evan . . . somehow. Now, let me ask you a few questions, OK?”
She quickly agreed.
“Do you remember the provision in Ben’s Will about being buried with his original wife and his two boys?”
“Of course I do, Tuck. Ben felt very strongly about it. I remember him specifically mentioning it at both Will signings. Tremaine was present for the signing of the previous one. Why do you ask?”
“He was cremated in London and his ashes were spread at sea.”
“You must be kidding! What a vindictive bitch!”
“Enough about her.”
A change of subject was needed.
“All this talk of Wills woke me up to the fact that my Will is obviously outdated. Would you have someone call me and I’ll go over it. Need to make provisions for my dog, Nip. I’ll have to think about what I’ll do with my estate now.”
“Sure, I’ll have Mimi—you know her, she’s one of my favorite associates—call you next week. You don’t want to die intestate. All your money will go to Albany. Lord knows, though, they need it.”
“Oh, while you’re at it, could you have her send me a copy of Alice’s accident report?”
“Of course, but why bring that up now?”
“I don’t have a reason. I’ve never seen it.”
Truth is that I’m still in denial. It’s not like Alice to be involved in an accident. She prided herself on her prowess on the road. Maybe the report will shed some light.
In what seemed like a few minutes, three hours had passed. Our dinner was over. I had long surpassed my self-imposed two-drink limit and I sensed it was time to go.
“Thanks, Tuck. This was good for me. I’m sorry I had to share this with you. I don’t know why you put up with me.”
“You’ve always been a friend, Charlotte. That in itself is a tremendous thing.”
“You’re right about that. You know who your friends really are when you have trouble. And you have always been there for me.”
She stood and leaned over toward me. She had a natural odor of allure, a scent I had almost forgotten. Our eyes fixed and she kissed me, letting her lips linger a few seconds longer than appropriate as her body pressed into mine.
I did not recoil.
27
All were in attendance in Ben’s study—now dubbed the Hobbit Hole. Dixie was his cheerful self, sporting a black blazer with sleeves ending well above his wrist and trousers that never met his ankles. A bit too Pee-wee for me. Drew was her usual economy-size bundle of energy. I wouldn’t hazard a detailed description of her attire. She had quickly moved away from Big Law regulation dress to another look. Bohemian-hip, urban-workable were the best I could come up with. And to finish off our team, Nip was there. She had taken to joining us, settling on the Oriental in the middle of the room. It gave her the best vantage point. For what, I am not sure, since she dozed off within minutes.
“Perhaps I should fill you two in on last night’s dinner with Charlotte first. Things are getting testy in the court proceeding.”
I then summed up de Vil’s legal assault as best I could, leaving out any reference to the partners’ power-play machinations.
“A few questions about the Will issues. Drew, what was your reaction to the burial at sea?”
Drew responded. “Well, really not too much other than it was totally contrary to Ben’s stated wishes. Perhaps Tremaine was not aware of that provision, or more likely, she found it repugnant and just opted to ignore it.”
“You’re probably right on your surmise. And Drew, could you get up to speed on the right of inheritance for children born after the testator’s death? According to Charlotte, the issue is not all that clear.”
“Will do,” she said. “There’s been a lot of press about that over the last several years. Heath Ledger’s Will was executed before his child was born. Same with Anna Nicole Smith’s daughter. This stuff isn’t all that novel. For the rich and famous, Will contests are as much a part of their lifestyle as champagne and caviar.”
“OK, Drew, now for your report.”
“First off, London was awesome. A lot to report. I don’t know who to start with. Best to do it chronologically, I think. So that means the maid. You were right, Tuck, to have us stay in the Baum suite—the ick factor notwithstanding. The staff appears indentured to specific rooms. The hotel has quite a helping of wonderful maids. I met Pervy the first morning. She is a joy. No problem prying info out of her. I straightened up the room before she came in. Didn’t want her to think I was a slob
. Her full name is Fleur Pervesie, but she prefers Pervy. We became rather well acquainted during my stay and I found her observations amusing and sometimes quite insightful.”
Out of the largest pocketbook I had ever seen, with enough belts and buckles to restrain a gladiator, Drew extracted three dictation pads, selecting the one that had a large “P” sketched on the cover.
“Excuse me while I get out my pads since I take almost everything down in shorthand. It makes life easier. You know, it’s a lost art today; no one gives or takes dictation anymore. We all prefer to peck at our desktop. My mother made me take steno in high school, just in case things did not work out. Not exactly a confidence builder. Still find it very useful when I can’t record interviews. I like to be precise on a client’s or witness’s comments.
“Seems Pervy is a bit of an institution at the hotel. She’s been there for sixteen years! Her husband is housebound with a disability and takes care of their little ‘ankle-biters’—children.”
“He can’t be that disabled if he’s still a breeder,” Dixie observed.
Drew continued, dismissing Dixie’s flippancy.
“We would have a cup of ‘rosie’—tea—each day when she came to turn the bed down and she would regale me with stories about the Baum suite guests.
“She absolutely adored Mr. . . . Ben. Seems he left her a ‘ton’—that’s a one-hundred-pound note—every day he was there, and at the end of his stay she would always find a box of sweets with her name on it. I think she had a crush on him. Doesn’t seem she liked any of the other suite regulars—except Ben’s son, Leo. She particularly disliked Peter Abelard. Apparently he was all over the place the day Ben died. First he had a meeting with Ben, then she saw him standing in front of the door ‘Tom peeking,’ and later in the room when she cleaned it after Ben’s death. In the case of a guest’s demise, house rules require a full cleaning as soon as possible. Claims Abelard stayed with her and another maid while they did their work, hovering over them like a vulture waiting to pounce and peppering them with questions—all the time collecting Ben’s personal items, including clothes, jewelry, books, magazines, toiletries, medicines, and what she described as ‘playthings.’Sexual aids, I suspect. He even looked under and behind the bed. She thinks he was looking for something important and even pressed her on whether she had removed any items—an inquiry she considered tantamount to an accusation of theft. As for Tremaine, Pervy had an equally low opinion—‘a sad arse excuse for a wife. Always left her scanties about. Nothing but a shagbag in fancy clothes—all fur and no knickers!’