The Boardwalk Trust (Beach Lawyer Series Book 2)

by Avery Duff

She’d eased into a 2012 Volvo sedan.

  “Sad to say,” Evelyn had said, “your client has a right to look through his brother’s personal effects—as his sole heir, they belong to him now. If you want to check Carlos’ computer, any other records at his home, I’ll call later today, and we can set up a time.”

  “Sure,” he’d agreed.

  That was yesterday. So far today, Evelyn hadn’t reached out to him.

  Checking the trust’s legal file again, Robert didn’t see anything contradicting what Teo had told him. The trust had been set up in 1985, and from what he could tell, whoever had done the legal work had turned in a professional job. The trust’s ’85 real estate inventory had been over in Monterey Park, too. Four apartment buildings, twenty units total—the first Highland Park rental house had been sold years earlier. Photos of the apartment buildings appeared in the file, along with their addresses. All well maintained, from the pictures. Between 1985 and 2005, Vincent, then the trustee, hadn’t sold anything and had managed them himself.

  Then in October 2005: a West Hollywood police report. Vincent Famosa had been beaten to death and sodomized with “an external object.” Under the trust, Carlos had been named Vincent’s successor trustee.

  Robert could see how that choice might’ve hurt Teo, maybe even pissed him off. Then again, with his addiction problems, Teo wasn’t the guy to run a trust, especially with a CPA brother. After Carlos’ death, no successor trustee had been named.

  According to year-end reports in the file, Carlos didn’t mess up for a long time. The opposite, in fact. Prior to the trust’s decline into its current state, it had churned out about $300,000 gross income a year, before taxes and whatnot. After that, the brothers had split what was left, even steven. Carlos, though, was directed to serve as trustee without compensation, and Robert imagined over time those unpaid duties could cause resentment on Carlos’ end.

  Robert’s cell vibrated on the table. Philip Fanelli was calling.

  “Philip,” he answered. “I wondered when you were going to surface.”

  Philip said, “I’m just back in town from Santa Cruz. When can we meet to discuss our case?”

  After arranging to meet the next day, Robert put Philip and his former law firm out of his mind to refocus on the Famosas.

  Searching the file again, Robert found a budding problem for trustee Carlos. In 2009, Carlos’ letters to Evelyn mentioned Teo and Bee, who’d started showing up at Carlos’ house. Reason being, they wanted more income, and if they didn’t get it, they planned to find a lawyer and sue.

  Those visits led Carlos to ask Evelyn about the trust’s so-called In Terrorem clause. The two Latin words meant “in fear”; Section 17 of the trust, with Carlos’ underlining, read:

  In Terrorem. If any beneficiary shall at any time commence proceedings in any court to have this trust set aside or declared invalid or to contest any part or all of its provisions, they shall forfeit any and all interest in my trust without further action necessary by the trustee.

  In Carlos’ letter to Evelyn:

  That part of the trust I underlined. Can I threaten to take away Teo’s interest in the trust if he and his insane wife keep threatening me with lawsuits? Looks to me like it applies to situations just like this.

  Evelyn’s legal memo and responding letter were clear. The In Terrorem clause—meant to strike terror in beneficiaries before they contested a trust—only applied when the trust was first presented to the court. Meaning right after Vincent’s death. That’s when Teo might’ve complained about how Vincent had treated him under the trust. Grounds for complaint would’ve been Vincent’s incapacity, his incompetence or his being under someone else’s undue influence.

  Evelyn’s memo to Carlos:

  Undue influence, Carlos. Like Anna Nicole Smith and her ninety-year-old husband’s will. Remember? The in terrorem ship has sailed. At this late date, that clause no longer applies to the trust. My best advice to you, try reasoning with your brother . . .

  Robert could see why Carlos had been confused about the underlined language, but a quick trip to the California cases confirmed that Evelyn was right.

  He wondered why he even bothered second-guessing Evelyn Levine.

  Back in the file: The trust’s troubles escalated—again because of Teo. Three different civil suits had been filed against both Teo and the trust. The amounts ranged from $250,000 to $350,000. All in, nearly three quarters of a million dollars. Each involved assault and battery, and each had been filed by a different lawyer.

  The trust and Teo—the trust had handled Teo’s side of it—filed a brief answer to each of the complaints, denying every allegation without giving any facts in its favor. The trust’s, and Teo’s answer, did raise self-defense as justification for the assaults, but again, no specifics.

  Looked to Robert like the trust was trying to buy thirty days to figure out what to do. Understandable, given the medical reports and pictures of the guys Teo had beaten up. Busted-up faces, bruised and broken ribs. Men named Peterson, Novak, and Daniels, ages thirty-two to forty-seven, who alleged Teo beat them without provocation downtown, in Culver City, and near Koreatown.

  Robert recalled the trust had a spendthrift clause, so called because it was designed to keep outsiders from suing and collecting from a spendthrift beneficiary. That is, a beneficiary likely to squander money, with alcohol or drug problems, or a garden-variety black sheep.

  In other words, a guy just like Teo who was bound to blow his family money once he had it in hand.

  The spendthrift clause was long, its language complicated, but the gist of it was: the outside world could forget about suing a beneficiary covered by such a clause. Even if the beneficiary had assaulted you, even if you had a court-awarded money judgment against him.

  Even so, the trust settled all three cases for real money. Copies of canceled checks showed that the three beaten pugilists received around $350,000 total over three years. Roughly thirty cents on the dollar. Releases signed by Teo, the trust, and each plaintiff showed up in the file.

  With a spendthrift clause protecting Teo, Robert wondered why the trust had paid out that much.

  That is—until he read Evelyn’s memorandum to Carlos. A serious piece of work, it ran five pages, single spaced. He checked the cases backing up her arguments—he couldn’t help it. The memorandum was one of the best pieces of legal writing he’d ever seen. She’d billed $15,000 for the legal work on the Peters case, the first of the three assaults. He was about to reread her memorandum, just to see how she’d done it, when he saw Delfina across the room, her hand raised, like she was in school.

  “What’s up, Delfina?”

  “I have a question about Magna Carta?”

  “You don’t need to raise your hand to talk.”

  “Daddy said you were busy and not to bother you unless it was important.”

  “Right . . . okay, then . . .”

  Daddy told her not to bother him? Teo had been pacing around the house while Robert was trying to work. Robert finally suggested he drive to the beach and take a long, long run.

  “You’re not bothering me,” he told Delfina. “Why don’t you come over here and . . .”

  “I’m okay here. I’m still not sure what Magna Carta means.”

  He walked over and sat down beside Delfina, her phone in her lap in case her father called. From the window, he realized, she could keep an eye on the street below—see her father the moment he returned.

  He Googled Magna Carta on his laptop, digested what was on his screen.

  “It means ‘big map,’ like a big map for people to follow.”

  She wanted to know more; he showed her England on the map.

  “Well, over in England, a long time ago, there was a king named John. His earls and barons, those are important people who . . . who worked for him. They didn’t like King John. But the king was a big deal back then, much bigger than we can imagine today.”

  “Bigger than the president?”


  “More like God, so King John didn’t care what they thought about him. Nobody ever told the king what to do, but those guys kept giving him a hard time, starting fights with him. So finally, King John got worried and told them he’d try to treat them better. Not like they were horses and cows, more like they were people. But they didn’t trust King John, so they made him write down his promises. And that piece of paper, where King John wrote those promises, that’s what they call the Magna Carta.”

  “Why was Magna Carta Man standing on the courthouse?”

  He thought about it. This was tougher than he’d thought.

  “Pretend like you and I are in England now, and all of a sudden somebody came in this house, right through the door, and said, ‘Give me that chair, Delfina.’ The one you’re sitting on. What would you say?”

  She frowned. “It’s Gia’s.”

  “But they tell you, ‘No, it’s not Gia’s. Everything belongs to King John.’ And they take your chair, and you can’t do anything about it. That’s what it was like back then.”

  “Are you teasing?” she asked.

  “No. And so the Magna Carta, it said no king could take your stuff unless there was a trial where everybody gets to tell their side of the story. King John didn’t like it, but they told him, ‘Hey, King John, too bad.’”

  “Yeah, King John, tough luck,” she said.

  They high-fived.

  “The courthouse where we went, that’s where trials happen. Trials about people taking chairs and other stuff that doesn’t belong to them. So they put Magna Carta Man over the door. That way, people won’t forget: that getting to have trials in America is really a big deal.”

  He hoped that was her last question. Any more and he’d be over his head. Teo saved him, though, pulling up in the truck and parking on the street. In a flash, Delfina was up from the chair and out the door.

  At the window, he watched her run down the front walkway. Watched Teo get out and catch her in his arms as she jumped into them. Again, that visible bond. On his way down to join them, he found it hard to reconcile that image with those assault-and-battery lawsuits, the ones that Teo hadn’t mentioned to him before the hearing.

  Once Robert joined them, Teo asked, “Was she any trouble?”

  “She was real bad. She made me drive her to Las Vegas, and I gambled and lost all my money. We just drove back home.”

  Delfina picked up on the joke. “We ate ice cream all day long, Daddy.”

  “I can’t leave you two alone, can I?” Then Teo told Robert, “I dug up that Night of the Ramos picture I told you about. In the truck. You want to see it?”

  Vincent Famosa in the ring with Sugar Ramos after the fight.

  “Later, okay? First, let’s talk about the trust.”

  In Gia’s backyard, Robert and Teo took turns throwing a Frisbee with Delfina, running her around the fenced-in yard, hoping to burn off some of her pent-up energy.

  Robert asked Teo if he remembered asking Carlos for more money, threatening to sue the trust if Carlos didn’t come across.

  Teo said, “Yeah, but Carlos told me I’d lose everything if I sued him, and he read it to me, right out of the trust. Said his lawyer told him that’s how it was, and he hoped I sued him so I’d lose my piece. Then he could have it all.”

  Now Robert knew: in spite of Evelyn’s memo about the In Terrorem clause being irrelevant, Carlos had lied to his brother about it. Hard for Robert to judge Carlos too harshly. After all, Teo was a raging addict with an addict wife, and they’d showed up at his home, out of control, wanting lifestyle money.

  “So you backed down after Carlos threatened you?” Robert asked him.

  “Me and Bee find a lawyer, show up for court? Didn’t think so at the time, but we didn’t need more money. More money woulda kept us high longer. What I needed was to hit bottom and sober up. If anything, Carlos did me a favor.”

  What Teo said made AA sense to Robert.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the three men you beat up?”

  “Guess I should’ve, but the trust handled all of it. Swear to God, Robert, I’s blacked out. Don’t remember nothin’ about beatin’ those boys up.”

  “Anton Peterson, Stanley Novak, and Martin Daniels. Know any of them?”

  “Know ’em? No. Seen ’em around where I was drinking. Barflies, people like that.”

  “No memory of the assaults?”

  “Nada. I signed a release, and it was done. But Carlos? He was real pissed off I got the trust sued over my bullshit.”

  “You blame him?”

  “Did back then, hell, yeah. ‘Hey, Carlos, you’da given me more money, fights wouldn’t’ve happened.’ That right there, that’s my shame talking, my alcoholic thinking, but it was never on him—it was all on me.”

  They kept running Delfina around the yard with the Frisbee. Looked to Robert like she was just getting warmed up.

  “She ever get tired?” Robert asked.

  “She can go, baby. Takes after me that way.” Watching her, proud, Teo still seemed concerned. “My mom, alcoholic. Me and Bee, alcohol and drugs. Chances are good my little girl’s got the bad gene, and she’s seen enough bad things already to self-medicate down the line.”

  Hard to imagine looking at this healthy young girl, but what Teo said sounded right.

  Teo asked, “What I did back then to those men. Is it important now?”

  “Hard to say, Teo. Lots of times, you don’t know what matters till it matters.”

  “Here’s the thing about that trust, mi abogado. You heard me talking about how Vincent acted, right?”

  “Sure. The big man.”

  Teo nodded. “After Zara died, he’d have me and Carlos over Sunday dinners. Get wound up, say stuff like, ‘How many trustees you two boys see at this table? Only one trustee here I can see.’ Sometimes he’d tell us, ‘You think anything’s gonna be left for you two? A goddamn weakling and a goddamn thug? Think again.’”

  “You’re saying, what? Vincent didn’t plan on you two getting anything?”

  “Tellin’ you what he liked sayin’. That he’s the big man, and he’s gonna live forever.”

  That night, as the fog rolled over the Palisades and into Brentwood, Erik made up an excuse to drop by with salmon, lemons, and capers. Robert grilled it in the backyard as the temperature turned SoCal cold—in the low fifties—so he blazed up the fire pit. He, Erik, and Gia ate dinner sitting around in the misted ocean air suffused by firelight.

  Over wine, Gia told them about a professor hitting on her after civil procedure class.

  “Stopped me by the door, asked if I had any questions about jurisdiction. I told him no, and he said, ‘Minimum contacts, you sure?’”

  “I told him, ‘Thanks anyway.’ So he asked what I thought about maximum contacts. Then he winked at me.”

  Robert said, “I ever see him, I’ll give him all the contact he wants.”

  “Not fair. He’s about Priya’s size,” Gia said.

  “Priya’d slaughter your professor,” Erik said, missing his wife and kids terribly.

  “What’s on tap tomorrow?” Robert asked Gia.

  “Criminal law,” she said.

  A look passed between them. Her past dangerous urges had led her to cash malpractice-insurance checks under forged signatures at their old firm. No Girl Scout, she’d also been involved with the female banker Robert had been accused of murdering up in Santa Cruz. Given that, he decided to forgo any cute comment about criminal law as she headed inside to study.

  Then Erik suggested that tomorrow they run the soft-sand shelf on Venice Beach, one of their regular get-in-serious-shape events. There was no getting out of it with his masculinity intact, so the next day, the run was on.

  Once they hit the soft sand, the exertion kept their conversation to a minimum, and Robert’s thoughts drifted to Teo’s three assault-and-battery lawsuits. He pictured Teo on the boardwalk, where he’d tried walking away from a fight until Whitey got too close. Eve
n though Delfina was scared, and even though he could’ve punished all three men, Teo hadn’t. But he was sober, not blind drunk like he’d been when he’d delivered those other beatdowns.

  Robert still hadn’t mentioned to Teo the trust’s remaining $18,000. The trust might have outstanding bills in excess of that, so why get his hopes up?

  And so far, Teo hadn’t mentioned his brother’s death, either. On the ride home from the courthouse, Teo had asked to ride in the back seat. The morning sun had shone in on him through the back window, and in his rearview, Robert could see Teo facing the sunlight and smiling. Then, too—hadn’t he seen Teo sleeve a tear from his cheek? Happy about Carlos? Sad? Hard to say, grabbing looks at Teo in the mirror.

  It doesn’t really matter, he decided. Teo’s feelings about his brother’s death have no bearing on what I’ve been hired to do.

  The run with Erik only fueled his questions, so he was relieved when Evelyn called later that day to set up a meeting.

  “At my house on Harvard, if you don’t mind. And even if you do.”

  He knew her street. Several blocks from Carlos’ house on Amherst Avenue. As Evelyn was signing off, she gave him the teaser.

  “Maybe it’s time to tell you about the girl . . .”

  CHAPTER 8

  Tucked away in a Harvard Street neighborhood, several miles east of the beach, Evelyn’s seventy-year-old house had been redone top to bottom under what she’d told Robert was a twenty-year lease. Open floor plan, high ceilings, exposed beams. Original hardwood floors and oversize wooden furniture custom-made in Mexico, he guessed, from the inlay and carvings. Black-and-white photographs hung on the living room wall, an array of them behind where he now sat, each with the same look: white borders and black frames.

  When she’d first let him in, he’d noticed she was moving slower than at the courthouse, and she chose to sit in an easy chair with an ottoman. They’d settled in across from each other.

  Then she asked, “Do you mind indulging me? The two of us just talking for a while?”

  A little tit for tat. She had a way about her that he liked, so for a while they just talked.