When Lightning Strikes Twice

by Barbara Boswell

  “You could,” agreed Quint. “But it would be a stupid, expensive waste of time for everybody.”

  “That seems to be your standard reply when anyone suggests taking you to court, Mr. Cormack,” Eve said sharply. “You say not to bother because you’ll surely win. As if it’s inevitable.”

  “Because in this case it is,” Quint assured her. “And you and Rachel and Wade know it. Or you should.”

  “Like we were saying earlier, Rachel, if mind games were an Olympic event, Quint Cormack would walk away with the gold medal.” Wade smiled sardonically.

  “This is not a game. Why don’t we simply review the facts of this case?” Quint didn’t lose his cool. “Are you Saxons ever going to point out to your clients that, in the unlikely possibility the new will is overturned—which it will never be, I assure you—the no-contest clause remains in force. And may I remind you that means anyone who might possibly inherit under the terms of an old will won’t, not if they’ve challenged the new will with its unimpeached no-contest clause.”

  “Does anyone understand one word of the gobbledygook this—this charlatan is spewing?” howled Town Junior.

  “He is telling us that unless we overturn the no-contest clause,” began Town Three.

  “Your chances are less than zero there,” Quint offered helpfully. “I can cite at least a hundred-fifty years’ worth of precedents that will make the clause completely enforceable.”

  Eve groaned.

  “Furthermore, Misty and I will appeal any disallowance of the no-contest clause all the way to the Supreme Court if we have to,” Quint assured them. “Not that we’ll need to because the courts have been upholding those clauses since long before anyone in this room was born.”

  “Save the Law School for Dummies lesson, Cormack,” said Wade. “Believe me, we all get your point.”

  “If that clause is upheld, anyone who has challenged the new will can’t inherit anything, not even from the old will should it somehow be activated,” Town Three said slowly. “God, Cormack, that’s so perverse it’s almost admirable!”

  “Thank you.” Quint smiled wryly. “But I can’t take full credit. Actually, it was a joint effort between Town Senior and me. He was extremely knowledgeable about estate planning and inheritance laws and loopholes. So … any volunteers to contest the will?”

  “If I were to volunteer and somehow win by getting the new will overturned,” Sloane turned her chair and leaned back in it, crossing her legs to strike a provocative pose. “I would actually lose. I couldn’t inherit anything, not even under the old will, because of that wretched no-contest clause that you claim would be upheld by the Supreme Court. So if we go to court, even if we win we lose. Have I got it right, Quint?”

  “Absolutely, positively right, Sloane.” Quint grinned.

  Sloane preened.

  Rachel seethed. Sloane was actually flirting with Quint. And he was certainly not discouraging the woman!

  “We can contest anything we want!” Rachel jumped to her feet, unable to sit passively a moment longer. She stalked to the window to stand beside Wade.

  Quint’s eyes slid over her. “And what would be your grounds to contest, Rachel?”

  Rachel knew he was deliberately inciting her, she remembered that particular tone and expression from the Pedersen trial. He’d maddened her then, but this time it was even worse because added to the spectacle was Sloane Tilden Lloyd slavering over Quint like a latent carnivore who’d just discovered the thrilling taste of meat.

  Her jaw tightened. “Our grounds to contest would be fraudulence, undue influence by Misty—”

  “You have to do better than that Rachel,” Quint cut in. “I have notes and witnesses that effectively eliminates any trace of fraudulence. As for the undue influence by a spouse—that’s a loser, sweetie. It is almost impossible to prove because a person is assumed to be influenced by a spouse, it’s considered both legal and correct.”

  Rachel glared at him. “How about diminished mental capacity?” she snapped. “Sweetie!”

  Wade snickered.

  “You’ve seen the witnesses who signed the will, attesting to Mr. Tilden’s mental acuity.” Quint spoke calmly and slowly, as if he were attempting to explain subtraction to a group of not particularly bright second-graders. “Why would a priest, a minister, and a rabbi, all highly respected members in the community, perjure themselves?”

  “Maybe you paid them off!” Rachel cried wildly. “Maybe we should check and see if those three congregations each received a large sum of money from Town Tilden Senior!”

  “Ohhh, Rachel!” Eve shook her head.

  “Actually, the idea does have some merit,” said Marguerite’s husband.

  The Saxons stared at each other, momentarily riveted. It was the first time any of them could recall hearing the man speak up in a group.

  “If you think we would summon the records of Lakeview Presbyterian Church, Temple Sinai, and St. Philomena’s to accuse them of fraud, you’re out of your tiny little mind,” Town Three said severely.

  Rachel wondered whose tiny little mind he was referring to—hers or Marguerite’s husband.

  “It would be extremely bad form,” agreed Quint. “Although, you’re certainly welcome to try. You’ll find nothing amiss. There were no bribes and payoffs, only three decent, moral men willing to witness an aging husband’s will to provide for his young and vulnerable wife after he was gone.”

  “Oh, brother.” Wade gritted through his teeth in an aside to Rachel. “First, we have to endure Sloane making goo-goo eyes and pulling up her skirt for Cormack and then he launches into that Heartbreak Hotel spiel. I’ve got to get out of here before I lose my lunch.”

  “You can’t desert Aunt Eve and me now,” Rachel whispered. “It’s dishonorable for the crew to abandon a sinking ship, remember?”

  “Right now I’d rather be a rat deserting it,” grumbled Wade, but he stayed put.

  “Moving on, we would like to discuss that unfortunate misunderstanding at the Tilden mansion on Friday night, Quint,” Eve spoke up, interrupting the Tildens in the middle of another fierce interfamily argument. “About the complaint that was filed—”

  “The only misunderstanding was that odious, officious police report!” cried Marguerite. “I took my children to my own father’s house and—”

  “That house belongs to Misty Tilden,” Quint interrupted. He had been idly circling the room but stopped to stand in front of Wade and Rachel. “Are you familiar with the term ‘tenancy by the entireties’?”

  “Of course!” Wade drew himself from his usual slouch to his full height. “That’s one of the first things I learned in my Property Law class.”

  Rachel felt a horrid feeling of foreboding. “Oh, damn!” she whispered.

  “Oh no!” Eve said at the same time, but more loudly.

  “What’s going to happen now?” shrieked Marguerite. “I know something will!”

  “Are you about to pull another rabbit out of your magic hat, Quint?” Sloane teased coyly. Her skirt hiked a few inches higher, exposing more of her firm, silk-encased thighs.

  “All right, Cormack.” Town Three heaved an exaggerated sigh. “We know it’s going to be bad. Just give it to us straight.”

  16

  “Town Senior put the house in both names, his and Misty’s.” Quint dropped the bomb without blinking. “His death makes her the sole owner. It also means that the house and its contents are not included in the estate. Misty already owns it all outright, with the exception of the personal bequests made to each family member.” He paused, waiting for the full effect of his words to impact.

  This time the Tildens were oddly silent. They appeared dazed by the revelation, and an eerie stillness descended over the conference room.

  “Which makes the breaking and entering and other complaints filed against you all the more serious,” he said, hoping to get things stirring again. “You don’t have the familial connection as an excuse. That wasn’t your fat
her or grandfather’s residence you burglarized, it is Misty’s home. It would be like the Nixon or the Johnson daughters breaking into the White House and claiming they were entitled to do so because their fathers once lived there.”

  ‘That’s not even remotely funny, Cormack!” A livid Tilden Lloyd was the first to speak.

  “I wasn’t trying to entertain you, I was using an analogy to show you that the alleged right you’ve claimed to enter Misty’s home is ridiculous,” Quint shot back. He waited, adrenaline flowing, to take on the next Tilden but no one else spoke.

  “Your actions were patently criminal,” he added for good measure.

  The silence dragged on. It seemed never-ending to Quint, who grew bored. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I sense that you have more or less decided not to contest the will,” he prompted at last.

  Only Marguerite’s usually dormant husband took it as a challenge. “I still think we should contest,” he piped up.

  “Yes, we should!” agreed Tilly. “Are my father and I the only ones here not fooled by Cormack’s smoke-and-mirrors practice of law?”

  The other Tildens looked at the pair with the unconcealed contempt they normally directed at Misty or Quint.

  “Divide and Conquer. That’s the way to handle my family.” Quint could hear old Town Senior’s jovial voice echoing in his head. The patriarch seemed to have known his progeny well because the dividing lines were already being drawn within the family. Quint could easily discern them.

  The namesake Towns and Marguerite had decided a court case was not in their best interests and wanted to inherit what had been left to them. Sloane was on the fence but would ultimately throw in with the more powerful members of the family. Which left only the two hapless male Lloyds as the dissident outsiders. Quint had a feeling that was their customary position.

  “You claim that my father put the house jointly in his and Misty’s names.” Town Junior turned to Quint, making a token last stand. “Can you prove this?”

  “Do I strike you as stupid?” Quint was irritated and didn’t bother to disguise his impatience. “Of course I can prove it. It’s a matter of public record and has been since Day One when the papers were filed. The information isn’t secret. Anyone who bothered to check would know.”

  “I didn’t bother to check, a definite oversight on my part because possibly, I could’ve talked my father into reconsidering.” Town Junior leaned across the table and glowered at Eve. “But then, I shouldn’t have had to check. My personal attorney should have had the foresight to keep watch over such matters. Isn’t that why the Tildens have always retained Saxon Associates? Because we believed that we would be treated as the invaluable clients that we are?”

  “Yes, Eve, why didn’t you monitor our father’s transactions more closely?” scolded Marguerite. “You should have discovered that the house was in joint name, that it wouldn’t pass through the estate.”

  “For that matter, you should’ve known Grandfather had drawn up a new will,” Town Three added sternly. “According to Cormack, that is Basic Law 101.”

  “You can be certain that if Quint Cormack had been our lawyer, we’d have been aware of all this long before Grandfather died,” Sloane said, fluttering her lashes at Quint.

  Rachel and Wade exchanged enraged glances.

  “You can hardly blame Aunt Eve for—” Rachel began.

  “We most certainly can blame our attorney for failing to safeguard our legal interests in my father’s estate,” Town Junior cut her off. “And since you are also one of Saxon Associates, one of our illustrious lawyers, you are to blame too, young lady.”

  “We should’ve known when she blew the Pedersen trial that we’d end up getting screwed, too,” Tilden Lloyd said nastily.

  “Watch your language, Tilly,” his mother reprimanded him.

  “But the boy does have a point, however crudely expressed,” said Town Three. “We have been ill served by this firm. We deserve better.”

  “Of course. The Tildens deserve only the very best,” Wade said acidly.

  Rachel and Eve tensed, bracing for an outburst, but none of the Tildens seemed to have picked up on Wade’s sarcasm.

  “That is true.” Even Marguerite seemed somewhat mollified.

  “Eve, do you have anything to say in your defense?” Town Junior stood up. He didn’t appear willing to spend much time listening, if she should happen to have something to say in her defense. Clearly, he’d already judged her actions as indefensible.

  Eve knew it. “I am sorry that you feel dissatisfied with our representation,” she said stiffly.

  “That’s all you have to say?” Tilly scowled at his mother’s longtime friend. “You’re sorry?”

  “What do you want her to do, grovel at your feet?” Wade exploded. “Well, why should she? It’s not her fault. Town Senior was the one who married Misty, he was the one who wanted her to have the house and the money, and he was the one who hired Cormack to draw up the new uncontestable will. Aunt Eve—and Saxon Associates—had nothing to do with any of Town’s decisions. If you want to blame someone, blame him!”

  “It’s just like you to speak ill of a dead man, Wade,” Sloane said haughtily. “Everybody knows that poor Grandfather was pathetically bewitched by that slut!”

  “There was nothing pathetic about your grandfather.” Quint used his stentorian courtroom tones which resonated throughout the room. “Town had no complaints about his wife, who was devoted to him. He died a very happy man,” he added, smiling wryly.

  “I guess if you’ve gotta go, at ninety-three, that’s the way to go,” Wade whispered to Rachel.

  “Be quiet!” She hissed. “Things are bad enough without your cynical bad jokes.”

  “My cynical bad jokes are the only thing keeping me from charging across the room and mauling Cormack, Sloane, and Tilly.” Wade grimaced. “In my Rambo fantasy, those three go first, then I take out everybody else. You and Aunt Eve excepted, of course.”

  “Plotting strategy?” Quint joined them at the window.

  He tried to catch Rachel’s eyes, but she purposefully avoided his gaze. She knew it annoyed him, knew that if they were alone he would take her head in his hands and make her look at him. Which made her all the more determined not to even glance in his direction.

  ‘They don’t know how to plot strategy.” This from a caustic Town Three. “They’ve certainly proven that.”

  “Can we dispense with the aspersions and return to the very pressing matter of those complaints filed by Misty?” Eve made an heroic effort to conduct business.

  The Tildens weren’t interested.

  “I mentioned that particular absurdity to our general counsel at the company and he suggested that we retain a criminal lawyer to handle it.” Town Junior was walking toward the door as he spoke. “I have already spoken to a prominent one in Philadelphia. He assured me that charges will not be filed.”

  “Oh, he did, did he?” Quint drawled. “It seems to me that decision is up to Chief Spagna.”

  “Yes, the final decision rests with the chief,” seconded Eve.

  “Nevertheless, you surely understand why we don’t trust Saxon Associates to deal competently with that—situation.” Town Junior sneered.

  “You mustn’t take this personally, Eve.” Marguerite joined her brother at the door. “After all, you don’t specialize in—that particular field.” She seemed unwilling to speak the word “criminal.”

  “I don’t think this firm specializes in anything.” Sloane flashed Wade a look of pure dislike, which he returned in full measure.

  “Except maybe losing cases and clients,” Tilly added acidly.

  “So we should proceed to administer and distribute the estate according to the testamentary provisions?” Quint addressed Town Junior.

  “Yes. I trust you will be present when we go to the house to claim what Father wanted us to have?” Town Junior demanded. “None of us cares to suffer through another excruciating meeting with that synthet
ic-bodied lunatic and her hotheaded amour.”

  “Give me a call and I’ll arrange to meet you at the house and for Misty to be elsewhere,” Quint said briskly, not acknowledging the insults.

  Town Junior turned to Eve. “I regret that it must end this way but as of now, the Tilden family will no longer retain the services of Saxon Associates. Consider yourselves terminated.”

  Town Three actually shook Quint’s hand, though he was the only Tilden to do so. The family departed en masse, their complaints and insults filling the office suite until the office door slammed behind them.

  For a few seconds, a stark silence reigned. Then Katie came racing into the conference room.

  “The Tildens have left the building!” she announced, giggling.

  “Ah, Katie, I bet you’ve been rehearsing that.” Quint smiled at the girl.

  Katie beamed. “Yeah.”

  “Don’t you have a phone call to make?” Eve asked her. “You certainly spend enough time on the phone making personal calls. Why don’t you call your boyfriend right now?”

  It was an unmistakable dismissal, but Katie didn’t quite get it “I already talked to him three times today,” she said earnestly. “Anyway, he’s in class right now.”

  “Then go call someone else,” Eve commanded. “One of your sisters or brothers, your best friend. Any friend.”

  “Okay,” Katie agreed cheerfully, and bounced out of the conference room.

  Quint found himself facing the three Saxons, who had lined up together on the opposite side of the table from him.

  “I saw no reason to involve the little Sheely girl in this unpleasantness,” Eve said tightly. “But since she’s undoubtedly chattering away on the phone right now, I don’t have to restrain myself.” Her voice lowered and her teeth were clenched as she turned blazing hazel eyes on Quint. “Get out of here before I call an exterminator!”

  Quint regarded the trio with sympathy, not seeming to mind that he’d just been called an insect, albeit indirectly.

  “I understand your anger. The Tildens are extremely unpleasant to deal with,” he said in a placating tone that failed to placate any Saxon. It only served to further infuriate them.