Last Will (The Lockes)

by Ron Schwab

  “I don’t need to speak with Miss Stanton. I have total authority to make any decision.”

  Sweeney smiled. “That’s wonderful. Have we struck a bargain then?”

  I shook my head in disbelief and did not bother to reply. I commenced shuffling through my notes, while Sweeney waited expectantly for a response. Moments later two spectators entered the room and took seats. I recognized one of the observers as a clerk from the county treasurer’s office, probably anointed as the courthouse crier to carry embellished news of the proceedings back to his superior. The other man was vaguely familiar, but I could not place him. He was a diminutive man in his thirties, with flaxen hair and a sparse moustache that barely formed a shadow on a colorless face. His pale blue eyes seemed emotionless. Sweeney turned and saw the man and acknowledged his presence with a nod and a smile. It suddenly occurred to me that this had to be Karl Wainwright. His straight, narrow nose and dimpled chin were descended from Ralph.

  Abruptly, the door opened again, and the Honorable Reuben Helvey entered the room. The lawyers arose in unison from their chairs, and the spectators took the cue and followed suit. The black-robed judge looked very much his part as he made his way to his table-bench. A burley, ruddy-faced man with thick white hair, Judge Helvey might have been a formidable figure were it not for the dark eyes that darted nervously from one lawyer to the other and betrayed his lack of confidence.

  “Be seated,” the judge announced in a high-pitched voice that did not quite fit his appearance. The judge thumbed through the folders on his desk, while the lawyers waited for some direction. After an appropriate period of silence, he looked up and sighed heavily. He looked first at Sweeney and then at me. “I don’t suppose you boys have worked something out between you.”

  I responded, “No, your Honor, there’s been no stipulation.”

  Sweeney stood and said, “Your Honor, on behalf of Mrs. Wainwright, I have made a generous settlement offer to Mr. Locke, and I want you to be aware that we have made every effort to save the court the trouble and unnecessary inconvenience of a hearing in this matter.”

  “Sit down, Albert. I get paid for listening to you law wranglers, and if we need a hearing, that’s what we’ll have.” The judge looked down at the papers in his file folder and tugged at his ear before he spoke. “Now let’s just be sure we’re all riding in the same wagon this morning. This is my understanding of what we’re here for. There have been two wills filed for probate. One will was signed, witnessed and dated May 10, 1883 and filed for probate by Ian. This will names Ian as executor. There is another will allegedly written by Ralph Wainwright in his own hand and dated June 1, 1884. This will appoints Albert as executor. A probate hearing on both of these said wills is set for August 16 and cannot be held before that date because required legal notices must be given and the statutory waiting periods must expire.”

  The judge looked at the lawyers over his wire-rimmed bifocals. “Any arguments so far?”

  “None, your Honor,” I said.

  Sweeney arose from his chair. “Your Honor, I would just call to your attention that our will and petition were filed first.”

  “Sit down, Albert. You’ll have plenty of chances to speak your piece. I just want to make it clear what we’re taking up this morning.” The judge continued. “Now we all know that I’m not going to rule on either will until the charges against Mrs. Wainwright or Miss Kimball, or whatever her name is, are settled one way or another. So we all know the August 16 hearing probably isn’t really going to happen on August 16 and that only God knows when that hearing is going to take place. Now, our problem is that Ralph left bills to pay and businesses to run, including Wainwright Savings Bank where I’ve got my meager funds that I’d like somebody looking after. So somebody’s got to run the show until this convoluted mess gets cleaned up. And that’s what the special administrator does. When a will is admitted to probate and an executor’s appointed, the special administrator will file his accounting with this court and hit the road. Both of you gentlemen want that job, so it seems to me I got three choices. I can appoint Ian. I can appoint Albert. Or I can appoint anybody I else I damn well please.” The judge looked at the lawyers again. “Are you still with me, gentlemen?”

  I nodded in the affirmative. Actually, Reuben, uncomfortable as he was with the dilemma, understood his task well and had set the stage very succinctly.

  Sweeney got up again. “May it please the court—”

  “It don’t please the court, Albert. Do you agree with what I said or not?”

  “Well, as far as it goes, but I would like—”

  “That’s as far as it goes, Albert, so I’d say it’s time to get this wagon rolling. Since you made the fuss about filing your petition first, we’ll just let you be first out of the chute. You just start things off and tell me why I ought to put you in charge of Ralph's estate.”

  Sweeney was impervious to insult, and he was unflappable in a courtroom. Nothing he said embarrassed him because the moment words spilled from his mouth they became truth according to the Book of Sweeney. It never occurred to him that others, on occasion, might see him as a pompous fool. Once again, he arose and cleared his throat and looked around the court at some invisible crowd gathered there. “May it please the court, I wish to congratulate your Honor on your learned and excellent summation of this case. I hope I may submit our position with only a fraction of such eloquence.”

  Judge Helvey and I rolled our eyes simultaneously.

  “Your Honor, this is a very serious matter we have before the court, and I know from your splendid record on the bench you fully appreciate the importance of the decision you are being forced to make. Ralph Wainwright was a giant in our community, respected as citizen and businessman. His passing leaves a void that will probably never be filled. Yet, those who are left behind must forge ahead. As you know, Mr. Wainwright was an entrepreneur with wide-ranging and complex business interests that must be inventoried and managed during this most critical period. Not the least of these interests is Wainwright Savings Bank. Protection of the estate’s assets is of utmost urgency not only to Mr. Wainwright’s presumptive devisees, but to all of Cottonwood County, for the failure of the bank would be the fall of the first domino in a long line. The person who is appointed special administrator of this estate will have an awesome responsibility and must be a man of spotless integrity and must possess no small amount of business acumen. Your appointee will be acting in a fiduciary capacity for heirs and community—”

  The judge interrupted. “Albert, if it will help move things along, I assure you this is a decision I take seriously . . . as I do all of my decisions.”

  “I would never suggest otherwise, your Honor. You have an enviable reputation among bar and community for your seriousness.”

  A look of exasperation crossed the judge’s face. “Albert, just tell me why I should appoint you special administrator?”

  “In the interest of time, your Honor, I will get right to the point.”

  “An excellent idea.”

  “First, your Honor, I should be granted priority to appointment because I am designated executor of the last will signed by the deceased prior to his death. Yes, I appreciate that this will is not destined to go unchallenged, but based upon all we now know, it is, indeed, the last will, and in the end I expect to be executor of it. In light of the probabilities, it makes good sense, for the sake of continuity that I be appointed to administer the estate during this unfortunate period when the estate is held hostage by frivolous legal antics.”

  My eyes bore in on Sweeney, but with no small effort I maintained my silence. Let the bastard hang himself.

  Sweeney continued. “Secondly, I am without doubt the more qualified of the applicants for this position. Although Mr. Locke and I are contemporaries, in a manner of speaking, I have been practicing law in this county for more than fifteen years, while Mr. Locke is a relative newcomer. I know this community and am attuned to its heartbeat. The communit
y’s interests will come first under my management of the estate, and I will administer the assets for the benefit of all. Furthermore, I am very experienced in the world of commerce, having represented many businessmen and farmers during my years of practice. I have served as executor of many estates, most of which have been under the watchful and competent eyes of this court. As for integrity, my reputation speaks for itself.”

  “Do you have any more to say, Albert?” the judge interjected.

  Sweeney looked surprised at the question, apparently having much more to say. “Well, there is much more I could say. But if I may reserve rebuttal time, I will defer to Mr. Locke.”

  “Rebuttal reserved.” The judge turned to me. “Ian, what you got to say for yourself?”

  I stood and picked up some typed sheets of paper from the tabletop. “Judge, may I approach the bench?”

  “Drop the formalities, Ian. Just give me what you got.”

  I placed the papers in front of the judge. “Judge, I‘m submitting affidavits which have been signed by Cash Berry and Will Heasty as witnesses to the will dated May 10, 1883. The witnesses verify that Ralph signed the will in their presence, declared the document to be his last will and testament and requested that Cash and Will sign as witnesses. The affidavits also state that the witnesses signed in the presence of the testator and of each other. The will accordingly satisfies the statutory requirements for execution under Nebraska statutes.”

  “Objection, your Honor. This is not an evidentiary hearing on probate of the will. This is irrelevant to the issues before the court.”

  Judge Helvey tugged nervously at his ear. He preferred to avoid technical rulings wherever possible. “Ian, what do you say to that?”

  “I’ll explain the relevance, Judge. The will cannot be admitted to probate at this hearing, but Albert has already put the relative merits of the wills at issue by his contentions regarding the supposed superiority of the holographic will. He made the validity of the earlier will relevant if it had not been previously. I’m now entitled to address Albert’s claims.”

  “Makes sense to me,” the judge said. “Go ahead.”

  I handed the judge another sheet. “I’ve listed here court citations pertinent to this case and the principles of law that the cases represent. You will find several Nebraska cases that declare that a will that satisfies all of the statutory requirements of execution is presumed valid unless evidence is produced as to undue influence, duress, incompetence or some other fact going to the state of mind of the testator. In short, there can be little doubt that the 1883 will was valid. The issue ultimately will be whether it was subsequently revoked. That, of course, depends upon the validity of the alleged holographic will for which Albert has offered no proof. The court cases all indicate that a holographic will must satisfy a higher standard of proof.”

  “Objection,” howled Sweeney.

  “What’s your basis, Albert?” the judge asked.

  Sweeney was temporarily speechless. “This is unfair,” he stammered. “Opposing counsel did not have the courtesy to warn me he was going to raise evidentiary matters.”

  I declined to engage in a verbal duel with the other lawyer, confident the judge would recognize I had no obligation to do Sweeney’s work for him.

  Judge Helvey asked, “Anything else, Ian?”

  “Addressing the issue of qualifications, Judge, I have a few comments. I would make it known to the court that I have a history of representing Ralph Wainwright regarding most of his business matters over the past five years. I have been serving as legal counsel for the bank, although I must tell you that Ralph was very secretive about his business dealings, and I am not intimately familiar with all of his commercial enterprises. I have the advantage of knowing where to find most of the answers, however. I would also inform the court that during the years I practiced in Omaha, I served as general counsel for the state’s largest bank. Real estate and banking law were my areas of expertise. I submit that notwithstanding my being a relative newcomer to the community, my past experience would serve me well as special administrator. Whether my reputation for honesty rises to the level required of a fiduciary, I leave to the court.” I returned to my seat.

  The judge cocked his head and looked at Sweeney. “Albert, I said you could have rebuttal time, but I need to get over to the tavern to help with the lunch crowd. I’d take it kindly if you just called it good.”

  Put that way, Sweeney was trapped, and even he realized it. “I will waive rebuttal and rely upon the court’s sense of justice to make a fair decision in this matter.”

  “Thank you, Albert. Gentlemen, I don’t see any reason to waste more time taking this under advisement. I’m appointing Ian Locke special administrator. No bond required. Ian, have Will fix up an order and letters of administration and I’ll get them signed this afternoon. Good morning, Gentlemen.”

  16

  Ian

  IN THIS LIFE there are moments no amount of money can buy, and on this Saturday night, during that magic hour before sundown, I was savoring one of them. Mandy and I sat in two sturdy rocking chairs on the veranda, Mandy lost in the world of Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women, and I, with my feet propped on the cedar porch rail, gazing dreamily at the undulating hills that rolled into Kansas some five miles to the south. A gentle breeze drifted in and coaxed us to remain for as long as we cared. We bathed in the serenity of silence. Later the nighttime choir would perform, coyotes mournfully howling in the distance, crickets chirping, bullfrogs croaking and owls hooting as their feathered relatives chimed in. But the music would be soft and soothing, as fireflies danced in before our eyes. I always knew peace at this place. Tonight, with my precious daughter beside me, I knew heaven.

  It had been an eventful week. There had been the confrontation with Albert Sweeney in Reuben’s courtroom, followed by Ralph's funeral on Wednesday. The county had turned out for the funeral, filling the church to overflowing, probably as much because of curiosity as for respect for the recently departed. The murder of a prominent banker would become a thing of legend in a rural county, and one’s attendance at the funeral could fashion a tale for grandchildren. The empty coffin would add a bit of drama to the story. At least I now had authority to pay Ralph's funeral bill. An Omaha physician was to have examined the remains this morning, after which Cash would proceed with unceremonious burial. Graveside services were out of the question given the stench emanating from the fragmented corpse, and Cash and I agreed we did not want more fodder for the gossips.

  I had spoken with Emily following Ralph's funeral. When I explained Greta’s dilemma, she immediately promised to make arrangements at The Omaha Children’s Home. The Bee had consented to her returning to Borderview to report on the trial in spite of her peripheral relationship to the story, and she would be back in a few weeks to do some background work. In fact, she expected to do a first person feature on her uncle and her remembrances of him. She would need to walk a fine line to maintain her credibility with the reader, but she was excited about giving it a try. In any case, while Emily was in town, she and Will would meet with Greta and work out the details for the young woman’s move to Omaha immediately following the trial.

  Emily also informed me that Casey McGlaun was working feverishly to put her Omaha caseload in order, so she could come to Borderview as soon as possible to begin trial preparation. The district judge expected to be in Borderview in a month or so to preside over Celeste’s trial, and Casey planned to conduct her own exhaustive investigation. Somehow the idea of Casey coming to Borderview for an extended stay pleased me.

  The murder case was not my responsibility, however, and my focus for the moment was the temporary administration of Ralph's estate, which was proving to be no trivial task. I did not have a handle on the situation yet, but I smelled something rotten. Ralph had been unloading an exceptionally large amount of his personal investments in the weeks before his death, and no replacement assets showed up anywhere. I had reviewed the bank’s
note portfolio yesterday and found it sickly enough to cause me some worry. Much of my concern stemmed from the fact that Ralph ran a one-man operation at Wainwright Savings Bank. He was President and sole loan officer. The four other directors of the bank were farmers and merchants who served for the sole purpose of enhancing the public’s confidence in the management. They were honest, respected men, but they knew nothing about the operation of a bank. They collected token directors’ fees each month and basked in the prestige of their offices.

  The basking might be coming to an end. I had called a special directors’ meeting for Monday morning. As special administrator, I voted all of Ralph's bank shares. The shareholders elect the bank directors, and since Ralph owned all of the shares, he had the power to elect and remove directors at will. I would diplomatically inform the directors that they were going to elect me President of the Wainwright Savings Bank.. Thereafter, Will would be taking on a still larger burden of the workload at the office for a while.

  I also employed an accountant from Lincoln to conduct an audit of the bank and to try to reconstruct the trail of Ralph's financial transactions. The bank’s cashier, who with a teller constituted the bank’s only employees, had informed me that Ralph had not engaged an independent auditor for at least three years. This news did nothing for my peace of mind.

  “Dad?” Mandy’s voice brought me back from my reverie. I turned my head and saw she had put her book aside and had evidently been watching me for a spell.