Chapter 1 #2
She leaned in closer and asked, “That’s a lot, right?”
“It is.”
“Is it pretty unusual?”
“I’d say yes. I rarely get a client with this type of net worth.” Rarely? How about never?
“And I don’t know what to do with it all?”
Oh, the questions. And the suggestions.
“Uh, well, how much of the estate is in Coke stock?”
“About ten million. About six or so in Wal-Mart.”
“And the dividends?”
“Well, as you know, Wal-Mart doesn’t pay squat for dividends, pennies per share. But Coke, well that’s a different story. It’s paid four percent a year forever.”
“Four percent of ten million annually?”
“Thereabouts. It’s a bit over four hundred thousand a year. And it just piles up, you know? I don’t know what to do with it. Can you help me, Simon?”
“I’m sure we’ll think of something, but this will not be just a simple will, Ms. Barnett. This will take some time.”
“Could you please call me Netty? It’s my old nickname, but only a few people use it. If you’re Simon, then I’m Netty.”
He gave her the sappiest smile yet and said, “Of course,” as they grew closer. “I guess with that type of income you must have substantial cash in the bank.”
“Yes, I do.”
A pause. “Okay, how much cash?”
“Almost four million.”
“And it’s in, well, what type of accounts?”
“Checking, savings, and certificates of deposit. But the bank’s not here. Harry wouldn’t dare bank with the locals. He was always afraid prying eyes would see our accounts and, well, you know how people love to gossip. So he banked with East Federal in Atlanta, one of the biggest.”
“Atlanta?”
“Yes, we lived there for years. Coke’s headquarters, you know?”
“Of course.” Simon had no idea where Coke was headquartered. He scribbled away as his mind spun in circles. He flipped the pages of his legal pad and started on a blank one. He wrote down the number $10,000, followed by “Retainer.”
“Just curious, Netty, in your last will, who did you leave your assets to? The stocks and bank accounts?”
She sighed as if it might be too painful to talk about. “Well, Simon, that’s one reason I’m here. I don’t like my current will. I signed it weeks ago and I haven’t had a good night’s sleep ever since.”
“Who drafted it?”
“A lawyer across the street. Wally Thackerman. You know him?”
“Oh, sure. I know all the lawyers in town.”
“Do you trust him? Is he a good guy?”
“Yes, no, sort of, maybe. Wally is nice enough, but I wouldn’t call him a friend. Do I trust him? I’m not sure. Why? Do you trust him?”
“I did, but now I don’t know. You see, Simon, I wasn’t sure who to put in my will. Who gets the stocks and the money, you know?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So Wally convinced me to leave it all to him, in trust. When I pass, he’ll sell the stock, put the cash in a trust of some sort, I really never understood it, and then he would have the authority to give the money to my favorite charities.”
“And what are your favorite charities?”
“I don’t have any.”
“None?”
“No. You see, Harry didn’t believe in giving money away.
He had the attitude that no one gave him money when he was broke and hungry, as a kid, so why should people expect him to give them something?
I wouldn’t say he was stingy, but maybe he was.
Whatever, we just never got in the habit of giving. ”
“What about after he died and you inherited everything?”
“Well, there was this one charity I liked, or at least I thought so. Years ago I saw something on cable about the spider monkeys in Uganda and how they were starving to death because of some chemicals the government was spraying. Poor things were just shriveling up and dying by the hundreds. It was heartbreaking, so I sent a thousand dollars to the Spider Monkey Trust, had an address in Boston. They said thanks, sent me a calendar and all, made me a member of one of their boards, then asked me for more money. I sent another check, then another, and they kept asking. Wanted to send an executive out here to meet me and have lunch and so on. Then they sold my name and address to somebody else and before long my mailbox was jam-packed with letters from folks trying to save whales and buffaloes and cheetahs and Canadian wolverines. I sent them nothing. Got so bad I changed my mailing address. Then the FBI busted the Spider Monkey Trust, whole thing was a scam. Got me for eleven thousand. So, no, Simon, I don’t fool with charities. ”
Simon managed to listen while his mind raced around that little weasel Wally Thackerman across the street, putting his name in the will and controlling everything. It was highly unethical and grounds for disbarment, but then who needs a law license when you’re drowning in cash?
She was prattling on. “Ever since I signed that will I’ve worried about it. Doesn’t seem right for the lawyer to be able to get his hands on everything, right, Simon?”
“I need to see the will, Netty.”
She pulled a tissue out of a pocket and was tapping it on her cheeks. “I’m sorry. This is so confusing. I never really felt right, you know, leaving everything to Mr. Thackerman, a man I don’t really know. That was not very smart, was it?”
Of course not. Downright stupid. But with the client in tears and vulnerable and sitting on a fortune, Simon grew even warmer.
“We’ll take care of it, Netty. Trust me.
This is easy to fix. Sometimes proper estate planning requires a significant portion of the assets to be placed in trust, and the attorney is often named as the trustee. ”
“Legal gobbledygook.”
“Yes, I’m sorry, but the law can get complicated. Let me take a look at the will and we can go from there.”
“Okay.”
Simon was dizzy with rapid thoughts. He closed his legal pad, put the cap on his pen, and said, “Look, tomorrow I have some business in Fairhaven close to where you live. Let’s meet at that new Starbucks on Millmont Street. You know where it is?”
“I think so, but I really don’t mind coming downtown.”
“No, I insist. Same time, two P.M. tomorrow. And I’ll look over your will.”
“I guess.”
“And here’s something sensitive, Netty, something I can tell only you. Matilda out there is not the most discreet person I’ve ever hired. We’ve had issues over her ability to keep secrets, and this is just the type of gossip that she might repeat to the wrong person.”
“Oh dear.”
“Right. I’ll have to terminate her soon enough. A lawyer cannot have a blabbermouth in the office. In the meantime, though, not another word to her. If you need me, just call my cell phone.” He slid across a business card.
“Oh dear.” She was feigning surprise but also enjoying the intrigue.
“It’ll be okay, trust me. I can prepare the will myself and she’ll never see it. It’s best that way.”
“If you say so.”
“Trust me. Two P.M. tomorrow at Starbucks.”
He followed her down the hall to reception, chatting the whole way about the weather.
Netty glared at Matilda as she walked by but said nothing.
Simon opened the front door and stepped outside with her.
As she wandered off and got in her car, the old Lincoln, he stared at the law office across Main Street.
Law Offices of Walter J. Thackerman. What a slimeball.
Back inside, Matilda said, “Nice little lady. You have the questionnaire? I’ll do the will right now.”
Simon stopped and looked out the front window as if there was trouble. “Might have a problem. She could be crazy, really off her rocker. I think she’s being treated, gotta be careful. And she’s not sure what to do with her house so she wants to think about it for a few days. Could be a real pain.”
“I thought she was rather lovely.”
“We’ll see. Do I have any other appointments this afternoon?”
“Yes, the Pendergrasts. Their bankruptcy is causing problems.”
“Great.”