Irrevocable Trust (Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller Book 6) Page 7

  “It is. And I have no more information, because Connelly and Hank haven’t told me anything. They think they’re protecting us by keeping us in the dark. Why don’t you see if you can get anything out of our favorite shadow agents while I wade through this trust language?”

  Will huffed.

  “Listen,” she continued, “I’m not just putting you off. Believe me. I’m almost as in the dark as you are. But I need to review these documents.”

  And get my espresso, she added silently.

  “Well … fine. Are the children safe?”

  She braced herself in anticipation of his reaction.

  “Probably as safe as they can possibly be. They’re with Connelly and Hank.”

  “What?!”

  “Will, please. I need to turn to Anna’s—er, Allison’s—estate issues.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry. But did you say Allison?”

  “She changed her name to Allison Bennett.”

  “Of course.”

  She leaned forward and gave him an earnest look.

  “I’m as irritated as you are with all the secrecy, Will.”

  He sighed. “I know. Not to defend them, but for all their cowboy ways, Leo and Hank are dyed-in-wool feds. It doesn’t come naturally for them to share information.”

  “Right. DNTK.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Oh, it’s Connelly’s favorite answer to just about any request for information—demonstrate need to know.”

  Will nodded thoughtfully. “I can see that. Okay, you immerse yourself in your estates and trust work. I’ll take care of the other.”

  “Thanks, Will.”

  She hauled herself back to her office and resumed her tedious reading. She only made it through one additional paragraph before she saw something that literally stopped her heart for a brief moment. The section appointing the trustee of the irrevocable testamentary trust provided that said trustee was to be one Sasha McCandless-Connelly, Esquire.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Do you want another shot?”

  Marsh gestured at her empty espresso cup.

  Yes. Oh, so very much.

  “No thanks.”

  “You sure?”

  “Well, maybe a latte.” She figured adding some milk to the next cup of coffee would be prudent. And she figured Marshall Alverson, Belt-and-Suspenders Attorney-at-Law, owed her at least one more caffeinated beverage. Maybe also something more valuable—say, a kidney.

  “Be right back.”

  He popped up from the table and beelined toward the front counter.

  Marsh scurried back to the table with an oversized mug, steam rising from the milk.

  “Thanks,” she said as he placed it in front of her.

  “My pleasure.”

  She took a sip then sat the mug down. “So. Let’s get down to business, shall we? You seem oddly incurious about why I invited you for coffee.”

  “I assumed it was just, you know, networking. Your office has sent us some work. I thought, perhaps you wanted to build camaraderie.”

  “Really? I left Prescott before you joined the firm. You assumed I just wanted to have a collegial coffee break with a total stranger? It didn’t occur to you—” she lowered her voice to a hiss—“that it might have something to do with the fact that you drafted a trust naming me as trustee for six minors and never bothered to ask me if I wanted to serve?”

  The color drained from his face. He picked up his cup and took a long drink, obviously buying time.

  “Not really, to be honest. I couldn’t very well tell you Ms. Bennett had appointed you. It’s not my place to second guess a client’s decision in that regard. I did tell her to make sure you would agree to serve because it’s quite a time-consuming position, or it can be.”

  “And what did she say to that?”

  He cleared his throat. “You know I can’t tell you the substance of my conversations with my client. Clearly, she’s gotten around to asking you post hoc and you aren’t interested in serving. I don’t see why you have to make such a production, frankly. All she needs to do is name another—”

  “Allison Bennett is dead.”

  Marsh flinched. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  She just looked at him.

  He examined the inside of his mug for a moment then he looked up.

  “I don’t know the nature of your relationship with Ms. Bennett. She did state that you were not a relative. You can always refuse to serve.”

  She blinked. It was becoming abundantly clear that Marsh had no clue who his client was. Marsh, for all his impeccable manners and good breeding, was just a faceless, interchangeable cog in the Prescott & Talbott machine. He wasn’t equipped to deal with the rough edges of his clients’ lives.

  She took another drink of her fragrant, fresh-roasted coffee while she considered how to break the news to him.

  “Hypothetically, what happens if I were to decline the appointment?” she asked in a measured tone.

  “That’s easy. The probate court appoints someone else to act in your stead. Probably a relative.”

  “Marsh, the only living relative those kids have is their father.”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. Allison said their father wasn’t in the picture. I asked if they were divorced and she said no. Obviously, he predeceased her.”

  “No, you’re mistaken. Allison Bennett was living under an assumed name. The father of her six minor children is very much alive. In fact, I’m fairly certain he’s the one who killed her.”

  She’d always thought ‘his eyes bulged out’ was just an expression, but Marsh’s looked like they really were going to pop right out of his head.

  “What?!”

  “Allison Bennett, formerly known as Anna Bricker, was the estranged wife of Jeffrey Bricker and the star witness for the prosecution at his trial for murder and conspiracy to commit murder. She entered into the witness protection program with her kids, and they all got new identities. But, it appears that Bricker found them.”

  Marsh’s chest heaved.

  She leaned back in her chair just in case he was about to vomit.

  “Bricker? The escaped felon?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I can’t … Were they divorced?” His cadence changed from blindsided to intrigued almost instantly.

  “Pardon?”

  “Did Anna Bricker divorce her husband before she became Allison Bennett?”

  “I don’t know. I doubt it. Everything happened really fast. Why?”

  His gray pallor faded, replaced by an excited flush, and he leaned forward.

  “Because if she didn’t, you just landed smack in the middle of a major case of first impression. This is the stuff of law review articles. Imagine the complexity, Sasha. Did his rights to inherit terminate automatically when she took on a new identity? If not, what effect does Allison Bennett’s will have on Anna Bricker’s husband? And even beyond the estate issues, this raises novel issues of family law. Does Jeffrey Bricker have any rights to his children? If not, why not.”

  He actually bounced in his seat, buoyed by the thought of sinking his teeth into such a juicy legal morass.

  “I’m glad you find it so interesting, Marsh. As trustee, I gladly accept your offer to represent the children’s interests in any litigation arising out of the situation. On a pro bono basis, of course.”

  The gleam in his eye dimmed slightly. “Pro bono? I’ll be glad to handle the case, but I don’t think Prescott’s going to let me do it for free.”

  “Make it happen, Marsh. Unless you want to explain to a judge how you failed to satisfy yourself that the documents you drafted adequately protected your client’s interests.”

  She drained her coffee and returned the mug to the bar with a thud.

  “Thanks for the drink,” she said over her shoulder as she breezed past him and out of the espresso shop.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Cole rubbed his forehead and stared.
Cardboard boxes were strewn from one end of the rental house to the other. Bubble wrap and packing peanuts littered the floor, ankle-deep in spots. Butcher paper wound its way along the banister leading to the second floor.

  Brianna walked toward him from the back of the house, wading through packing materials. She held a bottle of fancy, organic juice in each hand.

  “Want one?” She shoved a strawberry/cherry concoction into his hand.

  “Where did this come from?”

  “Whole Foods. Calla said she wanted juice. Hank took her to the store and they came back with all sorts of stuff.”

  “What’s all this?” He gestured to the mess.

  “Hank said we needed some basics.” She shrugged and took a swig of her peach/pineapple/orange smoothie.

  He worked his jaw and tried to get a handle on his anger.

  “We’re not staying here,” he finally managed.

  She shrugged again. ”I guess you should talk to Hank.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Upstairs helping the boys pick out bedrooms.”

  He pushed the juice back into her hands and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, as bubble wrap popped under his feet.

  “Be quiet,” she called after him. “Leah’s putting Calla down for a nap up there.”

  He skidded to a stop outside one of the four bedrooms on the second floor and peered inside. Hank’s big hands gripped one end of a measuring tape. Across the room, Mark held the other end while Hal squatted and peered at the numbers, as if he actually understood what they meant.

  Mark looked up and made an ‘o’ of surprise with his mouth when he saw Cole, breathing heavily, standing in the doorway.

  “Oh, hey. We’re trying to figure out if the bunk beds will fit in here,” he said.

  Bunk beds?

  “Great. Hey, can I talk to Uncle Hank for a minute?”

  Hank must have heard the tightness in his voice. He retracted the measuring tape carefully and handed it to Mark.

  “Why don’t you guys measure the windows while I talk to your brother?”

  He smiled at Hal and strolled casually out into the hallway.

  Cole jerked his head toward the bathroom, and Hank followed him into the long, narrow bathroom. It was old but well-kept, with gleaming white subway tiles lining the floor and the walls.

  “Something wrong, son?” Hank asked, leaning against the sink.

  “Yeah, something’s wrong. Why are you setting us up here like we’re staying. This is temporary, remember? We can’t afford all this stuff just for a couple nights’ stay.” He tried to control the quaking in his voice but failed.

  He actually had no idea what their money situation was. He needed to remember to ask Sasha.

  Hank placed a strong hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me now. This is just temporary, but while you’re here sorting out your mom’s estate with Sasha, it’s important that you all live as normally as possible. You’ve been through enough. Don’t go worrying about the cost. It’s on Uncle Sam.”

  Cole exhaled. “Sorry.”

  Hank patted his arm. “No apologies needed. You’re just doing your job as the head of the family, taking care of everyone. I get it. But I’m here to help you, don’t forget that.”

  Cole nodded and blinked back the tears that were building behind his eyes. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

  After a moment, Hank said, “Come on. You can help us set up the bedrooms.”

  Cole watched Hank stride out of the bathroom and found himself standing up a little straighter, mimicking the man’s confident posture.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sasha huffed in frustration and blew her hair out of her eyes, disturbing Java’s nap. The cat squinted at her in displeasure before shifting to a more comfortable position on her lap.

  Connelly looked over from the kitchen and caught her eye.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, dividing his attention between her and the sourdough he was kneading for bread.

  She glanced down at the papers in her hands and tried to frame her answer.

  “Not really. Anna Bricker, or Allison Bennett, or whatever you want to call her—she tried to put everything in order, but this is a mess.”

  She delivered the news matter-of-factly. She didn’t want to panic Connelly, but the reality was what it was. Marsh’s ecstatic reaction aside, the situation was not good.

  He abandoned his dough, wiped his hands on a dish towel, and walked around the kitchen island. He crouched near Sasha’s chair.

  “What kind of mess?” he asked.

  “The worst kind. Marsh said he called around and located an attorney up near their old house who prepared wills for Jeffrey and Anna Bricker back in 2004. So she has two wills—one in her old name, one in her new name. I don’t even … I have no idea—is the first will invalidated? She left everything to Bricker in the old will. Everything goes into trust for the kids in the new one. She has an old health care power of attorney and an old financial power of attorney, both naming Bricker as her fiduciary agent. Anna Bricker made these documents, but are they binding on Allison Bennett? Well, the health care power of attorney is irrelevant because she’s dead now. But that financial power of attorney might have an effect on the irrevocable trust. I mean, maybe not. I don’t know. And I have to know, don’t I? I’m the freaking trustee.” She waved the papers at him. “Understand?”

  Connelly tilted his head and furrowed his forehead.

  “Do I understand? Are you kidding me? No. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  She huffed again. This time, Java mewed at her and jumped to the floor. He walked away haughtily.

  “Never mind, just take care of your bread. I’ll talk to Will and Marsh in the morning. They’ve been holed up poring over every estate decision published since the eighteen hundreds.”

  Connelly grabbed her hand. “Talking to Will and that Prescott guy sounds like a good idea. But will you please try to explain just a little bit? I’m worried about those kids.”

  So was she. The image of Cole’s haunted, tired face kept floating across her mind while she wrestled with the myriad potential disasters lurking in the blue-backed estate documents strewn across her lap.

  She exhaled. “Okay, sure. I’ll walk you through it. Can you finish up that dough and let it rest or whatever it is you do? I could use some fresh air. We can walk and talk.”

  He rubbed her bare arm. The light pressure sent a shiver along her spine.

  “Sure thing. Grab your shoes. I just need a minute.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  By unspoken agreement, they headed for Fifth Avenue and Frick Park’s gardens—an oasis of green in the concrete city. The smell of jasmine blossoms carried on the warm night air and mixed with exhaust fumes from the buses and cars rumbling past.

  Connelly reached for her hand and entwined his fingers through hers. They walked in silence for a moment while she gathered her thoughts.

  “Okay, I’m going to try to break this down for you, but I have to warn you, it’s complicated.”

  “What makes it complicated?” he asked. “The fact that the kids are all minors?”

  “In part, sure. But the whole thing’s a giant, interconnected mess. It’s like a final exam essay question dreamed up by the most sadistic law school professor to ever roam the earth …” she trailed off.

  “What?”

  “Just thinking of Naya taking all those finals.” She shuddered in mock horror.

  Connelly rewarded her with a throaty laugh.

  “Okay, but seriously, back to the kids.”

  “Okay. The biggest problem I see is predicting how the law will apply in light of the fact that the Brickers entered WITSEC.”

  “What difference does WITSEC make?”

  “It’s the crucial fact—I think. Anna entered into witness protection to prevent Bricker from ever finding her and the kids, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s the point of the program.”

/>   They jogged across Fifth against the light. Connelly nodded to a young couple walking their dog.

  After the friendly golden retriever had finished smelling her hand, Sasha continued, “And time was of the essence, right? I mean, pretty much as soon as Anna and the kids stepped foot out of the compound, the government swooped them up and hid them.”

  “That’s more or less true. So?”

  “So Anna was issued a new identity right away. She legally changed her name and was assigned a new Social Security Number, correct?”

  “Yes. And the same for the kids.”

  “Right. So, nobody thought to have Anna Bricker initiate divorce proceedings, file for custody, or change her estate plans first.”

  Connelly stared at her as if she’d suddenly started speaking a foreign language.

  “Did they?” she prodded.

  “Uh, no. As far as I know, no one did any of those things,” he answered in a strained voice.

  Sasha exhaled. “Right. So, Anna Bricker and her children no longer exist as far as the government is concerned, but those kids are still alive, Connelly. And Jeffrey Bricker is still their father. I don’t see anything in the statute governing the witness protection program that would serve to terminate his right to take under the estate, let alone his parental rights.”

  “What are you saying? That’s crazy, Sasha. They’re in the program to protect them from him.”

  “Actually, that’s not completely accurate. They’re in the program because their mother was in the program. And that’s the other problem. Is there any basis for them to stay in witness protection? None of those kids testified against Bricker. And he hasn’t overtly threatened any of them. In fact, assuming he did kill his wife, he can argue that he had the opportunity to kill those kids … and didn’t.”

  Connelly dropped her hand and stopped in the middle of the path.

  “Have you lost your mind? He’s a convicted murderer. An escaped felon on the run. He tried to take us hostage at our wedding. He hunted and slaughtered his wife like an animal.”