Irrevocable Trust (Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller Book 6) Page 9

  He chose a seat in the middle of the bus and turned to stare out the window at the cement jungle surrounding him.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Judge Kumpar ran his courtroom like a CEO. His efficiency and directness were a marked contrast to the usual milling around, throat-clearing, and disarray that Sasha had always considered the hallmarks of the Allegheny Court of Common Pleas.

  Maybe things were different in probate court, but she had been unable to hide her surprise when the clerk who checked them in had the entire docket and seemed to expect them—no missing documents, no confused questions about why they were there.

  Will, who spent as little time in state court as she did, seemed to be equally taken aback by the difference between the Orphan’s Court Division and the rest of the system.

  Only Marsh was unfazed. Well, as unfazed as Marshall Alverson, professional worrier, could possibly be. As if to undercut any confidence she might have in him, he reached down and hiked up his trousers with his free hand.

  To her endless amusement, he was actually wearing both a belt and suspenders. She could only assume he had recurring nightmares about losing his pants in court.

  In addition to his sartorial challenges, Marsh was so nervous he was shaking. Like most attorneys who specialize in estate work, he rarely saw the inside of a courtroom. Will had promised him he wouldn’t have to handle the argument, he just needed to serve as their guide. He was performing that duty beautifully—he knew the procedures and protocols cold. He also knew the facts and the issues cold. But he was out of his element, and she and Will had to respect that. She sure wouldn’t want to be thrown into a public offering drafting session or a labor negotiation.

  She gave Marsh a reassuring smile.

  The clerk nodded toward the door leading from Judge Kumpar’s chambers as if to indicate it was show time. A moment later, right on time, the door swung open and the judge strode toward the bench.

  While the clerk announced that court was session, Sasha studied the judge’s tanned, unlined face. He had small, bright eyes and a quick smile. A gray streak ran through his dark hair. Instead of the aloof, dignified demeanor so common among judges on the federal bench, Judge Kumpar gave off a brisk, ‘let’s get down to business’ vibe.

  He nodded to his clerk and then turned to the assembled lawyers.

  “Counselors, good morning.”

  “Good morning, Your Honor,” Sasha replied.

  “Your Honor,” Will echoed.

  They all looked at Marsh, who was studying a copy of the motion.

  Sasha jabbed him with her elbow.

  He looked up, startled, and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

  “Uh, apologies. Good morning, Judge.”

  “Mr. Alverson. It’s nice to see you.” The judge leaned forward and nodded at Sasha and Will. “And your colleagues. Welcome to Orphans’ Court. You’ll see that probate isn’t quite as adversarial as trial court, and I don’t stand on formality. So let’s do this, as the kids say.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very good, Your Honor,” Will said. Sasha hoped he wasn’t trying to match the judge’s informality; if so, he was failing.

  The judge lifted the top sheet from the tidy stack in front of him.

  “Ms. McCandless, you’ve been named trustee of an irrevocable testamentary trust for the benefit of the minor Bennett children.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “That’s a problem, wouldn’t you say?”

  It was a problem, it was a huge, hairy problem for approximately a half a million reasons. But she wasn’t sure which problem the judge had zeroed in on.

  “It could be,” she allowed.

  The judge pushed his glasses up on to the top of his head and rested them in his hair, like a high school girl at the beach.

  “Well, let’s see. The decedent, Allison Bennett, formerly known as Anna Bricker, married one Jeffrey Bricker and bore a half dozen children to him, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Mr. Bricker may have many flaws—and judging from Mr. Alverson’s brief, not to mention news reports, some of them are real doozies—but lifelessness doesn’t appear to be one of them. That is, the children have a father. Who is living. And who, it appears, takes under an earlier will. Unless you know something I don’t know about his vital statistics.”

  Will cleared his throat. “We’d argue that Anna Bricker repudiated that will, even before she executed the new one. The day she changed her identity and entered the witness protection program she left behind her former life and all its vestiges.”

  “Poetic. Any support for that in case law, counselor?”

  “Um, no.”

  The judge opened his mouth to respond but stopped when the door to the courtroom swung inward.

  A disheveled, dirty man shuffled into the room. He smiled sheepishly and took a seat in the back row of the otherwise empty gallery.

  The judge clamped his mouth shut for a moment. He tapped his index finger on the stack of papers, thinking.

  Sasha wondered what he’d do. The courts were open to the public. It was a cornerstone of the system. Even if Judge Kumpar suspected the man was simply looking for a cool place to rest, he couldn’t very well kick him out. But they’d have to dance around the issue of the Bennett children’s identities. It would make drilling down into the issues that much harder—not to mention less efficient.

  Will shifted and looked at the man over his shoulder. Sasha followed his gaze. He blinked back at them, guileless but nervous.

  The judge clapped his hands together, once, to get everyone’s attention.

  Sasha had seen preschool teachers use the tactic, but never a judge.

  “Given the issues of first impression raised by this case, it’s not appropriate for the probate court to act without first addressing the issue of the father’s standing.”

  “Standing to take under the will, Your Honor?” Marsh stammered.

  “No. I’m afraid we need to begin somewhere much more fundamental: we need to address his parental rights.”

  Judge Kumpar spread his hands apart in a gesture that said ‘what else can I do?’

  “I’ve already consulted with Judge Perry-Brown, and she’s ready for you,” the judge explained.

  “Pardon?” Will asked in a strangled voice.

  “We’ve sort of divvied up the Orphan’s Court responsibilities informally. I handle the probate matters, and she handles termination of parental rights and adoptions. Cass Myers does the incapacitation hearings. Carving up the cases into little areas of expertise works well for us. Unfortunately for you, though, that means I have to kick you over to Judge Perry-Brown to determine whether the father’s parental rights should be terminated.”

  “Of course, Your Honor,” Sasha murmured.

  To her right, Will was nodding along in disappointed agreement. To her left, Marsh was doing a terrible job of hiding his excited relief. Once they got kicked to Judge Perry-Brown, he could go back to his tastefully appointed office and surround himself with codicils and affidavits.

  “But you’re in luck. Judge Perry-Brown just moved to a new courtroom and has reserved this morning to deal with setting up her new chambers. So there’s nothing on her schedule, and she’s agreed to see you now.” Judge Kumpar beamed.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Sasha said, smiling back at him. It wasn’t as though he was going to change his mind, so there was no point in pouting.

  “One final question, though, Ms. McCandless. Just so I’m clear when this matter returns to probate, will you agree to serve as the trustee?”

  She felt Will and Marsh turn their eyes to her. Marsh had explained repeatedly, in painful detail, that she could decline the appointment.

  Serving as trustee would entail years of monthly visits with Judge Kumpar to update the court on the status of the trust and to answer any questions he might have. It would also entail filing sheaves of financial reports to account for the funds in the tru
st.

  She certainly didn’t need more paperwork and more appointments in her life.

  But Allison had chosen her for a reason.

  And the kids needed someone.

  The room was silent. Everyone was waiting.

  “I will, Your Honor.”

  The words felt almost as weighty as her wedding vows.

  “Super!” He clapped his hands together again, this time with something approaching glee. Then he gathered up his papers and stood.

  Before his clerk could get out the words to dismiss court, the judge was gone in a blur of robes.

  “Judge Perry-Brown is in Courtroom 6,” the clerk said.

  “Thank you,” Marsh answered.

  He turned to Sasha and Will. “Well, I’ll leave this in your capable hands. Once Judge Perry-Brown’s ruled, reach out to me, and we’ll keep the probate ball rolling.”

  “I will. Thanks for your help, Marsh,” Sasha said.

  “Yes. And give our best to everyone back at the office,” Will added, ever the diplomat.

  Marsh nodded and scurried off.

  “Well, this should be fun,” Will remarked, as they gathered up their papers. “I don’t suppose you know anything about Judge Perry-Brown?”

  “Never heard of her,” Sasha confirmed.

  They walked in silence out of the courtroom.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Judge Perry-Brown’s courtroom was unlocked when they arrived. A cluster of people filled the back row of her gallery.

  “I never realized the state court buffs were such back-benchers,” Sasha whispered to Will as they hurried to the counsel table.

  It was sort of odd how they sat in the back, considering they were there voluntarily. In law school, the back-benchers tended to occupy the rear row of the class because they were

  unprepared, unengaged, or otherwise unhappy to be in class. At least, that was her impression, as a dyed-in-the-wool, front row gunner.

  Will craned his neck to eyeball the senior citizens with their heads bent over their Sudoku puzzles.

  “Isn’t that the guy from Kumpar’s courtroom?” he whispered back, jerking his head toward a man on the far end.

  Sasha peered at him. He was rumpled and rough-looking but other than that, she couldn’t say. He had his head bowed.

  “Maybe?”

  They dropped their bags on the table and walked up to the front desk to check in with Judge Perry-Brown’s courtroom clerk.

  “Hi,” Sasha said, sliding a business card onto the desk. “Sasha McCandless and Will Volmer. Judge Kumpar sent us over?”

  The clerk examined the card for a moment, rhythmically clicking the top of her ballpoint pen as she did so.

  “Your firm info the same as hers?” the woman asked Will.

  “Yes.”

  She scribbled his name under Sasha’s printed title and clipped the card to a file.

  “Okay. Have a seat. Judge’ll be out in a minute. We’re just waiting for Old Big Gun.” She smirked.

  Will cocked his head and gave the woman a puzzled look.

  Sasha’s heart thumped.

  “Excuse me? Big Gun? Do you mean Andy Pulaski?” she asked.

  “You know another one?”

  “Um, I’m not sure I follow. Why are we waiting for Mr. Pulaski?” Will asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Judge said call him and tell him to get his butt over here, so I did. I imagine we’ll all find out when he shows up.”

  Sasha swallowed around the lump in her throat and hurried back to the table.

  “Are you okay?” Will asked her in a low voice as he slid into the seat next to her.

  She pasted on a smile to ease his worry.

  “I’m fine.”

  Will’s eyes narrowed as if he didn’t believe her.

  His skepticism was understandable. He was almost as well-acquainted with the hard-charging, ethically-challenged divorce attorney who called himself Big Gun as she was.

  The psychic scars from her tangles with Andy Pulaski had finally healed. She couldn’t believe he was popping his head up again like a rat or a groundhog or … well, whatever kind of rodent lived underground and popped its head up. She was a city girl, after all.

  “What the devil do you think Pulaski has to do with any of this?” Will mused, more to himself than to her.

  She shrugged. The last time she crossed paths with Pulaski she’d been representing two men accused of murdering their estranged wives, both of whom had been partners at Sasha and Will’s former firm. Pulaski was the divorce attorney who represented both of the women. And, as it turned out, the man who killed Ellen Laing worked for him as a messenger. That would have been enough to put a bad taste in anyone’s mouth, but it was only half the story.

  Pulaski’s messenger had also been convinced of killing Clarissa—wrongly, as it turned out. The right man was in prison now, but that mistake had weighed on Sasha for a long time. It had nearly cost her her relationship with Connelly, her mental health, and her life.

  Suffice it to say if she ever saw Andy Pulaski again, it would be too soon.

  And then, like a set piece in a bad sitcom, there he was. Huffing, out of breath, and racing up the aisle to the counsel table.

  Pulaski dropped a battered briefcase on the table, smoothed his hair, running a hand over his low ponytail, and straightened his garish purple tie. His eyes widened with recognition at the sight of Sasha, but he clicked his game face into place almost instantly.

  “Counselors,” he said by way of greeting as he struggled to catch his breath.

  “Andy,” Will responded.

  Sasha just nodded.

  “What’s this all about?” Pulaski asked Will.

  “I suppose we’ll all find out together. Even the judge’s clerk doesn’t know why you’re here.”

  Pulaski made a clicking noise with his tongue and flopped into the vacant chair next to Sasha.

  For reasons she had never fully understood, some state courtrooms provided a single table for all counsel and parties to share, rather than the more common set up of having defendants and plaintiffs sit at separate tables. It made for a crowded, uncomfortable situation—particularly for the two opponents sitting closest to each other. Surely the legislature could find room in its budget to order some additional tables?

  She scooted her chair closer to Will’s and resisted the urge to ask him to switch seats with her. This wasn’t seventh grade, she reminded herself.

  Either oblivious to or unfazed by her discomfort, Pulaski leaned over and stage whispered, “How’ve you been? Heard you got hitched. Good for you. If it doesn’t work out, have your husband give me a call.”

  He fake laughed, a hearty guffaw.

  Will turned and gave him a withering gaze.

  Sasha stared straight ahead for a long moment then looked at him as if he hadn’t spoken and remarked, “Why don’t you go check in with the clerk so we can get on with this?”

  He remained seated, waved his arm, and shouted toward the front of the room, “Hey, Bev, I’m here!”

  “I noticed, Andy. The judge will be out in a minute.”

  The clerk returned to her paperwork with an expression that looked as though she smelled something putrid.

  So that was how it was going to be. Pulaski had a reputation as an unpleasant, combative jerk to uphold. The only way to react was to refuse to react.

  Sasha smiled to herself. That sounded like something her favorite Buddhist would say.

  “Something funny?” Pulaski asked.

  She was saved from having to answer by the appearance of the judge.

  “All rise. The Honorable Merry Perry-Brown presiding,” Bev the clerk intoned.

  Merry Perry? The judge’s parents must have had a sense of humor, Sasha thought. She stifled a giggle and felt Pulaski giving her the side-eye.

  “Good morning,” the judge said, smiling broadly to show off a dazzling smile that seemed out of place with her frizzy hair and wrinkled robe
.

  “Good morning, Your Honor,” Sasha and Will sing-songed before returning their seats.

  Pulaski went on the attack immediately.

  “With all respect, Your Honor, can I know what this is about? I have a full day of meetings and conferences, but my secretary received a call from your chambers demanding that I drop everything and—”

  The judge raised her hand and cut him off. “Enough.” She turned to Sasha and Will. “Ms. McCandless and Mr. Volmer, I take it?”

  They popped back to their feet.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Welcome. And where is Mr. Alverson? Will he be joining us?” she asked.

  “No, Your Honor. Mr. Volmer and I thought his presence wasn’t necessary at this time.”

  “Very good. In that case, we’ll get started. To answer your question, Mr. Pulaski, the court has decided to appoint you to represent the father in Ms. McCandless and Mr. Volmer’s matter.”

  Pulaski sputtered. “A court appointment? I don’t have time to take on another case, judge.”

  The judge’s megawatt smile vanished. “I’ll be blunt, Mr. Pulaski. You have clogged the docket, not only of this court, but of every judge in the Family Division, with your endless motions and briefs, which range from the frivolous to the laughable to the downright nasty. Well, I have a client who is the perfect match for you. In fact, I can’t think of another member of the bar better suited to represent Mr. Bricker than Big Gun Pulaski.”

  Pulaski frowned and scanned the room. “Bricker? That name sounds familiar. Well, where is he? I guess we need to confer.”

  “Mr. Bricker is currently a fugitive, Mr. Pulaski. Having escaped from a federal prison, he’s understandably keeping a low profile. He is, nonetheless, entitled to representation in a proceeding to terminate his parental rights. Accordingly, you will represent him.”

  Pulaski was shaking his head. “No way. Not that Bricker.”

  “Yes, that Bricker. And yes, Mr. Pulaski, you will represent him.” The judge leaned forward and softened her tone. “Andrew, I’ve known you for a long time. You’ve created a persona that has made it difficult for litigants, lawyers, and the court. Now it’s time to pay the piper. Ms. McCandless has a will to probate. There are six children who need to get on with their lives. We aren’t all going to be held hostage by some escaped convict.”