The Twelfth Child (Serendipity #1)(88)
They say if you live long enough, you’ll have seen it all, but I was pretty amazed when the four Bountiful Basket clerks, three Middleboro Savings Bank tellers and Harvey Brown, the Branch Manager I used to deal with, all showed up to tell the truth of how things were. Every one of them put their hand on the bible and swore to God that I treated Destiny like she was my own child and that she took care of me as kindly as any daughter would have. When they finished up, Scott Bartell, the lawyer who’d helped me settle up my brother’s estate told exactly how much I’d gotten. “One-hundred and sixty-seven thousand dollars,” he said. Of course, he never knew about the bonds Will had hidden in Papa’s bible – thank heaven for that, I thought.
At one o’clock Judge Kensington called for a lunch recess.
Destiny was trying to force down a chicken sandwich when Charles told her he thought Herman Cohen and the two men sitting alongside of him were sympathetic toward Elliott. “I’m pretty sure we’ve got five jurors on our side,” he said, “but the other four, I’m not sure about. We could be looking at an even split, which would mean a mistrial.”
“Then what?”
“We do it all over again.”
“Oh no,” Destiny moaned.
“There’s one other alternative – a strategy that can probably prevent Elliott Emerson from getting the money, but it doesn’t do anything to help your case.”
“Do it,” she answered, willfully. “Do whatever you can to keep Elliott from getting his hands on Miss Abigail’s money.”
At two-fifteen when the court reassembled, Charles said he would like to recall Elliott Emerson to the stand for additional cross. The bailiff reminded Elliott that he was still under oath, then Charles started his questioning.
“You’ve petitioned the court to name you as beneficiary to Abigail Anne Lannigan’s estate based upon the fact that you are a direct descendent of her father, William Lannigan Senior, is that true?”
“Yes,” Elliott answered apprehensively.
“The great grandson of William Lannigan?”
“Yes.”
“If being a direct descendent gives you a legal right to the estate, then may I assume that other relatives – children, grandchildren, great grandchildren would have the same right?”
“Do you see any other relatives in this courtroom?” Elliott answered angrily. “There’s only me. I’m the one who ought to get the Lannigan money.”
“You’ve made certain that there are no other relatives in this courtroom,” Charles said, “but there are other Lannigans. Your sister, Felicia, for example; fourteen first cousins who went to high school with you – including yourself, there are one-hundred and forty-eight Lannigan descendents alive today.”
“I object!” Hoggman shouted.
“To what?” Charles asked, “The fact that William was such a prolific man?”
Everyone in the jury box, including Herman Cohen chuckled.
Judge Kensington banged down his gavel. “Approach the bench,” he said. “Now just what is it, that you’re objecting to?” he asked Hoggman.
“This wasn’t mentioned in discovery.”
“He’s your client,” the judge growled, “it’s up to you to find out the facts. Objection overruled.”
“Back to the Lannigan descendents,” Charles said, “there are forty-six grandchildren, eighty-four great grandchildren, one of whom is Felicia, your sister. There are also seventeen cousins. Are you planning to share the Lannigan estate proportionately with all of them?”
“They don’t deserve to get anything,” Elliott said, “they were never close with Abigail Lannigan.”
“Judging by the testimony given here,” Charles replied, “neither were you.” He then turned to the judge and said, “The defense rests, your Honor.”
Judge Kensington rapped his gavel, “The court will hear final summations at nine-thirty tomorrow and I would strongly recommend that both sides limit themselves to forty-five minutes.”
Hoggman began his summation bellowing like a cow in labor; he claimed the facts had proven beyond a doubt that Elliott Emerson, the great grandson of William John Lannigan, was indeed the rightful heir to Abigail Anne Lannigan’s estate. He made sweeping gestures with first one arm then the other as he ticked off item by item every fragment of testimony that was marginally favorable to Elliott. He focused on discrediting Destiny and never once mentioned that there were one-hundred and forty-seven other Lannigan descendents. “The scrap of paper which the defense would have you believe to be Abigail Lannigan’s will is laughable!” he said. “Why, the defendant herself could have scribbled those lines in an attempt to give credence to the preposterous claim of being the sole beneficiary. Then, there is the issue of the missing money – one million dollars – which she claims to know nothing of. I don’t for one minute believe that such a huge amount of money just vanished into thin air. Nor do I believe that Abigail Anne Lannigan intended that scrap of paper to be her last will and testament! The truth of this matter is that Abigail Lannigan died intestate, and without the existence of a duly executed will, therefore, her estate by law belongs to surviving relatives.”
After the summation had rambled on for close to an hour, Judge Kensington coughed loudly and pointed a finger at his watch. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Hoggman quickly concluded, “I trust that you will see through Destiny Fairchild’s scam and award Elliott Emerson, the estate to which he is legally entitled.”