While Justice Sleeps(52)

“His son hates him, and he has few close friends.”

“So he said.”

“What about Jared? Can he sue for guardianship, if I support his claim?”

“No. I’m sorry, Ms. Keene, but—”

“Avery.”

“Avery,” he repeated dutifully. “Jared Wynn can sue, but if he does and you fail to object, guardianship is awarded to Celeste.”

“There has to be a way around it,” Avery argued stubbornly. “The courts can certainly consider whether Jared is fit, and they can stay any action by Celeste.”

“It’s not that simple. My obligation is to abide by the judge’s wishes. He didn’t ask for his son or the chief justice. He asked for you. Even if you refuse or Jared sues and you don’t protest, then I am obliged to represent Mrs. Turner-Wynn.” He paused, then added, “We’re quite good at this, Ms. Keene, and so is Justice Wynn.”

Frustrated, Avery stared at the papers arrayed across the table. He couldn’t have thought of everything. “Exactly what is in here? What documents did Justice Wynn ask you to draft?”

He reached for a labeled stack. “Here’s the durable power of attorney. The one he signed in January.”

Avery barely glanced at the now-familiar document. “I’ve seen it. What else?”

    “His last will and testament. Basically, he names Jared as the primary beneficiary.”

“That’s all?” She placed her hand on the tall stack of pages. “It doesn’t take this much paper to give his estate to his son. What else does it say?”

Noah sighed. “The justice had done several versions of his will during his lifetime. The original one designated his first wife as the beneficiary. Then he added a codicil after Jared was born. When he wrote his autobiography, he placed the proceeds in trust.” He lifted a set of papers and put them in the growing pile. “Next, he gave his wife’s fortune to Jared after she died. According to our files, he disclaimed his portion, and the entire estate passed to Jared.” He’d read the woman’s will a dozen times himself. “The first Mrs. Wynn left her family more than ten million dollars and several pieces of property. Justice Wynn gave everything to Jared, except for a house in Georgia.”

He cut his son off at the age of eleven, leaving him to be raised by his aunt, using his mother’s money, Avery realized grimly. “When did Jared become his beneficiary?”

Pulling up the next codicil, Noah responded, “Five years ago.”

Avery quickly did the math. That would have been around the time Jared received his medical discharge from the Navy. “Which codicil was this?”

“Number thirteen. In between, he periodically would select a random charity as his new recipient.” He flipped through the pages. “The ACLU. La Raza. The NAACP. The United Farm Workers of America. The Boys and Girls Clubs. You name a charity, and it has found itself inside one of these codicils.”

Avery skimmed the list. “He’s kept you busy.”

“I could make partner on his hours alone,” Noah muttered. He looked up at Avery and felt a moment’s chagrin. “Anyway, once he named Jared as primary beneficiary, he continued to add charities to his list.”

“Any discernible pattern?”

Noah admitted, “I did a chart once, when I first got his file. Every group that lost a case in a decision where he dissented—he’s placed them in his will.”

“Really?”

    “Each year, he creates a new codicil adding those organizations he thinks were robbed by the Court. Fifteen codicils.”

“What about Mrs. Turner-Wynn? Is she in one of the codicils?”

“No.” Noah shuffled the documents together. “If Jared predeceases his father, the entire estate is equally divided among the organizations in his will, with a substantial stipend to his executor, which is you. His wife inherits nothing.”

One more nail, Avery thought despondently. “Does she know?”

“I doubt it.” He explained, “She came storming in here yesterday, after you met at the hospital. Demanded to see his estate papers. When I refused, she threatened to have me fired.”

“Has she ever been in the will?”

“No.” Noah folded his hands on the table, coming at last to his final revelation. “But there is a problem, Avery.”

“What is it?”

Sliding codicil number twenty-eight across the table, he turned to the page that had troubled him and a senior T&E partner. “I’ve got his original will and testament and twenty-seven codicils, including this last one.”

“Twenty-seven? This says number twenty-eight.”

“Number twenty-seven is missing. Although he had us refer to it in number twenty-eight, I didn’t draft it, and I’ve never seen it.” He indicated the paragraph that had caused an uproar when he’d shown the partners Justice Wynn’s latest revisions. “He references a codicil that directs the actions of his attorneys in case of a catastrophic event. When I inquired about what he meant, he told me to mind my own damned business and do as he dictated.”

“Did he give you any clue about where the codicil was located?”

“Yes. One.” Noah caught her quizzical look and held it steadily. “He told me that you’d know where it was. And when the time was right, you’d give it to us.”