By reason of insanity

70

On Friday morning, Quinn's investigator called with a missing piece of the puzzle.

"Who put the list of assets together for Richard Hofstetter's estate?" Billy Long asked.

"Annie did. She was appointed as the executrix."

"That's what I thought," growled Billy. "Did you know the list contains a slight oversight?"

"I'm listening," said Quinn.

"Your sister might not have known about this, but Hofstetter Jr. had a 15 percent limited partnership interest in the Oasis, a ratty casino about a mile south of the strip. He held the interest under the name of a Delaware corporation-Oasis Holdings-and Hofstetter Jr. was the only stockholder. Guess who recently made an offer for the Oasis?"

"You're the investigator."

"Yeah," complained Billy, "but you're the big-shot Vegas lawyer. You should know these things." He paused so that Quinn could appreciate Billy's brilliance. "Some of Daddy Hofstetter's business partners, that's who. The word on the street is that this property is the final piece of an assemblage of land that would allow for the next big Vegas casino, the granddaddy of them all."

Quinn was taking notes. So far, it still didn't add up. Hofstetter Jr.'s interest in the Oasis would pass to either Annie, if she was found innocent, or Sierra, if Annie was disqualified from inheriting her husband's estate by virtue of a guilty verdict. How could Hofstetter Sr. benefit from this?

"So here's what makes it interesting," said Billy, anticipating Quinn's next question. "Some of the other partners in the Oasis are tied in with nearby casino owners on the south side of the city who don't want the competition. Hofstetter Jr.'s shares might be the deciding votes."

Quinn put down his pen. No more diagrams were necessary. Sierra was only thirteen. If her stepfather's limited partnership interest fell to her rather than Annie, voting rights would be determined by Sierra's guardian. And if Claude Tanner gained custody of Sierra, he would also obtain those voting rights.

"You think Daddy Hofstetter found Claude Tanner and cut a deal with him?" Quinn asked.

"Nah," Billy said. "I think Claude Tanner just had a sudden and irresistible urge to spend time with a daughter he hadn't bothered to see in thirteen years."

Quinn had finally found his match in the sarcasm department. "Can we prove any of this?" he asked.

"The limited partnership interest and Delaware Corporation are matters of record. The rest is just street talk. When somebody does an assemblage deal like this, they use a lot of shell corporations and offshore holding companies that hide the ownership."

"I'll pay whatever it takes," Quinn said. "Just get me proof."

"Legally?" Billy asked.

"This is my family, Billy. Whatever it takes."

"I'll do my best, Mr. Newberg. But these guys don't like outsiders poking around in their business."

Quinn's own rotator cuff could have told him that.

"One last question," Quinn said. "Is there a time frame when this vote might occur?"

"It's probably not a short-term thing," Billy responded. "My guess is that Tanner wants to get permanent legal custody and then wait a few months before he exercises his right as custodian of the limited partnership interest."

So he doesn't need custody of Sierra right away, thought Quinn. When he hung up with Billy, he started making a few adjustments to his plan.

Five minutes later, Melanie barged into his office, her face reflecting the bad news. "You might want to turn on the TV," she said. Quinn kept one on his credenza but rarely used it. "They're saying the DNA for Sierra's father is a match."

Though Quinn had suspected this would be the case, he still felt the blow. "Set up a meeting with Mr. Tanner and his lawyer," Quinn said. "This afternoon, if possible."

Quinn took a seat in a high-backed swivel chair across the table from Claude Tanner and his famous Vegas divorce attorney, Kyle Richardson. Quinn studied Tanner's narrow face for glimpses of Sierra but could find none. Sierra's father quietly regarded Quinn with narrow and wary eyes, letting his attorney do most of the talking. Kyle Richardson had thinning blond hair, a massive ring, and skin cooked medium well by the local tanning booths. When celebrities needed a Vegas divorce attorney, Richardson was generally their first call.

Quinn let Richardson ramble for a few minutes about the results of the DNA tests and his client's stellar chances for obtaining custody of Sierra. "He's not in this for the money or the publicity," Richardson declared. "He just wants what's best for Sierra."

Quinn wanted to throw up.

"If that's what he really wants," Quinn said, his voice even, "he should have stayed away."

The comment drew little reaction from Tanner, just a slight narrowing of the eyes and another layer of animosity added to the hardened stare. He let his lawyer respond for him.

"If your client could have avoided killing someone, Mr. Tanner would have been pleased to stay away."

Quinn swallowed a comeback; arguing would help no one. "I think we should work this out. One thing is certain: a court battle will not help Sierra."

Richardson shrugged. "I'm listening."

"If Annie is acquitted, the court will probably award her permanent custody. After all, she's Sierra's mother and took care of the girl from birth." He waited for a reaction, but Richardson and Tanner both acted noncommittal. At least they didn't disagree. "If she's convicted, I think I'll have a fair shot at getting custody myself."

Richardson started to object, but Quinn cut him off with a raised palm. "Let me finish."

Quinn turned to Tanner. Though he couldn't say it this bluntly, he knew the man wasn't interested in temporary custody for the sake of Sierra. Tanner was only interested in legal custody for the sake of voting rights. Quinn's offer would be a calculated bet that Tanner would trade the possibility of temporary custody now in order to increase his chances of getting permanent legal custody, including voting rights, later.

"As things stand right now, if I lose Annie's case, I'll fight you for custody," Quinn said. "Sierra is thirteen. The court will put a lot of weight behind her wishes. She wants to live with me. Plus, courts don't like fathers who take off when their kids are born and pop back into their lives at times of…" Quinn hesitated. "Shall we say… 'opportunity'? You might get some kind of visitation rights, but I'm prepared to fight for custody."

"Your analysis has so many holes I don't know where to start," Richardson interjected.

"I'm sure," Quinn said. "But here's the bottom line: I'm prepared to waive all that. I'm prepared to sign a deal today, right now, that says I won't contest custody if Annie loses. But there is one condition."

He had their attention. Even Richardson didn't interrupt.

"Sierra can't handle a temporary custody battle right now. She needs stability. She needs a familiar environment. She's too emotionally distraught to be forced into a reconciliation arrangement with a father she doesn't even know." Quinn leaned forward and felt his throat tightening. There was so much at stake. "If Annie and I lose the case, even if the jury enters a compromise verdict of guilty but mentally ill, you get sole custody of Sierra. No court battles. No contest of any sort. Just a reasonable visitation schedule for me. In exchange for that promise, you agree not to file for custody or visitation rights until Annie's court case is resolved. And if Annie wins, she gets permanent custody, and you get reasonable visitation.

"In the meantime, I'll put Sierra in a stable situation where she can get counseling and recover from some of the psychological blows she's been suffering. If you care about your daughter, you'll give her a chance to get back on her feet."

For a few long seconds, nobody spoke. Quinn's heart rate spiked but he tried to seem calm, as if he held all the cards.

"Give me a minute to talk to my client," Richardson said.

Ninety minutes later, Quinn signed the documents and promised to get Annie's signature later that night. He thanked the two men and hustled out of the building before they could change their minds.

The weight of the case now threatened to crush him. Quinn was a trial lawyer, accustomed to pressure and high-risk litigation decisions. But nothing in his past had prepared him for a case this personal, with stakes this high. If he won, he could save the lives of Annie and Sierra, the two women he cared about most.

And if he lost, he might destroy them both.

Only time would tell whether this was a brilliant litigation strategy or legal suicide.