Foul Play

Fifty

The next morning Stone sent Brooke home and went down to his office, feeling very much more sober than he had the day before. He actually got some work done before noon, when Joan buzzed. “It’s that guy from the L.A. Woodman & Weld office, Ted Stein.”

Stone picked up. “Good morning, Ted.”

“You sound like a new man,” Stein said.

“In a manner of speaking, I am.”

“Did you have an opportunity to go through that package I sent you?”

“Not yet. I’ve been lazy.”

“I think you’re going to find it interesting, particularly the will.”

“The will? Shep never mentioned a will.”

“That’s because he didn’t have one. I suggested that before he bought the Malibu house might be a good time to address that, so he dictated a will, which required only a little editing, we typed it up for him and he signed, in the presence of enough witnesses to satisfy the states of both California and Massachusetts. I suggest you read it and call me back, if you have any questions. Oh, and after he signed the will he signed another document, making you his executor.”

“Why two documents?”

“You’ll see.” Ted hung up.

Joan came in.

“Where’s that FedEx box from Ted Stein?”

“It’s in the Excelsior,” she said.

“I hope to God you can open the beast,” he said.

Joan disappeared into the back room and, after a few minutes, came back with the box. She set it on his desk, took a box cutter from her pocket, cut it open, and shoved it across his desk. “There you go,” she said.

Stone upended the box, and everything spilled out on his desktop. The paperwork for the house seemed in order, as did the document naming him executor. Then he got to the will.

There was a fairly long list of schools, colleges, charities, and apparent friends, all of which or whom were left a million dollars each. He had forgotten how rich Shep had become before his death.

Then came the final bequest, which set him back on his heels.

The balance of my estate, whether in cash, securities, or real property, I leave and bequeath to my good friend and attorney, Stone Barrington, with all taxes to be paid by the estate.

Stone tried to make sense of that. How much did Charley Fox say Shep had deposited in his investment account? Stone believed he had said “two hundred and fifty million dollars.” He sucked in a breath, then he remembered that he had deposited $150 million from Kronk into Shep’s account two days before. He did some quick arithmetic on taxes and came up with a net of roughly $250 million. Then he remembered that there was the house in Lenox and those three newly leveled beachfront lots on Martha’s Vineyard. Holy shit.

He called Ted Stein in L.A.

“I thought I’d be hearing from you,” Ted said. “I take it you’ve read Mr. Troutman’s will.”

“I have.”

“By the way, Shep’s father left his entire estate to him. The documents are with Rod’s personal attorney in Massachusetts. His card is in the envelope.”

“Did you total the whole thing?”

“I think it’s going to be in the neighborhood of four hundred million dollars, you poor guy. Not counting the real estate.”

“Wasn’t there some charity or school he’d rather have left it to?”

“Read the list, pal. They all got a mil each.”

“Listen, Ted, I’m going to send all this stuff back to you and let you and our estate department handle it. I’m not going anywhere near it.”

“Well, if you can hang on to it until tomorrow, I’ll be in New York for the quarterly partners’ meeting at Woodman & Weld. I’ll go over it with the estate department and see what we have to do about probate. We probably ought to run it by the bar association, too.”

“My secretary will deliver the whole package to you tomorrow,” Stone said.

“I’ll be using a temporary office in the Seagram Building.”

Stone hung up and stuffed everything back into the FedEx box and gave it to Joan. “Reseal this and put it back in the Excelsior. Then tomorrow, please run it over to the offices and deliver it into the hot hands of Ted Stein, who’ll be in a temporary office at Woodman & Weld.”

“Will do,” Joan said. “You look a little nauseated,” she said. “Are you not getting enough morphine?”

“Please don’t ever mention morphine to me again,” he said.

“Touchy, touchy.”

Stone stretched out on the leather sofa and closed his eyes.