Unlucky in Law

“At what! There hasn’t been a monarchy in Russia since 1918!”

“Don’t ask me,” Gabe said. “Maybe she just wants to cause an uproar. Or the people behind her do. But here’s what I’m thinking. I know it’s a long shot, but maybe it’s true.”

“You’re joking!”

“Kind of, yeah. But. If it’s true-one chance in a million, I know-well, then, the old man might have escaped with more than the shirt on his back, you know what I mean? That’s why I think we need a thorough accounting.”

“I performed a thorough accounting. I’ll make you a copy of the Inventory and Appraisal filed with the Probate Court twenty-five years ago.”

“I’ll demand another search of that house he lived in. You didn’t know about this theory. We ought to search the chimney and under the house. And check if Christina or Alex grabbed anything they shouldn’t have before you did your inventory.”

“That’s assuming you have a claim.”

“Isn’t there a claim here?” Gabe said, looking the lawyer right in the eye. “I’ve been doing some reading. Our mother’s agreement with Constantin Zhukovsky doesn’t mention me and it doesn’t mention my brother.” He motioned toward the file Turk clung to so fondly. “Go ahead. Review away.”

“That isn’t necessary. You’re right. The agreement doesn’t mention you or your brother.”

“When people write wills, they are often advised by their lawyers to use a kind of general bequest-like, ‘I leave my estate to my children,’ unstated meaning, all of them, born or unborn, named or u

“The only heirs are specified. He was adamant.”

Protecting himself from any accusation that he did a piss-poor job, Gabe thought. A lawyer worth his salt would plan for the chance a child could be born or adopted after the will was written. “Therefore…” He was playing a little game, waiting to see if the lawyer was just testing him. Maybe he thought Gabe was dragging things out but knew nothing. “Come on. Help me out here.”

“You want to know if you and your brother have a right to some of the money your half-siblings inherited under your father’s will.”

“I wouldn’t have said it quite like that,” Gabe said. “No, I would have used the term ‘pretermitted heirs.’”

Turk stared down at the file as if reading something on its blank surface. When exactly was it that the pleasant, affable fellow who had greeted him at the door to his office just a short while ago turned so homely? Gabe decided he was one of those sorry men who looked best when smiling. Unfortunately, in his business, he probably didn’t smile all that much.

“You’ve been doing your research,” Turk said.

“Right.” Gabe folded his arms. Now it was his turn to be smug. “So, tell me, Mr. Turk. What’s our position?”

“You’re right. There is a California statute that protects pretermitted heirs, that is, children who have been left out of a testator’s will. It’s conventional thinking that a testator would have made provision for his or her children if he had given it some thought, which is the reason so many wills do leave a ‘class gift,’ including all heirs, named or u

A “class gift” had a ring to it. “He didn’t leave us out intentionally, right?”

“You know, Mr. Wyatt, it’s my belief, after talking with you and your mother, and remembering his insistence on the wording of his will, that he did, in fact, leave you out intentionally. I don’t know why.”

“But what I mean is, he didn’t say so in the will, did he? He didn’t say, ‘I’m leaving Gabe and Stefan and any other future kids out because I’m a dumb-ass.’ He didn’t leave us ten bucks or his Lionel train collection so he could get out of leaving us money.”

“That’s right.”

“Don’t I have this right? The law assumes it was an oversight, his not mentioning us. So, we can make a claim against the estate.”

“Mr. Wyatt…”

“Why not?”

“You don’t have a case.”

“Why not?”

“The will was executed and probated many years ago, over twenty years ago. A judge has already ordered the assets distributed. The paperwork’s done, signed and sealed. If your father had died without a will, your claim might be stronger.”

Gabe shook his head. What was with this guy? Didn’t all lawyers love meaty money cases? Where was the greedy glitter in his eye?

Turk was still talking. “An objection might be made that your mother had an obligation at that time to secure or protect your rights.”

“If,” Gabe said, striving for patience, “we had been old enough to figure out what was going on when the man died, or if our mother had the sense of a finch and had consulted a lawyer at the time and staked a claim, then what would have been our share?”

“There’s a formula. Quite simple really. You take the amount of the estate left to any children, and divide it by the total number of children.”

“A million each, in 1970s money.”

“Actually, probate was concluded in 1980.”

“Still. In those days, I’ll bet a house in Monterey could be had for fifty grand. And in these days, what with interest and all, what with accounting for inflation… it would be significant, wouldn’t it? Way more than a million. Double that, maybe. Or more.”

There it was, a gleam emanating from the lawyer’s brown, reliable eyes, focused directly on him. “Not exactly. It’s very complicated. You’re determined to pursue this?” he asked.

“Do you need a retainer for something like this, or is it a contingency deal?”

Turk smiled, but it wasn’t a warm one. Probably still pissed about failing to put a class-gift clause into the will in the first place, which would have saved them both a lot of trouble.

“This firm can’t represent you.”

“Why the hell not?” Gabe had just been getting used to the plush office with its black-shaded lamps.

“Even if there was something to dispute, there’s a possible conflict of interest. I handled the probate. I distributed the money. I attended the man’s funeral. In a sense, I represented the named heirs. Their interests are in direct conflict with yours. Therefore, it is my feeling that it would be unethical for me to handle your case.”

“Then why did you let me tell you the whole thing? You were curious?”

“It’s all pretty curious, but don’t worry. This conversation is privileged. I will never discuss it without your authorization, even if I am called into court.”

He stood. “Just for your information, I think it’s too late after a quarter of a century to reopen the probate. That’s not a legal opinion. I can’t advise you. I’d just hate to see you waste all your money on a court case that’s destined to go nowhere.”

“Well,” Gabe had said. “Thanks anyway.”

Gabe asked for a glass of water. Salas called an afternoon break, and then they resumed. The jurors showed no sign of the usual afternoon yawns.

“What did you do after seeing Mr. Turk, with regard to Christina Zhukovsky?” Nina asked him.

“A couple days later, I went back to Christina’s apartment on Eighth Street. We had made an appointment, and when I came back, I brought along a few motion-detecting lights, that kind of thing. Told her I didn’t have the gun, but I could bring it on Friday.”

“And when was this?”

“Thursday.”

“Why didn’t you just tell her the truth?”

“That I was her half-brother? I wanted to have another lawyer lined up and know exactly how we were going to proceed. I wasn’t ready.”

Nina shook her head. “What did she say when you told her about the gun?”

“She was impatient. She wanted it right away. We agreed I’d bring it over that Friday.”

“The eleventh of April, the night she died. And did you bring her a gun that night?” Nina asked, praying to herself, please, no interruptions, let him go where he’s going now…

“Yes.”

“What time did you arrive?”