Lethal Trust Read online

  “I’m not his biological child, but he legally adopted me and my brother. He’s been very good to all of us.

  “Dad succumbed to Alzheimer’s disease, which apparently the entire country knows by now. The league seems to have some concern as to what will happen with his franchise, the Tucson Scorpions. I guarantee you there has been plenty of speculation ever since his condition was made public. You can read the ongoing gossip on every media site.”

  At this point I nodded. I indeed had read about the issues surrounding an NFL team valued at two to three billion dollars which I knew to be amazing for a young franchise. The sole owner, failing in health, could not return but the league kept operating business as usual. His death surprised no one. Rumors were widespread. I remained quiet. Breecie sat across from me. She had leaned forward to hear the wisp of a fragile voice, I suppose, to better understand the platform she might need to make a case.

  “What I’m about to say is totally confidential or I walk. And, it may not be true and for sure, it’s not all of the details.”

  “We both have confidentiality agreements, if you like,” Breecie offered, while shining her kind cerulean blue eyes on Stacie Childs. “I’m not your lawyer, but I can still sign an agreement with you so you know this conversation goes nowhere.”

  “Let’s just do this. My father is deceased and the very next day we received notification of his will. No. Not a will. A family trust. And I think it’s horribly unfair.”

  Breecie nudged my foot under the table. It was my turn.

  “Why would you want to engage my services?” I asked.

  Breecie spoke, “Because there will be issues with this family trust that may require your attention and specific talents.”

  I refreshed our waters. Beyond a brief thank you for the refill, the table fell quiet.

  I asked, “Let’s start with the specifics of the trust. You know Breecie has a code of confidentiality and I’m clueless. It is up to you what you want to share with me.”

  Stacie started spilling out her story. I, too, had to lean in to hear her faint words. Breecie and I must have looked like two Quasimodos of Notre Dame sitting at the table.

  “The trust was instructed to be delivered to all of us upon Dad’s death. It’s what I call a last man standing trust. Only one of us siblings receives the whole shebang. The franchise. The thing is, there were seven of us, and suddenly, there are only six contenders.”

  I tilted my head to engage her further and encourage her to speak. After a long pregnant pause, she did.

  “My brother, Nick, died two nights ago.

  “Nick was in it for the win, as my dad would say. I believe this board of trustees had him near the top of the list. He was addicted to education. He was the likely single heir apparent qualified to fill Dad’s shoes.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. Your only true sibling, as I understand it. But, what beyond his death is it that troubles you?” I asked. “Why are you seeking counsel and services?”

  “A hit and run killed my brother, Nick Newton Childs, but there was no evidence to be found. Nick was a true contender is this new game Dad set up to rip our family apart. Nick knew football. He knew number crunching and every other aspect of any business. His people skills were amazing.

  “Oh, and did it make the news? Barely a scant report. It’s a family thing called privacy. The Childs family has always known how to control the media.”

  I had not heard a mention of the death and it should have been newsworthy.

  “Stacie, accidents do happen and they can be hit and runs when the driver of the other vehicle panics. Maybe they’re drunk or high, or maybe they don’t have insurance, or maybe they’re in shock,” Breecie said.

  She shook her head and her soft golden curls fell to frame her face. “No.”

  I said, “I knew a lawyer that got into a car accident. He left the scene knowing the other party sustained injuries, but he’d been on a drinking binge. Way over the legal limits. Through a buddy system he came up with the name of a guy that would fix the car and repaint it, no questions asked, but he’d have to take whatever paint color the guy had on hand. In ten minutes the car pulled into the garage and the door closed. A few days later the lawyer went to reclaim his precious Mercedes Benz. The car had been painted baby blue,” I said, aiming for some levity. No one found my story funny.

  Breecie glanced at her watch. I knew she had a deposition to take. She apologized and left Stacie and me to sort more things out and decide if I had a case.

  I knew that I needed a time-out, too. When our conversation stalled I took the opportunity to grab my phone.

  “I’ve taken up enough of your time this morning,” I said. I had to process what she had already shared with me.

  Stacie slumped her back as her lower lip quivered. She got the hint and reached for her purse.

  “Don’t take River Road home. There’s been a nasty accident and the traffic will be a mess,” I said.

  “So, is it true you’re a psychic?”

  I answered honestly. “I feel things, and I feel them a lot, Stacie, but some folks around here would call me a psychotic rather than a psychic. Really, most detectives do operate with a degree of the sixth sense in their favor.”

  Stacie asked me if I had any free time that afternoon. Remembering her trembling lip that she was now biting, I agreed to meet her at my workplace mid-afternoon.

  She grabbed my hand in a departing handshake. I felt nothing. Probably a good thing.

  I didn’t bother to explain that my cell phone has a silent local news flash program and I had just read about the accident as my phone sat on the table.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  STACIE CHILDS ARRIVED at my office fifteen minutes late. She held her head high and her back straight and rigid, as if she was being lifted up by a field of balloons. The elegant stride suited her but it caught me off guard. She wore the same clothes and yet was not the same woman I had met that morning. She didn’t fool me. She was nervous and afraid. I had witnessed this only that morning, only for some reason she now tried to put on an air of being in control and composed.

  There had not been a moment for me to research the death of her sibling, Nick, so I had to wing it.

  I opted for the more formal environment of my office rather than the favored courtyard. Not a Cassidy Clark kind of thing to do but it felt right.

  Pulling my voice recorder out, I asked for permission to turn it on. She acquiesced with a firm nod.

  “Stacie, I need to get a sense of all of the players, the contenders as you refer to them. I’d like to know about all of your siblings and also, your mother and the ex-wives.”

  “May I start with the timeline, or rather deadline?”

  I didn’t know there was one, so I nodded.

  “Success,” she said. “The Scorpions franchise is now worth between two to three billion dollars. It’s a newer team, but their winning streak has the NFL watching closely. I did my research. I think we’re looking at three billion dollars. Damn it. It’s always about the friggin’ money.”

  “That is a lot of money. And?”

  “Chump change for some. Not for me. I might be the odd child out. Dad, and he did legally adopt me and my brother, seems to have arranged for a game of war. This old sonuvabitch, pardon my language, set up that damn family trust. Dad had three sons by a previous marriage. Mom has me and my younger brother, Nick, and I’ve told you he’s dead, but only after our father died and the terms of this maniacal family trust came out.”

  I let her collect her thoughts and her words. Sometimes these pauses put me in charge, but this time I could sense my guest needed a genuine break to collect her emotions. I stood to refresh our glasses of chilled sparkling water.

  “I think it’s premature for me to be here,” Stacie Childs finally whispered.

  “You’re here because you are questioning your role in the estate?”

  “No. Breecie Lemay has already made it pretty clear that all
but one of us will end up without much more than a dime where the franchise is concerned,” she choked.

  I took in a deep breath and looked into Stacie’s intense brown eyes. She followed suit and breathed deeply, but diverted her eyes to the floor.

  “I think one of my siblings might like to make his or her odds a little better. “

  “By eliminating some of the players?” I held back a gasp.

  While Stacie sipped on her water and took a phone call, it was a good time for me to peruse the trust she had copied for me.

  I had to agree that it provided a formula for fighting and bitter court battles. Murders had been committed for far less money.

  Stacie returned to our conversation and said, “The trust was delivered to each of us with notice that we had one year to shine. Rise to the top, if you will, but our past also will be scrutinized by the board of trustees. Dad’s final laugh, having each of us taking life inventories to determine where we’d screwed up and failed.

  “Dad married three times. His first wife is a Native American woman named Yanaha. I know little about her but that she delivered a stillborn child. It’s been another one of those hushed issues. I know she received a lot of money from Dad in the settlement with ongoing monthly payments in perpetuity. I understand she drives out to the reservation once a month with a van full of food, paper goods, bottled water, baby things. Stuff like that. From what I can determine she’s content with her life and her ability to give back to her people. Another rumor is that she somehow working with snake venom. Who knows?”

  I accepted Stacie’s words. Yanaha, perhaps, would not be an issue. I felt something there. More to the story. But I let it go and listened.

  “His second wife’s name is Isidora. She’s from Columbia and the mother of their first child, Hunter, their second child, Manny, and Seth being the youngest. Again, I don’t know much about her but that no one dares call her Dora. She commands the respect of her full name.”

  “Where is she now?”

  Stacie threw her arms up into the air and brought them down with her fingers tousling those long blonde curls. She then brought her hands down to the table where she interlaced her fingers, kind of like a game of here is the church and steeple, now where the devil are all of the people.

  I said, “Okay. She’s not listed in the business trust, nor is Yanaha. And your mother?”

  “My mother, dear Claudia. She’s a crappy mother but a devoted wife, even as her husband fell into the abyss that is Alzheimer’s. She is not a player in this trust, either. Mother Claudia is well taken care of financially and wants nothing to do with the Scorpions. She doesn’t know football but she has a keen eye for Valentino. She can keep buying all of the Versace and Hubert de Givenchy she wants. She owns a home in Florence, Italy, and an apartment in Dubai. And, of course, her estate here in Tucson. She wants nothing more. Mother Claudia has no financial worries and is happy with her life full of designer clothes, jewels, furniture, and travel. That woman would buy, and well afford, a pile of dirty rocks if she believed Pistoletto had created the monstrosity. She’s happy not to be in the debacle of what is an eminent family feud. That’s not saying she doesn’t meddle, but she probably pops one of her opiates beforehand.”

  At this point I had to interrupt, but not before I did that damn turtle thing where I lift my shoulders and sink my head. Words and facts and pure speculations were coming at me too fast.

  “Stacie, let’s get to the persons in your family, or outside, that you think might mean you harm.” Who are the players and what game were they playing?

  “Damn it. It’s always about the damn money. Here I am divulging family secrets and with no remorse.”

  I knew what to say. “And?”

  “You have the recorder so I’m going to run through this one time.

  “I told you. My step-father had a combined family of yours, mine, and ours. God knows the media is relentless in following all of us. And God knows the illustrious family has a way of shutting down the media. As I said, there were seven siblings. Actually, eight.

  “Dad had the stillborn with Yanaha. I don’t count that child. I don’t know if it was a boy or a girl. It’s been hushed up.

  “Rumor has it that his second wife, Isidora, is mixed up in drug dealing, but it’s only gossip. And very hushed.

  “The eldest sibling is Hunter and by all appearances and feelings that I have, he thinks he has a birthright to the franchise as the firstborn. It’s like he’s in line for the throne. He’s an extreme narcissist and we have no relationship. He was born to Dad and the second wife, Isidora.

  Even with the recorder, I scribbled down random notes that came to mind. Without any verbal indication from Stacie, I wrote down Hunter’s name. Next to it I wrote the words Serial Philanderer. I also wrote Serial Philanthropist next to Claudia Childs’ name. I didn’t bother writing down that she had designed her philanthropic work to get her name and photo into a cluster of the preeminent society columns. I’d remember that character defect.

  “Dad’s second born is Manny. A contender, Cassidy. Manny holds an MBA from Vanderbilt. Handsome, rugged, and damn smart. And he, too, was born with the love of the game in his soul. I like him. He’s a good man. Married to bitch of a woman, Sheri.”

  Her head fell, slightly, as she reached to rub her swan-like neck.

  “Do you want to take a break, Stacie? We could go out to our courtyard.”

  She didn’t respond but instead took a deep breath. “The third son is Seth. He’s a Wall Street guy and not so much involved in the family business. He comes to as many family gatherings and holidays that time will allow with his busy career and Chloe, his wife, and twin boys.”

  I took a mental inventory. Three live sons were born to Paul Childs with a previous wife. The recorder would catch it if I got mixed up on my facts.

  Stacie reminded me that she was one of two children born to Claudia and her first husband. Deceased, I noted. Cancer. Her brother, Nick, is recently deceased. Suspicious? I wasn’t so certain despite of Stacie’s conspiracy theory.

  “My mother popped out three more children when she married my step-father. May I be frank?”

  “Of course.”

  “Their first child was born prematurely and quickly diagnosed with necrotizing enterocolitis. A disease of the bowels. It’s another family hush-hush story but I know he only survived for three months. They didn’t even bother to give him a name. You can see his headstone in the family plot. It reads Baby Boy. Not even a last name.

  “Next came Mason. He seems like a good guy, but we don’t talk that much. He’s what you might call a free spirit trying to find his way. I don’t think any of Dad’s cronies on his board of trustees would place him in the hunt.

  “Rounding out the list of the players named in the family trust is Taylor. A loose cannon. The baby. She’s the treasured little one, but at the age of twenty-five we all knew she has slept with most of the players on the football team. In record time. She’s been pulled over for DUI’s and doing stupid shit all over the country and what does she say to the officer?

  “Do you know who I am? I’m Paul Childs’ daughter.”

  I nodded with a knowing smile. I did get the name game.

  She continued, “And do you know what they mostly say to her? I don’t give a crap.

  “Taylor has a growing rap sheet that has become very public, in spite of family efforts. I think she likes the notoriety and I’m sure she still thinks she’s in the game. Within twenty-four hours of the revelation of the family trust she called me. She told me that with the newly emerged focus on women in the workplace and the demise of men thanks to their own scandalous unwanted sexual advances that are still all over the news, that a woman is a natural to fill Dad’s shoes and she is the only biological daughter of Paul Childs. I just came with the package when he married Mother Claudia.”

  “Does this exhaust the list of the persons named as potential heirs to the family trust?” I asked.


  She nodded and then said in that faint voice of hers, “That’s it. You feel it too, don’t you?”

  I gave her no affirmation, although the hairs on the back of my neck had risen like the bristles of our native javelina when they feel threatened.

  “There’s one more thing. I have not shared all of this with Ms. Lemay.”

  “I share the same client confidentiality. Nothing is discussed between us unless you intend it to be so.”

  Stacie pointed toward my tape recorder.

  “Not to worry. For my ears only. I need the transcript. I have to sort out a lot of information you’ve given me.”

  Her confident personality returned. Stacie stood up, smoothed out her skirt, straightened her back and shook my hand with the grip of a professional wrestler.

  “Who will you begin investigating?” she asked.

  “If you are intent on involving me, then it’s not really who, but rather what. I’ll start with your brother Nick’s hit and run.”

  “Wait a minute. I told you that the police wrapped up their report and it’s been swept under the rug.”

  “I’m going to lift up that rug and sift through the dirt, Stacie. While your father’s trust is intimidating, maybe you are a bit premature in coming to me. Hit and runs do happen, more often than you might think. People get away with it, more often than should be the case,” I said.

  “So why bother? You told me this morning the car that hit Nick is likely hidden in some garage getting painted baby blue or bright pink.”

  She had me there. I didn’t point out the twenty or more chop shops around town.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Claudia

  FROM THE MOMENT Stacie Childs retained my services I jumped into action, after asking my sidekick, Schlep, to dig into the hit and run and help me investigate the death of Nick Childs. Sometimes I find it quicker to eliminate potential perps by their less likelihood to be involved in any crime. Maybe it just feels like I’m accomplishing something through the process of elimination. Some would say I’m spinning my wheels by not digging into the meat of things first. It certainly made sense to attempt to ascertain if the hit and run had been intentional.