The Trust

by Ronald H. Balson

  “My apologies, Your Honor. I was merely pointing out one of the bewildering elements of this peculiar estate. We have a testator who knows he will be murdered, yet does nothing about it, but then proceeds to place his entire estate into the hands of an estranged nephew from Chicago. In America.”

  “We all know where Chicago is, solicitor.”

  “And then he seals his trust agreement from the very people he intends to benefit, so that no one can read it. Who does that? What sane person would ever do such a thing? How can the beneficiaries protect their inheritance rights when they are prohibited from knowing what their rights are? Your Honor has no choice but to void this ridiculous trust and distribute the decedent’s assets to Mr. Taggart’s two rightful heirs, his sons Conor and Riley, in equal shares.”

  Cooney finished his argument, looked at Conor and smiled. “That is all, Your Honor. We seek to declare Fergus Taggart’s Last Will and Testament and his trust null and void and relieve Liam Taggart of all authority and responsibilities.”

  Judge McNulty turned her attention to O’Neill. “What say you, Solicitor O’Neill?”

  “May it please the court, Your Honor. I myself drafted the will and the trust. The will bears the certification of three competent witnesses who affirm that Mr. Taggart was of sound mind and memory and knew the objects of his bounty on the date he signed the documents. After considerable thought, it was his decision to place his assets into a trust. I saw him sign the instrument of his own free will and judgment, as did the witnesses. In fact, we videotaped the signing ceremony. I daresay, Fergus Taggart was no more of a lunatic than Solicitor Cooney, though I harbor doubts as to the latter.”

  Chuckles skittered through the courtroom and Judge McNulty slammed her gavel again. “That’s enough, though I concede he had it coming.”

  O’Neill continued. “It is an unspeakable tragedy that Fergus Taggart lived in fear of his own homicide. But he had a right to bequest his assets in any way he saw fit and there is nothing illegal about inserting a condition for future distribution. It’s done every day.”

  Judge McNulty interrupted. “That is so, however, absent the most extraordinary circumstances, beneficiaries have a right to know that a trust estate has been established for their benefit and what the terms are. Here, Mr. Taggart has prevented the beneficiaries from knowing either. I’d like you to address that issue, Mr. O’Neill. How do you overcome the holding in the case of In re: McGovern?”

  “I maintain the case is distinguishable from ours because McGovern did not fear for his life. Nor did he anticipate that his murderer might benefit from his estate. Quite a different factual scenario.”

  “I’m not so sure that matters,” said the judge. “Beneficiaries have a right to see their trust in Northern Ireland. Have you brought the trust instrument to court today?”

  O’Neill looked at me. I nodded.

  “We have, Your Honor.”

  “May I see it please? I wish to examine it in camera.”

  O’Neill nodded at me. I walked up to the bench and handed the envelope to the judge. She gave me a warm and friendly smile and said, “Welcome to Northern Ireland, Mr. Taggart. I’m going to take this document back into chambers and read it. The court will recess for one hour.”

  All the “interested parties,” as we had come to refer to ourselves, adjourned to the hallway. Conor had a grin from ear to ear. On his way out the door he said, “Safe travels, Liam.”

  I walked out into the hall with Megan. O’Neill looked at her and said, “My apologies, Miss Dooley, but I don’t think you’re a private investigator. I’ve seen you before. Where was it?”

  “Probably at Henry’s Alehouse. I think you bought me a drink.”

  O’Neill laughed hard, and I’d never even seen him smile. That Megan was a charmer. He raised his eyebrows. “PSNI? Do you work for McLaughlin?”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  O’Neill gave me a look. “You might have told me, Liam. I am your lawyer, you know.”

  “It’s supposed to be a secret, at least for the time being. My family’s not inclined to trust the police. I didn’t know what your attitude would be.”

  “Well, I’m pleased to have the assistance of Officer Dooley.”

  “What’s your best guess on Judge McNulty’s ruling?” I asked.

  He twisted his lips back and forth, and said, “I’m quite certain she’ll release the trust. The law is fairly settled. I told Fergus this might happen, but we thought the in terrorem clause would discourage a challenge. Most likely we’ll return to court, the terms will be revealed, including the generous gift to your son and your weekly stipend, and I suspect that—”

  “I know. Any moment now, all hell’s gonna break loose.”

  “Precisely.”

  “So, I guess either Conor will be appointed or the trust will be administered by the bank. I can’t say I’ll be heartbroken. I just regret I let my uncle down.”

  “Don’t give up yet. McNulty’s a pretty sharp jurist.”

  The clerk called us back into the courtroom and Judge McNulty returned to the bench. She brought out a stack of stapled papers, which she handed to her clerk. No doubt, copies of the trust agreement. She smiled, stretched out her arms and waved for us all to be seated.

  “I’ve read the agreement. Well drafted, Mr. O’Neill. It’s not complicated, confusing or in any way irrational. It’s a clear disposition of Mr. Taggart’s estate. However, the law in Northern Ireland is also clear. Beneficiaries have a right to a copy of the trust instrument. Therefore, we’ve made copies and I will distribute them at the conclusion of the hearing.”

  “All right!” Conor said, with a fist pump. “See ya, Liam.”

  Judge McNulty slammed her gavel. “While I intend to unseal the trust, I see no reason to tamper with any of its provisions at this time. The only issues before me this morning are whether the instrument is valid on its face and whether it should remain sealed. I have heard no evidence of Fergus Taggart’s lack of competence, nor any evidence that would disqualify Liam Taggart as a trustee. He has not been accused of any wrongdoing or breach of his duties. There are no allegations that he is incapable of carrying out his duties. The fact that he resides in America or was estranged from the testator are not disqualifying factors. Perhaps at some later time we will revisit those matters, but they are not before me today. The only ruling this morning is that the trust shall be unsealed and available to all beneficiaries. That will be the order.”

  I turned to Conor and shot him a wink. I couldn’t help it. It’s not that I wanted to remain as trustee, I didn’t, but it just felt good. At least for the moment. Wait till he sees that the estate is divided seven ways. And wait till he reads that Uncle Fergus provided for a generous gift to Ben and weekly compensation for me. That’s the “all hell” part.

  It broke loose about ten minutes after the copies had been passed around. “What is this?” Conor yelled in the hallway. “Deirdre gets an equal share? Janie Taggart gets the same share as Riley and me? Who the hell is Bridget McGregor? And this part about ten grand to Ben Taggart? Over my dead body.” He grabbed Solicitor Cooney by the lapels. “Mike, you better get this goddamn thing thrown out! Null and void. Do you hear me?”

  “Get your hands off me,” Cooney said. “And calm down. We’ll get it thrown out. You heard the judge, those issues were not before her this morning. This was just an emergency hearing to get our copies of the trust agreement and I prevailed. We won. You now have the agreement. One thing at a time, Conor.”

  “No, we didn’t win, Mike, because goddamn Liam is still in charge. I want him out of here!”

  “All in good time, Conor.”

  “The time is now. If you can’t do it, I’ll do it myself.”

  And with that last remark, Conor shot an angry look in my direction. He pointed at me, said, “Your days are numbered,” and stormed out of the building.

  Megan leaned over and whispered, “Do you want me to bring him in? He threatene
d you.”

  I shook my head. “He only threatened to remove me as trustee. There’s nothing illegal in that.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “We could give him a hard time at the station. He might admit to the phone calls. We could let him know we’re watching.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. Let him cool down and we’ll see what happens. Catherine had the phone number changed and I can take care of myself. But I wouldn’t mind if you could get me a gun permit and a Smith and Wesson nine millimeter.”

  “I’ll look into it.”

  I walked over to Eamon who was standing off to the side with Deirdre. Thank God they had each other during these stressful times. “Is everything all right, Uncle Eamon?” I asked. “I heard that you left the house suddenly and did not return.”

  He smiled. “Are you going to campus me?”

  “I’m just worried about you.”

  He shrugged. “I got a call from a neighbor that someone was snooping around my house and I had to check it out. I didn’t see anyone when I got there, so I spent the night.”

  “Did the neighbor tell you what he meant by ‘snooping around the house’?” I said.

  “Peeking in the windows. Walking around the back. But I checked all the windows and everything’s okay. No worries.”

  “Why don’t you both come for dinner tonight?” Deirdre said. “I’ll make a nice stew for us.”

  Eamon and I nodded. “Sounds great.”

  SIXTEEN

  CONOR’S TIRADE NOT ONLY ramped up the tension among the family members, but it gave me further concern for Catherine’s safety. I called her before going to dinner.

  “Conor was out of control in court today. I have no proof that he had anything to do with the phone calls,” I said, “but I’m glad you changed the number.”

  “The calls have stopped, thank God. But Liam, the most curious thing happened. I received a FedEx envelope this morning from an address in Belfast: 45 Spiers Place. I was sure it was a love note from you.”

  “I didn’t send you anything. Don’t open it.”

  “But I already did. It was a photograph.”

  “Don’t tell me. Was it the remains of a redbrick house that had burned down?”

  “Yes, how did you know? And there was writing on the back that just said, ‘The Taggarts.’ What is this, Liam?”

  “You’ve got to get out of the house, Cat. Right now. Either come here or take Ben and go stay with your sister.”

  “I can’t right now. You know I’m in the middle of a hearing. But why is this dangerous? Even if you consider it a threat, it’s just another childish prank to get you to leave Ireland. Today you went to court and the judge held the trust was valid and that you were properly appointed. I expect these amateur pranks—phone calls and pictures—will stop. I’m sure of it. I find it hard to believe that Conor would continue to harass us when he’s hired a lawyer and the matter is in court.”

  “You don’t know this guy. He’s a real control freak. Let me hire Chick Chaikin to keep an eye out for you until I can get home. Just to be on the safe side.”

  “Chick Chaikin with the broken nose?”

  “He’s a tough guy, Cat, and a good man. He’ll sit in his car with a cup of coffee and make sure nothing happens.”

  “Liam, this is going a little too far. We’re fine here. We don’t need Chick Chaikin or anyone else. All we need is for you to come home when you can. Our neighborhood is safe. We’re careful. I’ve alerted the police about the phone calls. Quit worrying.”

  “I don’t like it, Cat. I got a bad feeling about this.”

  “I know. Blame your Irish intuition.”

  “It’s not funny. I’m going to finish setting up this trust and come home as soon as I can. In the meantime, please let me call Chick to watch the house.”

  “No, and that’s final. I’m not going to have someone sitting out front spying on me. I have to go now. Love you. Bye.”

  I hung up and immediately dialed Chick. I hired him to watch the house every day from six at night until eight the next morning. His partner would keep a lookout during the day when Catherine left for work. Nobody screws with Chick. I could depend on him. I told him it would probably be just a matter of days until I could get home. I told him about the pictures—marked for death. Now my family has been served with a calling card. He chuckled and told me that was a wacky theory. Not to worry. Catherine was in good hands.

  * * *

  DINNER AT AUNT DEIRDRE’S. An island of comfort amidst the sea of tumult. I stood in the foyer and breathed deeply. The bouquet of Deirdre’s Irish stew instantly transported me back twenty years. I closed my eyes and let the aromas carry me back. For one moment it was 1975 and Riley and I were scrambling in from the front yard to wash up for dinner. For another moment it was 1994 or 1999 or any year in between. Maybe it would be that June night in 1998. All I’d have to do is walk into the kitchen and time would revert. Aunt Deirdre would be working her magic on the stove. Maybe Uncle Fergus, Uncle Robert and Uncle Eamon would be expounding on the world’s problems. Maybe Aunt Nora had brought along a pretty girl for me to meet. She’d pull me aside and whisper, “Isn’t she adorable?” Maybe this night it would be Annie.

  I remember well that first night I met Annie. I was a late arrival. I apologized to everyone, blaming it all on an imaginary grain contract I was supposedly negotiating. In truth, I’d been with Westerfield all afternoon analyzing wiretaps. When I arrived everyone was already seated and dinner had begun, but a chair was left empty for me right next to this pretty young girl with sparkling green eyes and fine auburn hair. She looked at me, nodded and smiled.

  “I’m Liam,” I said, settling into my seat and reaching for the bread tray.

  “Annie Grossman,” she said, and offered me her hand. It was smooth and petite, gentle and delicate, like Annie herself. There was a twinkle in her eye and the hint of a smile that told me that she knew and I knew that Aunt Nora had orchestrated this meeting. Maybe it was for just that reason that for the balance of the evening Annie was engaged in lively conversation with everyone but me. Too bad, I thought. She had a keen intellect; she was cute and totally enchanting. She had all of the dinner guests in the palm of her hand. Myself? I spent a good portion of the evening staring, covertly of course, at the gentle curves of her facial profile, the way her lips formed her words and broke into a smile, the way she casually brushed her hair away from her forehead with the backs of her fingers. But, sadly, it was patently clear she had no interest in me.

  At the end of the evening, I was standing in the driveway talking with Uncle Robert when Annie walked out of the house. As she passed, she handed a piece of paper to me and whispered, “Call me.” That was the start of my year with Annie.

  I waited three days before calling her. I didn’t want to appear too eager. Truth be told, I was hesitant about asking her out on a date. I wasn’t normally apprehensive around women, I was a pretty confident twenty-seven-year-old. And hell, I was a CIA operative. But I had a feeling about this woman. She had unsettled me, charmed me, and I put off calling her for a few days while I worked up the nerve and practiced my urbane dialogue. The Antrim Summer Solstice Festival was Saturday night at the Antrim Castle Gardens and everyone was going. I asked her if I could come by and take her to the festival. She hesitated for an uncomfortably long moment and then told me she’d meet me in the gardens.

  We ended up in a group of six, a busy bunch of single young professionals, all of us twentysomething, self-confident and full of energy. We meandered about the gardens, stopping here and there for an ice-cream cone or to listen to music. There was a lot going on that night, but I really didn’t notice much of anything but Annie. It was hard to divert my attention even if I wanted to, which I didn’t. Annie was twenty-four, five-foot-three, with the most engaging smile I’d ever known. There was a bounce in her step. She was joyful, animated and expressive, and she wore her emotions on her sleeve in a delightfully transparent way. Head over heels
didn’t begin to describe the effect she had on me that magical night.

  Toward the end of the evening, we broke away from the group and walked slowly through the paths along the riverfront. These were the things I learned about her that night: she was a primary school teacher, she lived with a roommate in a home just outside Antrim in Greenvale Park, and she was Jewish, one of only six hundred in Northern Ireland. Her mother died when she was young and her father raised her without any help. He tried his best, but he set rules that she thought were far too strict. Still, she loved her father very much and held him in high regard. She’d dated a man for two years, but they separated last winter. Her father was disappointed; he liked the boyfriend. The breakup was hard on her and she wasn’t sure she wanted to get involved again for a while. I felt I could move her off that last point, given time and me Irish charm.

  The June night was warm and the sun didn’t set until after ten o’clock. As the festival closed, several couples took to wandering by the old castle ruins, through the winding tree-lined gardens and down to the riverbank.

  “These gardens are haunted, you know,” Annie said with a wistful smile. “By the White Lady. She died in the castle hundreds of years ago and she appears at midnight searching for her faithless lover. There have been many sightings.”

  I checked my watch. It was 10:45. “Should we wait?”

  “Heavens, no! I’ve never been in this park at midnight and besides, I think I’d have a heart attack if I saw a ghost.”

  “I’ll protect you.”

  “Against a ghost?”

  “You have a point. Would you rather get a beer?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  We ended up at Conway’s, trading stories and sharing laughs. She was enchanting. I was enchanted. She was charming and I was charmed. The pub closed at two and I offered to drive her home. She suggested we walk. We strolled along the two miles to Greenvale Park, her hand in mine. When we stopped at her door, she leaned over and kissed me good night, just a quick, gentle good night kiss on the cheek. Then she smiled, turned and went inside, leaving me standing on the stoop wondering if I did something wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so reserved. Maybe I let an opportunity get away. Maybe my consternation was her strategy because I second-guessed myself for several days.