Life Support

by Robert Whitlow

  “How did you find him?” Rachel asked.

  “At Sandy Flats Church.”

  “Is he the custodian?”

  Alexia thought about the music that Ted brought forth from the tips of his fingers.

  “Yeah, but he’s very talented.”

  “That’s a beautiful sanctuary. It’s great for weddings. My niece was married there a few years ago.”

  Ted reappeared at the top of the ladder and climbed down.

  “You need to blow in some fresh insulation, and there have been visitors coming in through the eaves toward the back of the house.”

  “What kind of visitors?” Alexia asked.

  “Squirrels. They gnawed a hole through the wood. It’s a mess, and unless you want to maintain a squirrel sanctuary, it will need to be fixed.”

  “Will that be expensive?”

  “No. It can be done in a day or two.”

  They walked through the rest of the interior. Alexia and Rachel talked about the work to be done before it could be used as an office, and Ted took notes on a small pad he took from one of his front pockets. They ended up in the living room. Alexia turned to Ted.

  “How much do you think it will cost to get it ready?”

  “You want a bid?”

  “No, an estimate.”

  Ted wrinkled his brow. “Almost everything is cosmetic. Are you going to help with the painting?”

  Alexia remembered Gwen’s offer. “Maybe, but don’t include that in your figure.”

  “Okay. It can all be done for ten to twelve thousand dollars in labor and materials—give or take a thousand.”

  Rachel’s cell phone rang. She retrieved it from her purse and held a quick conversation.

  “Someone else wants to look at the house in an hour,” she said. “What do you want to do?”

  Alexia frowned. “I wanted to make a counteroffer, but I don’t want to lose it.”

  Rachel couldn’t conceal her exasperation. “Alexia, the house is going to sell. If you want it, accept the offer and don’t try to negotiate. It’s a good deal.”

  Alexia looked at Ted. “What do you think?”

  “If you buy it, I’ll make some money, so I think you should close the deal as soon as possible.”

  Alexia smiled. “No need to cross-examine you about your bias.”

  Rachel’s phone rang again, and she pressed the talk button. “Yes, I’m showing the house right now. Take his number, and I’ll get back to you in a few minutes.” She closed the cover on her phone. “That was my office about a speculator who wants to see the property. I’m not answering another call until you make up your mind.”

  Alexia nodded. “Okay. I’ll take it.”

  “Good,” the realtor said with relief. “I have a blank contract in the car. Let’s fill it out and sign it before you leave.”

  Ted stepped toward the front door. “I’m going back to the church. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay. We’ll get together about the details. Thanks for coming by.”

  Standing in front of the kitchen counter, Rachel completed the contract in less than five minutes, and Alexia signed it. As they were leaving, Alexia stopped in the small foyer and pointed to the wall facing the front door.

  “Do you think it would be tacky to hang a nice photograph of myself near the entrance?”

  26

  Those oft are stratagems which errors seem.

  ALEXIAANDER POPE

  It had been a couple of years since Alexia graduated from the list of young attorneys who had to represent indigent defendants in criminal cases, and she felt rusty. The charges initiated by Ezra were more a nuisance than a serious threat, but Alexia hated giving advice that had to be modified later because she hadn’t properly researched the issues. After leaving Ted and Rachel, she drove to the courthouse. She parked along the street and dialed Rena’s cell phone. There was no answer, and she left a message to return the call.

  Without an office or computer terminal giving her access to a sophisticated legal research database, Alexia had to fall back on an archaic method of legal inquiry—books. Located in a forgotten corner of the courthouse, the county law library was a musty reminder of the days when the printed page was the bread and butter of law office research. Finding Title 22 of the South Carolina Code, she turned to the section on “Assaults and Batteries and Other Breaches of the Peace” and read the pertinent provision.

  Magistrates may punish by fine not exceeding five hundred dollars or imprisonment for a term not exceeding thirty days, or both, all assaults and batteries and other breaches of the peace when the offense is neither an assault and battery against school personnel pursuant to Section 16-3-612 nor an assault and battery of a high aggravated nature requiring, in their judgment or by law, greater punishment.

  If Ezra had been a high-school English teacher, Rena would have been in big trouble; however, sneaky millionaires didn’t receive any greater protection under the law than two drunks exchanging blows in a barroom brawl. The charges against Rena were barely a blip on the radar screen of the criminal justice system; nevertheless, to an ordinary person, they could loom large and ominous.

  Alexia spent more than an hour researching the more complicated issues surrounding Ezra’s use of the power of attorney to gut Baxter’s assets and impoverish Rena. Casebooks began to stack up around her at the small table where she sat. No one came into the room to disturb her. She found several cases that provided guidance but nothing directly on point. She would be charting new waters. Her cell phone lit up. It was Rena.

  “Where are you?” Alexia asked.

  “I’m at home,” she answered peacefully. “It’s a relief to be away from the hospital.”

  “Where do you want to meet? I’m not set up in my temporary office.”

  “Why don’t you come here?”

  Without an office, Alexia might be making some house calls, but she had another idea.

  “I’ve not had any lunch. Why don’t we meet at Katz’s in forty-five minutes? Have you been there before?”

  “Yes. I’ll see you there.”

  Alexia continued her research until it was time to leave for the restaurant, a New York–style deli that catered to northern transplants looking for a taste of home. Inside the deli she was warmly greeted by the owner, a stocky, orthodox Jewish man with an accent that made Brooklyn seem around the corner. He’d never grown comfortable calling her Alexia.

  “Alexia!” Mr. Katz cried out. “Where have you been? We’ve missed you.”

  Alexia smiled. “In France. I’ve been back a couple of days.”

  “France! You must be starving! All those fancy soups only fool you into thinking you’ve had something to eat. You need some corned beef on rye to rebuild your strength.”

  Mr. Katz called to his wife. “Edith! Come see the world traveler!”

  Edith Katz, a small woman, appeared from the rear of the restaurant with a kerchief on her head and looking as if she was about to scrub the floor of her house on the eve of Passover.

  “I could have heard you in the street,” she said to her husband. Turning to Alexia, she smiled. “Where have you been?”

  “The Provence region of southern France. It’s a beautiful area. Very romantic.”

  Mrs. Katz punched her husband in the arm. “Do you hear that Arthur? I saw a special on TV about Provence. That’s where I want to go for our fortieth wedding anniversary.” She turned back to Alexia. “Did you see the wild horses?”

  “Yes. You’ll love it. I can give you information about places to stay. Very nice.”

  Arthur Katz held up his hands in surrender. “Do you know how many pounds of salami I have to sell to fly across the ocean?”

  Alexia patted him on the arm in the same place where his wife had punched him. “I’ll do my part and order a reuben.”

  Mrs. Katz wiped her hands on her apron. “Arthur, fix her a sandwich and make it extra nice. Don’t forget to give her two big, fat pickles.”

 
; Alexia sat down at a table for two. Mr. and Mrs. Katz had a few tables and chairs for those who wanted to eat in. The walls were decorated with scenes from New York. Alexia’s favorite was the Statue of Liberty at night. It reminded her of the freedom her mother desired so desperately that she gave up everything she knew to begin life in a foreign country.

  Rena walked through the door. She had a harried look on her face. In her hand was a large, fat manilla envelope. Alexia waved to her.

  “I just ordered,” Alexia said. “Have you eaten here before?”

  “You go ahead. I’m not hungry.”

  Rena put the envelope on the table. “Here’s the money. All ten thousand.”

  “I’ll write you a receipt after we talk. Did you find out when you have to be in court on the assault and battery charge?”

  “Next Monday morning at ten o’clock.”

  Alexia took out her PDA and turned it on. “Okay. I’m clear on Monday. I did some research this morning, and the worst thing that can happen is a five-hundred-dollar fine and thirty days in jail.”

  “Thirty days in jail!” Rena said in a loud voice.

  At that moment, Mrs. Katz approached the table with Alexia’s sandwich. She put it down and quickly walked away.

  “I don’t think that will happen,” Alexia responded calmly. “It’s a misdemeanor case in front of a magistrate, a lower-level judge who probably won’t be a lawyer. They don’t normally send someone to jail unless it is a much worse case than this one. Ezra will have to be there or the charges will be dismissed for lack of prosecution.”

  Rena perked up. “I can try to find out if he’s going to show up.”

  “By asking Baxter’s brother?”

  Rena nodded, and Alexia knew with certainty the source of the inside information Rena had mentioned.

  “What’s the brother’s name?” Alexia asked.

  “Jeffrey, but I don’t want him mentioned.”

  “No need to do that, but even if Jeffrey says his father isn’t going to appear, you have to be there. The only way to avoid it would be if the charges are dropped before the hearing.”

  Rena slumped down. “There’s no chance of that happening.”

  Alexia thought for a moment. “Maybe. I can talk to someone at my old law firm and find out if your father-in-law has cooled down enough to dismiss the complaint. They don’t know we’re about to file other actions and might be willing to drop the charges.” Alexia took a bite of her sandwich. “This is good. Are you sure you don’t want something?”

  Rena shook her head. “What about ending Baxter’s life support? I saw him this morning, and there is no doubt in my mind that he’s getting weaker. In my heart, I’ve already forgiven him and said good-bye. The waiting is cruel to him and me.”

  Alexia studied Rena’s face for a second. Hearing her speak of forgiveness in person was even more startling than over the telephone. It was a remarkable personal achievement.

  “How were you able to forgive him?” Alexia asked. “It’s hard for me to imagine.”

  Rena shrugged. “Every time I walk in the hospital room, I see his punishment. If I hadn’t forgiven him, I would want to keep him imprisoned in a paralyzed body connected to tubes for the next forty years. I’m ready to set him free.”

  Alexia nodded. “Okay. That makes sense. I need to talk to the doctor you mentioned and find out the basis for his opinion that it’s futile to continue extraordinary life-sustaining measures. If I think he’ll be a strong witness, we can file a petition to terminate the ventilator and stop artificial feeding.”

  Alexia picked up a pickle. It suddenly struck her as odd that she was eating a robust sandwich while talking about cutting off the thin liquid stream that kept Baxter Richardson alive.

  She took a small bite and put it down on her plate. “I can use the medical care power of attorney to reach the doctor,” she said. “It may take me a few days to get through.”

  “No, it won’t,” Rena replied. “Dr. Draughton is expecting you to call him today or in the morning. He’ll be out of town tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Did you talk to him?” Alexia asked in surprise.

  “No. I went by his office and left a copy of the power of attorney and paid his bookkeeper five hundred dollars as a consultation fee.” Rena reached into her purse and took out a business card. “Here’s the direct number into his office.”

  Alexia was impressed. “Good thinking. This will help a lot.”

  “When will you file the case?”

  “The petition will have to be filed in Greenville County because that’s where Baxter is hospitalized and the doctors are located. Because Baxter is in critical condition, the case won’t have to go through normal channels.”

  “What about stopping Ezra from stealing my property?” Rena asked. “Something needs to be done as soon as possible.”

  “That involves strategy and a bit of patience.”

  Rena raised her voice. “What do you mean? If we don’t stop him, he’ll get everything. I won’t even be able to live in the house!”

  Alexia leaned forward. She didn’t want Rena to lose her cool in the middle of the restaurant but had to tell her the truth. She spoke in a low voice.

  “Rena, it’s probably too late to stop him. Ralph Leggitt could prepare the paperwork in less than two days to transfer everything out of Baxter’s name, and your father-in-law could sign the documents in five minutes. It’s already happened.”

  “But there are things I know,” Rena sputtered, “that could send him, uh, get him in trouble.”

  “We’ll talk about that later. My first job is to get the criminal case against you thrown out. I don’t want you going into another court with something like that hanging over your head. Second, we need to schedule a hearing as soon as possible about Baxter. What happens to him affects everything else. It will take all the evidence I can muster to convince a judge to override Ezra’s wishes to keep Baxter hooked up to life support, especially if several treating doctors think it would be wrong to terminate extraordinary measures.”

  “But why can’t we file everything at once?”

  “That was my first thought, but I would rather ambush Ezra about his manipulative dealings at the hearing on life support than give him advance notice.”

  “I don’t understand. When I saw my checking account balance, I knew he’d taken the money. Don’t you think he knows I’m aware of what he’s doing? I’m not stupid.”

  “No one is saying you’re stupid. Think about the implications of the decision on terminating life support. As long as Baxter is alive, Ezra can use the power of attorney to control anything with Baxter’s name on it. Once Baxter dies, the power of attorney dies with him. At the hearing on termination of life support, I want to show the judge that one reason Ezra wants Baxter breathing is so he can control his son’s property and defraud you. In that case, Ezra will not look like a father who loves his son, but a greedy man who wants to rob his dying son and”—she paused for emphasis—“the person his son loves most.”

  Alexia could see the wheels turning in Rena’s mind. Many times she’d seen understanding dawn in clients when she explained the reasons for her legal advice.

  “What if he denies doing anything?” Rena asked slowly.

  “That’s where your source comes in. If I file a suit attacking the power of attorney, it might take months to overcome all the barricades your father-in-law’s lawyers will throw up, and the element of surprise will be gone. Do you think your source can get information showing how Ezra has used the power of attorney without letting Ezra know what he’s doing?”

  Rena nodded. “Probably. I’ll have to check.”

  “If he can, that’s the way we’ll proceed. Beside the difficulty of proving the case from a medical standpoint, there is only one obvious problem.”

  “What is that?”

  “If Ezra wants his son alive for the wrong reason, he can make the argument that Baxter’s death will benefit you.”


  Rena’s eyes grew wild again. “That’s horrible! I’m thinking about Baxter, not myself!”

  “And you’re the one to persuade the judge of the truth.”

  “How?”

  Alexia looked into Rena’s eyes. “Your face. Hopefully, Ezra’s credibility will be destroyed, so the judge will be looking for someone in the courtroom who genuinely cares about Baxter. It will be up to you to convince the judge that the only reason you want to terminate life support is because it is the best decision for the man you loved enough to marry. You have to look at the judge with the same kind of conviction you showed a few minutes ago when you told me you’ve forgiven Baxter.”

  Rena vigorously shook her head. “No! I can’t do it.”

  “Why not? You did a good job explaining how you feel to me.”

  “It’s easy talking to you, but it would be impossible in front of a bunch of people. I’d go to pieces.”

  “We’ll practice,” Alexia responded patiently. “Then, as soon as the hearing about Baxter’s care is over, we’ll file an action for a temporary restraining order to stop Ezra from using the power of attorney. We can file that here in Santee.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Ezra has a lot of powerful friends and probably knows the judges.”

  “There’s no real choice. Everyone involved lives in Santee and that means the local court will have jurisdiction.”

  “But Baxter will still be in Greenville.”

  Alexia had been rattling along and spouting her opinions as if discussing a hypothetical question in law school. She stopped and spoke slowly.

  “At that point, Baxter may be dead, and we’ll be fighting over his estate. Even if he’s alive, his residence for purposes of jurisdiction and venue is here in Santee. And don’t worry about the judge. There will be a different rotation of judges coming into the area in a week or so. We may get someone from Columbia or Aiken who has never heard of Ezra Richardson.”