by Lee Perry
“And how much was Helga Lynch worth?”
“Before she entered the hospital in 1990?” Catherine shrugged, “I called Stephanie Hanson, the advocate attorney at the surrogate’s court. It’s now her job to figure out what to do with Helga’s two wills and she’s still trying to figure that one out, but she said that at the time of her death Helga was worth at least eight hundred million.”
“That’s a lot…” Jordan murmured, sounding thoughtful and when Catherine arched her brows at her she added, “It’s just… given the amounts of money we were chasing down in the Jeffers’s case... it doesn’t sound like that much anymore, does it?”
“I…” Catherine blinked, “I think you’re right. Uh…” she turned back to the screen and quickly closed the files. “So now for a little back story…” She clicked open a picture file of a black and white photograph. “Back in 1896, Joseph Kendrick Lynch bought the property on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Seventy-Second Street for two hundred thousand dollars…”
Jordan emitted a sudden bark of laughter, “Did you say Fifth Avenue and Seventy-Second?”
Catherine dropped the arm holding the remote to her side and gave her a stern look, “It’s not funny, Jordan.”
“I’m sorry, but come on;” Jordan gestured dismissively, “that’s funny.” Catherine was silent and she added, “I mean, it’s funny weird that I was just recently standing on the park side of that corner where Jeffers’s minion took a pot shot at me… and not… funny, ha ha.” She finished lamely and cleared her throat, “Sorry.”
Catherine turned back to the screen, “Over the course of the following five years he bought four more lots adjacent to his. On that huge chunk, he built the Lynch Mansion, five stories high and one hundred and twenty-five rooms. There were four art galleries on the ground floor he opened to the public every Saturday and three libraries on the second…” Her voice faded and she shook her head, “Just look at the list of amenities this place had for a family of three people.”
Jordan scanned the list, “A storage room for furs?”
“And a special closet for boxes of cigars, a hundred-foot long billiard room with eight tables, two ballrooms, a morning room that faced east and a railroad spur…”
“A what?”
“Like a branch off the main line, it brought coal directly to the mansion. More than one architect worked on the design over the years so the style was a gothic Italian Renaissance mess, and if you look closely,” she pointed the laser at the black and white photo, “you can see the exterior was littered with cherubs, lions, angels…”
Jordan squinted at the screen, incredulous, “Is that a mermaid?”
“Probably…” Catherine sounded sad, “This was Helga’s childhood home until her father died and she and her mother bought the apartment on Fifth Avenue and Seventy-Seventh Street.” Her voice faded and she stared at the screen.
“What?”
“Well,” she shrugged, “look at that place. Joseph called it his castle, his critics called it Lynch’s Lunacy, but Helga grew up in that house and look at the two types of carriages parked on the side there,” She circled them with the laser, “See? A horse-drawn carriage and a horseless carriage, which is what they were called until the word automobile entered our vocabulary.
When Helga Lynch was born Teddy Roosevelt was president, only white men were allowed to vote and World War I was still nine years in the future, and when she died this country had elected its first African American president and she had lived through two world wars, the civil rights movement, the moon landing… and women’s suffrage.” She gestured impotently, “Did she ever vote? When did she become a recluse? The world changed so much during her lifetime… was she aware of it, tucked away in her mansions and lavish apartment?” She shrugged and walked over to sit beside Jordan, “If she hid from it all, then, how sad.”
“Money does funny things to people.” Jordan said quietly, “I can’t imagine inheriting that kind of wealth… Who could she trust? Look how much she gave away, her lawyer said anyone who came to her with a story got a check, maybe she felt like she had to hide from everything and everyone.”
“Yeah…” Catherine agreed. “Anyway… her father spent ten million building his castle and after he died in 1924 it sold for less than four.”
“Wow,” Jordan exclaimed, looking back at the photo, “why so little?”
“It was considered too big and expensive to maintain so it was sold to a property developer. The proceeds were divided equally among the children from his first marriage and Helga. It was torn down and now you have the apartment building you see there today.”
Jordan’s phone rang and she pulled it from her jacket pocket, “Stewart?”
“Are you still here in the building?”
“Uh… yeah?”
“Look, there’s a badass snowstorm that’s gonna hit the city in the next couple of hours, those of us who can leave and go home are getting’ the hell outta’ Dodge, can you and Doctor Bernard work from home for a couple days? Cuz’ if you don’t leave right now you’re gonna’ get stuck here.”
Millburn, NJ
Jordan left the bedroom lights off and stared out the window, watching as snow began falling in the moonlight. Since their work was digital, she and Catherine grabbed their devices and Cameron and headed home, just ahead of the snowstorm that moved steadily up the eastern seaboard.
“Hey,” Catherine closed their bedroom door behind her, “ready for bed?”
Jordan felt arms slide around her waist and she draped an arm around the petite shoulders, “With you next to me, always.”
Catherine snickered and pressed close, “It’s gonna’ to make one helluva’ mess,” she said, watching the snow, “but it is beautiful isn’t it?”
Jordan nodded, “Absolutely… we have the generators in the garage and plenty of supplies for a few days. If the phone lines stay up we’ll be able to get some work done.” She grinned down at her, “Being snowed in sounds more like a winter vacation to me.”
“Well then, Agent Hawkins…” Catherine pushed down the pajama bottoms Jordan wore and slid her hands over bare skin, “maybe we could get busy before we get to work…” Jordan’s grin was wicked and in one smooth motion, she swept the petite form into her arms and stepping out of the pajama bottoms pooled around her ankles, carried her to the bed. “Jordan!” She sputtered, “Are you crazy? Put me down…!” Obediently, Jordan placed her on the bed and laying on top her, placed a kiss in her mouth but Catherine pushed on her shoulders, “Have you lost your mind?”
“I’ve been working out…” Jordan husked, nipping at the soft skin of Catherine’s neck.
“I’m…” she sputtered, “I… Jesus, Jordan you could’ve hurt yourself; your neck and shoulder…”
“Are just fine…” she planted her lips over Catherine’s and smiled, feeling her relax beneath her and melt into the embrace. The kiss lasted for long minutes until she finally pulled away, “I’m sorry, by the way...” She apologized, “I’m sorry I laughed when you told me the Lynch mansion was built on the same corner where Patton tried to shoot me.”
Catherine tucked long dark tresses behind finely sculpted ears, “I wasn’t mad at you, I just…”
“That was a bad day, but it’s important to me that you don’t demonize that corner, Catherine, it’s just a place.”
“I know.”
“And I still owe you a make-out lunch in the park… what if I want to walk from that corner up Terrace Drive to the Bethesda fountain so I can make-out with you there?”
Catherine looked suddenly shy, “You know I’d go with you…”
She smiled and rolled onto her back, pulling Catherine on top, “I think that sounds like a date then.”
The trio spent the morning watching cartoons and playing Chutes and Ladders and Candyland and after lunch, when Cameron settled on the couch surrounded by his toys and books, Jordan and Catherine sat at the dining table across the room, busy at their laptops.<
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“Check your inbox…” Catherine muttered while her fingers flew over the keys.
“Okay…” Jordan clicked open her email and opened the mail Catherine sent her, “What’s this?”
“It’s a link to some interesting information the surrogacy advocate just sent me.”
Jordan clicked the link and waited while the page filled, “It’s a miracle we still have electricity and broadband.”
Catherine snorted, “I know, I’m glad I had cash to pay the neighbor kid to use his dad’s snowplow on the driveway.”
Jordan grinned, “You’re always one step ahead of me Doctor Bernar…” Her voice faded as she read, “Wow, really?”
“Oh yes, Helga’s two wills were signed two weeks apart, right? Now, while her previous and current attorneys always noted in her client file how many times they tried to get her to write a will over the decades, when she finally did, the surrogacy advocate writes in her notes that the circumstances under which both were signed…”
“Jeez,” Jordan shook her head and read aloud, “The ceremony that transpired for the signing of the second will of an elderly person with hundreds of millions of dollars was unethical to say the least; a nurse who just happened to be passing by was pulled in by the privately employed nurse, Hannah Babcock, to be a witness. He said Babcock helped the old lady hold the pen although the other witness, Stacy Keenan, William Stiger’s secretary, denies this.” She looked across the table at Catherine.
“The first will was four pages long,” she pointed at her screen, “in it she left everything to her father’s descendants from his first marriage, they would have gotten her money anyway since she had no siblings or children, but she also left an additional five million to Hannah. She notes Stiger insisted the first will was a stepping-stone, and Helga revised her list of beneficiaries over the next two weeks, so in the second will she excluded her father’s descendants entirely and included friends… she also left money to Bellosanturaio, the dance theater and Hannah's gift tripled.” She gestured, clearly exasperated, “And the list goes on…”
Jordan sighed, “I know, but I’ve been skimming through her medical records and her doctor wrote in his notes for those weeks that Helga’s mind was sharp.”
Catherine scoffed, “But was it?”
“Well, there’s no way to know now.”
“Regardless, I can smell the lawsuits being written up even as we sit here.”
“Oh, I have no doubt…” Jordan agreed and they fell silent again, save for the sounds of clicking keys on their laptops. Half an hour passed when Jordan’s brows rose high, disappearing beneath dark bangs, “Oh, for god’s sake.”
“What?”
“I’m running everybody through the bureau’s database, and guess who popped up as a registered sex offender?”
Catherine sounded incredulous, “A sex offender?”
“Helga’s accountant, Carroll Campbell.”
“Lord.” Catherine looked over her shoulder at Cameron.
Jordan quickly sent her the link, “Sign in with my user name and password.”
She did and her brows arched too, “Multiple offences over… oh my, seven months for engaging underage girls online in conversation of an explicit sexual nature, attempting to arrange for a sexual encounter with a thirteen year old… and that’s when he got caught.”
“Sex therapy has been ongoing ever since as part of his parole...” Jordan’s voice faded as she continued reading. “Oh, for chrissakes!” She hissed under her breath, “See that link at the bottom for professional censures?”
Catherine clicked on it, “Yes…”
“There’s a reference to undue influence, and when you click it…”
Catherine’s eyes quickly scanned the text while Jordan spoke and she looked at her over their laptops, “When Marvin Womack retired, both Helga’s new lawyer and her accountant were included in his will… I don’t need the D.A. to tell me that qualifies as a massive conflict of interest.”
“When Marvin died his wife inherited their primary residence but Stiger and Campbell inherited money and a second home and vacation house up in Manhasset. They were both arrested for criminal intent but the charges were reduced to undue influence and conflict of interest.”
“Like their defense?” Catherine rolled her eyes as she read along.
Jordan snorted, “You mean where they said they deserved the money and properties because they, acted like good sons to him?”
“At least the surrogate found in favor of the widow.”
“Yes, they got nothing that time,” Jordan sighed, “but how much are they holding their hands out for with Helga’s will? The fees will add up to millions.”
“Sounds like a great motivator to make sure she wrote one, regardless of who was named in it.”
New York City, NY
“How sad and… and…” Catherine’s voice faded and she simply sighed while she documented her findings for the missing jewelry from the bank where Helga and her father before her had kept money and valuables since the late 1800’s. The year before her death, Helga was notified that all of the jewelry being kept in their securities division was either stolen or lost, Everything her father gave to her and her mother… she thought, despondent, her mother’s gold wedding band, gone. Diamond bracelets from Cartier’s, hair combs and pins encrusted with sapphires. Necklaces and bracelets and rings of diamonds… pearls, emeralds… She shook her head, I could care less about expensive jewelry, but this list is so long… If nothing else, it must have broken her heart to lose the wedding ring her father gave her mother. She cross-referenced the missing jewelry in the subpoenaed lawyer’s records and found letters written between Helga’s last attorney, William Stiger and the bank. Stiger wrote how devastated and heartbroken Helga was at the loss of her mother’s jewelry and each time the bank responded with offers to conduct worldwide searches and offered to settle using Lloyd’s of London. All of which, Catherine’s lips pressed together in a thin line of annoyance, would have brought publicity, and Helga Lynch evidently valued her privacy above even that. She downloaded the letter from the bank’s chairman explaining that they would only reimburse Helga three million dollars, less than a third of the jewelry’s value.
Another letter caught her eye and she clicked it open, another from Helga’s bank informing her that someone cashed a check from an unused account for three hundred and twenty thousand dollars. She searched through the catalogued correspondence that followed, but all she could find was a letter from Stiger to the bank closing the account. Did she decide not to pursue any investigation in order to preserve her privacy there too? She scanned the correspondence again, Or did she even know about it?
Hannah Babcock had refused to talk to her, making her lawyer contact Jordan before agreeing to come to the bureau for an interview.
Jordan’s smile was professional and impersonal, “In here…” She held the door open for the petite Asian woman and her lawyer entering the interview room. She waved to the FBI technician who sat in the corner, ready to activate the multiple camera views sure to record every person seated at the table.
They sat at the table and Jordan nodded to the technician, “Are we recording?” He nodded and she turned back to the lawyer and Hannah Babcock, “Please identify yourself by stating your full name...”
“Hannah Babcock.”
“No middle name?”
“No.”
She gestured to the lawyer, “And you?”
“Patrick Stockwell, Missus Babcock’s attorney.”
Jordan identified herself, the date, the time and added, “This interview concerns Hannah Babcock’s relationship to Helga Lynch.”
The lawyer scoffed, “That’s a very broad scope, Agent Hawkins.”
“Yes it is, Mister Stockwell…” Her smile was humorless, “Missus Babcock, how long did you work for Helga Lynch?”
“Twenty-four years, until she die.”
“And how much money did she give you during that ti
me?” Jordan expected the lawyer to interrupt and was surprised when he didn’t.
“I don’t know, Madame was very generous.”
“She wrote you four hundred and sixty-seven personal checks to the tune of more than thirty-five million dollars, Hannah,” Jordan noted how her eyes flashed at the use of her first name. “Apart from those gifts she also paid you ninety dollars an hour.”
“Madame was kind and generous.” She said quietly, “I give my life to Madame.”
“Yes, I understand you worked twelve hour shifts seven days a week for years…”
“It’s true.”
“And it’s also true that in Helga’s first will she left you five million dollars, but by the time she signed her second that amount increased to fifteen.” Hannah and her lawyer were silent and Jordan continued, “The district attorney’s office has requested an investigation to determine whether Helga Lynch was unduly influenced by individuals preying on her for her money…” Hannah looked confused and she looked to her lawyer for clarification.
“She means you made her give you that money.”
“No!” She turned to Jordan, angry, “I never ask, she gave!”
“She wrote you hundreds of checks for tens of thousands of dollars, Hannah.” Jordan said, her voice quiet, “Sometimes she wrote you two or more checks in a single day, didn’t she?”
She shrugged and sat back in the chair, “So?”
“Were you afraid if you took a day off she would like the substitute better and fire you?”
Hannah’s face began to color but she answered calmly, “No, Susan, the night nurse got money too, not just me.”
Jordan wrote some notes on her tablet, noting privately that the woman did not fidget in the chair but she suddenly blurted,
“I give my life to Madame!”
“I know,” Jordan’s eyes flicked from the pad to her, “you said that already.”
“That doctor, Voger… he tried to get money from Madame, but she did not give him any.”
