Sasha placed a gentle hand on his chest to quell the shaking fury that was emanating from him in waves.
“I know all that, honey. But that’s not how the law works.”
“Of course it is.”
“No, it isn’t. Estate law is going to apply the documents as they exist unless Marsh and Will can come up with a compelling reason not to. And family law looks to the best interest of the child—” She held up a hand to forestall the objection forming on his lips.“— Before you even say it, the fact that Bricker is a demented sociopath isn’t determinative. There’s Pennsylvania precedent that holds a father who murdered his children’s mother is not necessarily an unfit parent. He was deemed not to present a risk to the kids. I’m not saying it’s right, I’m saying it’s the law.”
The anger blazing in Connelly’s gray eyes dimmed, replaced by sadness and worry.
“Are you saying Bricker’s going to get custody of the Bennett kids?”
“I’m saying I don’t know—I can’t know, because I don’t know how a court will view the fact that they have new identities.”
“This all assumes Bricker will even contest the documents Allison Bennett created, right? Or that he even could. He’s on the lam. He can’t set foot in a courtroom,” Connelly said forcefully.
“I hope that’s right. But let’s assume that he’s eventually recaptured and reincarcerated.”
“We don’t have to assume that; it’s going to happen. It’s just a matter of time.”
She answered carefully. “Okay, when that happens, he’ll be in prison, but he’ll be able to try to control me. If I’m the trustee, I’m the only one standing between him and his kids’ money. He can toy with me, filing objections to the decisions I make. I’ll have no choice but to engage with him.”
The words hung on the air between them, heavy.
“We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” Connelly insisted even though he had no basis for his certainty.
“Okay, let’s leave that aside for the time being. The kids are minors. Who’s going to act as their guardian, assuming Bricker is prison? Allison’s will doesn’t appoint one.”
“Why not? Why did she go through all the trouble of drawing up documents and not name a guardian?”
Sasha considered the question.
“She drew up powers of attorney, too, with no names. Probably because it’s a really big decision. She couldn’t name a relative—or really anyone she’d known more than a couple months, tops. She probably was hoping to find a friend in North Carolina who she clicked with, develop a relationship, and then amend the documents. I mean, you can’t just add six kids to someone’s life on a whim.”
“True.”
“Plus, she probably wasn’t sure how WITSEC played into that decision. I mean, if she named a neighbor, would WITSEC have enrolled that person into the program—how’s that work?”
Connelly searched her face for a long moment.
“I’m not sure what WITSEC would do. When the chief of police came back from his vacation this morning, he called the inspector assigned to Allison Bennett.”
“And?”
He coughed into his fist. “And it doesn’t sound like they’re too happy that the kids were moved up here without anyone consulting them. The inspector and his supervisor are coming up here tomorrow to meet with Hank about it. He asked me to keep an eye on the kids while they’re meeting.”
“Wait. The rental house, all that furniture—Hank did that all on his own?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you think WITSEC will do?”
“I literally have no idea. Protocol would be to move them again, assign them yet another set of new identities. I guess they’ll want to act as de facto guardian, at least for now.”
Her heart sank at the thought of those kids, still reeling from their mother’s death, being spirited away yet again.
“They can’t do that, Connelly.”
The worry in his eyes mirrored her own.
“We’ll do what we can to stop it.”
“What if we can’t?”
From the way he set his jaw, she knew what his response would be before he answered.
“I will.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Tuesday night—Wednesday morning
Leo sat on the edge of the bed and watched his wife sleep. Focusing on her gentle, even breathing slowed his pulse, even as his mind continued to race.
I will.
The statement had flown from his mouth before he’d had a chance to consider what it meant, but now it had the weight and ring of a promise. A vow, not unlike the vows he and Sasha had exchanged in front of a moonlit ocean just hours after Bricker’s failed attempt to abduct them.
The ache in his chest when he thought of the six kids who’d lost so much in such a short time convinced him that it was the right decision—even though he had no idea what it entailed.
Sasha hadn’t reacted to his vow. She’d just stared at him for a long moment with worry filling her green eyes.
He rose to his feet and crept soundlessly across the exposed wood floor. He pressed his forehead against the cool window pane and searched the dark night. He didn’t know what he was looking for. Bricker hiding in the shrubbery?
He shook his head to rid it of the ridiculous image and turned toward the stairs. If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well do something productive. He padded down the stairs to the kitchen, dodging the cat, who darted from the bed, hoping to score a midnight snack.
He sprinkled some treats on the counter for Java and poured himself a glass of water. While he waited for his laptop to complete its startup routine, he sipped the water and scrolled through his new emails on his phone. Nothing urgent.
He snagged his key chain from the small drawer near the sink and activated the wireless security fob. When the small white light blinked, he rolled his index finger across the sensor window and waited for the biometric program to recognize his fingerprint and provide a one-time password. As the digits and letters scrolled across the thumbnail-sized screen he copied them into the password field on his laptop screen.
A cheerful blip informed him that he was in.
He returned the key chain to its spot for safekeeping. Hank encouraged him to simply attach his house and car keys to the thing and carry it around but Leo regarded the device with equal parts awe and suspicion, so back in the drawer it went.
He navigated to the link Hank had set up for the Allison Bennett matter and scrolled through the files in the folder. As Hank received official reports from the local police and from within the various federal agencies working the matter, he placed copies in the folder. Leo was certain Hank wasn’t authorized to share the documents, but Hank operated in a world where authorization was honored in the breach.
He scanned the files, looking for the most recent documents. The Department of Justice had drafted a memo in advance of WITSEC’s meeting with Hank.
He grinned. Leave it to the government to be so compartmentalized and feudal that Hank had been able to get someone to fork over a copy of the secret memo prepared to lay out WITSEC’s strategy for a meeting with him.
He double-clicked on the PDF. His grin morphed into a soft groan when the document opened. Apparently, Justice was paying its lawyers by the word. Eighty-six single-spaced pages? Some junior lawyer hadn’t slept since the murder.
He snuck a longing gaze at the coffee maker, but decided against brewing a pot. As much as he’d like to tackle the memo with a steaming mug of caffeine in hand, he knew Sasha too well: as soon as the smell of fresh coffee wafted upstairs, she’d be awake and out of bed. She needed to sleep. He’d make do with water.
The dense memo was marked “Not for External Distribution.” Despite its wordiness, it was a riveting read. The author began with an executive summary of the issues raised by Allison Bennett’s death, the history of WITSEC, and a recommended course of action. The next section laid out the same points in greater detail, with suppor
t from federal legislation and legislative history and some federal case law, which the drafter took pains to note was not directly on point.
The memo focused on the central question that Sasha had raised during their walk to the park: what were the government’s rights and responsibilities with regard to the Bennett children in light of the murder of their mother?
It laid out the possible scenarios and determined that the Marshal’s Service probably had no legal right to keep the children in the witness protection program. The memo went on to advise that if the children wished to stay in the program, the Justice Department should take the position that they could do so. The author acknowledged—in a footnote set out in font so tiny that Leo had to squint to read it—that the Bennett children were not entitled by statute to remain in the program once the protected witness (their mother) had exited it, either voluntarily or otherwise, but urged that, in light of the situation, the government owed the motherless children a moral duty, if not a legal one.
And, apparently, not unaware that counseling his employer to do the right thing was a losing argument, the author cited the possibility of a public relations disaster and politically motivated scandal if the public learned that the kids had been unceremoniously dumped after the government had failed to live up to its promise to protect their mother.
The final assessment was that the Marshal’s Service should offer to immediately relocate the Bennett children into foster care, perhaps with families already participating in the program. If they declined and chose to leave the program, then the U.S. government could take the position that it had done all it could to assist them.
He sat back and blinked at the screen as if that would change the words. WITSEC’s plan was to offer to split up the kids and farm them out to mafioso informers and drug dealers scattered across the country, knowing full well the offer would be rejected.
He was so stunned that he didn’t hear Sasha descending the steps.
“What are you doing up?” she asked from the kitchen.
He jumped, startled by her voice, and hurried to close Adobe.
“Geez, you scared me. I couldn’t sleep. You?”
He glanced at the laptop screen, which now displayed the list of files within the Bennett folder. He casually eased the lid shut. He was surprised to see how much time had passed. It was nearly five a.m.
She noted his sneakiness with a knowing look but didn’t comment on it.
“Java leapt onto my face. Kind of hard to sleep through that sort of battery.”
She smiled sleepily and flipped the switch to turn on the coffee maker then crossed the room to join him in the living room. She arched her back from side to side then stretched her arms over her head, one then the other.
He gave her his full attention for his favorite part of her morning stretching routine—the deep back bend she pulled off as if it were effortless.
She brought herself back to upright in one fluid motion.
“What?” she asked.
“What what?”
“You’re staring at me.”
He let a lazy smile play across his face. “Just enjoying the view.”
“Uh, oh.”
He loved that he could still fluster his wife.
“Anyway, what are you working on?” she asked.
He stood up and tilted her chin up to meet his gaze.
“You wouldn’t be changing the subject, now, would you, Counselor?” he asked.
She grinned and fluttered her eyelashes. “You wouldn’t be trying to distract me, now, would you, Agent Connelly?”
He burst out laughing, louder than their banter warranted, but it felt good to laugh after all the worry and tension of the past few days.
“Guilty as charged.”
She shook her head and clucked her tongue in mock disapproval.
“Why don’t I pour us some coffee and meet you back in bed to confer about this matter in more detail?”
“I think that’s a good plan. Why don’t we skip the coffee?” he suggested as he strode up the stairs.
“Bite your tongue,” she ordered as she pulled two mugs down from the cabinet.
“I’d rather not. I have other plans for it,” he tossed over his shoulder.
Peals of laughter erupted from within the kitchen.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Wednesday
Bricker flexed his hands to keep them loose and shook his legs to ease the cramping. The McCandless woman worked long hours, and he wasn’t as young as he used to be. He dearly hoped she had a court appointment or a workout scheduled so he could move around some.
He settled back on his bench and considered his options once more.
He didn’t have time to watch her for weeks on end to learn her patterns and routines. Waiting for her to let her guard down was also a useless plan—she was too alert to wander around inattentively. And, more often than not, she traveled with her husband glued to her side.
He was either going to have to get lucky or find someone to help him.
Bricker was of the view that relying on luck was a loser’s plan, so he resolved to reach out to the Westmoreland County preppers who’d transported him from Bridgeville to Pittsburgh.
He settled back against the rusting dumpster behind her office building and trained his eyes on the pair of windows that he knew were hers. He wished, not for the first time, that he had been able to get his hands on a decent pair of binoculars in his travels. He missed his military-grade Steiners.
McCandless flitted by the window, her long hair streaming behind her, in an evident hurry. Two other figures—male, otherwise nondescript, followed her.
He leaned forward in anticipation. Maybe something was finally going to happen.
He risked exposure to adjust his position so that he could see both the rear door and the main entrance to the building.
He heard the metal door scraping open and pressed himself against the building’s side wall.
He caught the middle of a conversation as McCandless, Volmer, and a stranger stepped out onto the gravel parking lot.
“…unusual for a probate court to grant a hearing this quickly, even on an emergency petition.”
Volmer nodded, serious and focused, at what the stranger was saying.
The new man had to be another lawyer. He could have passed for Volmer’s brother, Bricker thought as he crept along the wall and tracked the trio to the Passat he recognized as McCandless’ vehicle.
He strained to get a better look. Two tall, thin men. Late middle-aged. Well-made suits. Conservative ties. Expensive trial bags. Steel-rimmed glasses. Forget brothers; they could have been twins.
McCandless walked between them. She was a good foot shorter than both men, but as usual she kept her head on a swivel. Left, right, repeat. She set the brisk pace.
The other two walked along obliviously.
Soft targets.
But, unfortunately, he needed to hit her, not them.
“Why do you think the judge set the hearing so fast? It’s not as though he had time to have a law clerk research all the issues you raised. And they’re clearly issues of first impression,” Volmer asked.
The other man shrugged while McCandless activated her car’s keyless entry feature.
“Judge Kumpar is a solid jurist. I’m sure he recognizes the need to act quickly to sort out the effect of the witness protection program on the disposition of the Bennett estate.”
The three lawyers slid into the car while Bricker tried to stay steady on his feet.
Witness protection program? The Bennett estate?
His face grew hot, and his vision swam.
Was that little witch representing Anna’s estate?
His surprise was short-lived, the shock turning to renewed fury.
He had to get to the courthouse and figure out a way to learn what happened during this hearing. It would be far too great a risk for him to walk into the courtroom, so he’d need to find an ally. Unfortunately, Pittsburgh�
��s urban prepper movement was heavy on attention-hungry dilettantes but light on true believers. His months on the run had taught him that the next best thing to a real survivalist was a homeless man of certain age and bearing—usually a Vietnam vet.
As McCandless eased the car along the uneven lot, he shrank back between the buildings and fumbled for his wallet. He’d spent the night at the city bus depot, thanks to a friend of the movement. He’d liberated a fistful of bus passes and committed the city bus routes to memory before he left. At the time, he’d had the idle thought that if a man wanted to drive home the point that government was a sham, nothing but a mirage, wreaking havoc on a municipality’s public transportation system was an effective way to do so. Once he had taken care of his personal business, perhaps he could return to spreading the movement’s message.
McCandless & Volmer’s law offices were located just above the EBO, or East Busway, a dedicated express track for trips from the city’s East End to Downtown. He ran along a short alley, hopped a low wall, and vaulted down the cement steps to the busway below. A handful of late commuters milled at the stop with their heads bent over their various smartphones. The only traveler not distracted by her Facebook feed or the latest headlines and not on a quest to bust bubbles, gather gems, or otherwise anesthetize herself from the world had her hands full with two small children in a double stroller.
Bricker had been railing against the mass adoption of technological opiates for more than a decade, but, at this moment, he was profoundly grateful for their addictive nature. None of these people would notice him, let alone be able to describe him. And the mother, with what appeared to be a jelly handprint on her blouse, was too busy trying to keep the curly-haired girl from climbing out of the stroller while simultaneously replacing the soft-soled shoes her twin brother delighted in kicking off his feet.
He was invisible.
A silver bus pulled up alongside the concrete shelter, and the driver opened the doors with a whoosh of compressed air. As the waiting group stowed their devices in pockets, purses, and bags, Bricker sidestepped the woman struggling with the stroller and flashed the one-zone pass at the driver.
Irrevocable Trust (Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller Book 6) Page 8
