While Justice Sleeps

by Stacey Abrams

  “Of course.” He nodded solemnly. “Justice Wynn left careful instructions, and I’m sure we can figure out what needs to be done as his guardian.”

  Avery stopped, turned. “That’s just it,” she said bluntly. “I don’t want to be in charge.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s simple, Mr. Fox. I quit.”

  TWENTY

  Noah Fox ushered Avery into a small conference room. The table had been stacked with the compendium of Justice Wynn’s estate planning. “Ms. Keene, are you sure this is what you want?”

  “It’s what I intend to do,” she corrected, wandering to the opposite side of the table. A bottle of water had been put on a blotter, along with a pen. “I want to relinquish my authority and assign it to Chief Justice Teresa Roseborough, effective immediately. She’s known Justice Wynn for a long time, and she is better suited to make his medical decisions.”

  Her first thought had been to give it to Jared, but the FBI already suspected the two of them of conspiring together. The Chief was above reproach. A perfect solution. “Can you draft the appropriate documents today? I can wait here to sign them.”

  “You truly want to refuse guardianship?”

  “Yes,” she insisted, starting to believe it herself. What he’d asked cost too much. “I am rejecting his power of attorney.”

  Across the glass-topped table, the silence lengthened. Finally, Noah replied, “I’m sorry, Ms. Keene. You can’t transfer guardianship to Chief Roseborough.”

  Avery frowned. “Why not?”

  “Justice Wynn made strict provisions for his care. In the event you fail to serve as his legal guardian, Mrs. Turner-Wynn takes control.”

  “Celeste? No, he couldn’t have intended to do that. She can’t have guardianship.”

  “She can if you refuse to accept the power of attorney.”

  “She’ll kill him.”

  “If Mrs. Turner-Wynn chooses to remove Justice Wynn from life support, unless the doctors offer a medical reason to stop her, it’s her choice.”

  But if I don’t do something to allay the suspicions of the FBI and Homeland Security, I’ll lose everything, Avery reminded herself. All to save a dead man. “There’s got to be a way, Mr. Fox. Some loophole.”

  “There isn’t. One of the papers I was planning to review with you is the conditional addendum to his power of attorney. The addendum clearly states that if you refuse to accept power of attorney, Celeste Turner-Wynn controls.”

  “Why would he do this? He didn’t trust her.” Even as she spoke, she knew why. Choosing Celeste was intentional, the bastard. Serve or be damned.

  “He was very insistent about these provisions. Tore up a dozen drafts.” Noah hadn’t understood what Justice Wynn’s endgame was, but he’d speculated—as had the other attorneys privy to the rash of documents Justice Wynn had signed in the past six months. A labyrinth of codicils and durable powers of attorney, each with a different name, a different objective. Until late January, when a new name appeared. Avery Keene.

  Justice Wynn wasn’t Noah’s favorite client, not with his penchant for biting remarks. Assigned to Wynn as a third-year in the firm’s trust and estates group, Noah had been thrilled about the coup. Until their first encounter. The memory of Wynn suggesting Noah had won his law degree at a county fair still grated. He’d discovered then that serving Howard Wynn was the T&E group’s version of hazing. Survive him, and you’d be on your way to partnership.

  * * *

  —

  Noah recalled their last meeting, which had taken place in a conference room down the hall. Already prepared for the occasion, he’d removed a sheaf of papers the size of a halved encyclopedia. Only forty of the pages belonged to Justice Wynn’s original will. The rest had been built of numerous codicils, taunts, and jeers to be delivered from beyond the grave. Today’s revision would become the latest codicil to the last will and testament of Mr. Howard Wynn.

  “Shall we start at the beginning?”

  “No time for that,” Wynn barked. “The nosy witch will return soon to ferry me home. I don’t trust her.”

  “Your wife, sir?” Noah hadn’t expected her at the office and would need to give her name to security. A driver had deposited him and waited outside. “When will she be arriving, sir?”

  “I said witch, not harlot,” Justice Wynn corrected acidly. “I don’t know if she works for me or not.”

  Noah felt a tendril of unease. Legally, Justice Wynn could not change his will again if he showed signs of dementia. “Sir, does who work for you?” he inquired gently.

  “Nurse Lewis, you brass-plated charlatan. The harridan that nips at my heels until I send her off to fetch something or other,” he explained angrily. “The blasted woman sneaks about my house, prying into my every closet and secret. It’s not right that a man be reduced to hiding his secrets from himself.”

  “From yourself?”

  Justice Wynn’s eyes flashed with impatience. “Will you continue to repeat everything I say? If so, you might as well return to your cubbyhole. I’m not paying usury rates for a parrot.”

  “I’m just trying to make sure I understand what you want, Mr. Justice.”

  “I haven’t asked for your understanding,” he retorted. Shifting in the conference room chair, he thumped padded leather with his balled fist. “You can’t possibly comprehend the machinery of justice and the lengths to which others will go to thwart it. Therefore, you’d do well to keep your puerile mind focused on the small tasks I assign to you. Take my dictation, fancy it up with the words that will earn your five hundred and twenty an hour, and then bring the documents to me for signature.”

  Noah repressed the urge to snipe back. As much as he wanted to tell Justice Wynn to go to hell, the man had upped his billable hours by a quarter in the last six months. Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, he probed, “What exactly do you want to change?”

  “First of all, I need to execute a durable power of attorney. And I will require a backup, in case she refuses to act.”

  * * *

  —

  They’d spent three hours in conference, changing the will and setting up contingencies for contingencies. During that time, Noah had learned more about trust and estates law than he’d ever gained in the classroom or on the job. By the end of the night, the documents produced had been presented to Justice Wynn for signature and witness. Later, Noah had speculated with his best friend in corporate about the relationship the justice had with his clerk.

  Now, sitting with the woman in question, he felt he possibly understood the justice’s choice. Avery Keene wasn’t magazine beautiful, but with her wildly curling hair, lush mouth, and sharp green eyes, she had the striking looks that men of any age fell prey to upon sight.

  “Ms. Keene, Justice Wynn gave me specific instructions to provide for only two options. Either you agree to serve as his guardian in all matters or the privilege goes to his estranged wife. I asked about using his son or a close friend, but he refused.”

  “His son hates him, and he has few close friends.”

  “So he said.”

  “What about Jared? Can he sue for guardianship, if I support his claim?”

  “No. I’m sorry, Ms. Keene, but—”

  “Avery.”

  “Avery,” he repeated dutifully. “Jared Wynn can sue, but if he does and you fail to object, guardianship is awarded to Celeste.”

  “There has to be a way around it,” Avery argued stubbornly. “The courts can certainly consider whether Jared is fit, and they can stay any action by Celeste.”

  “It’s not that simple. My obligation is to abide by the judge’s wishes. He didn’t ask for his son or the chief justice. He asked for you. Even if you refuse or Jared sues and you don’t protest, then I am obliged to represent Mrs. Turner-Wynn.” He paused, then added, “We’re quite good at
this, Ms. Keene, and so is Justice Wynn.”

  Frustrated, Avery stared at the papers arrayed across the table. He couldn’t have thought of everything. “Exactly what is in here? What documents did Justice Wynn ask you to draft?”

  He reached for a labeled stack. “Here’s the durable power of attorney. The one he signed in January.”

  Avery barely glanced at the now-familiar document. “I’ve seen it. What else?”

  “His last will and testament. Basically, he names Jared as the primary beneficiary.”

  “That’s all?” She placed her hand on the tall stack of pages. “It doesn’t take this much paper to give his estate to his son. What else does it say?”

  Noah sighed. “The justice had done several versions of his will during his lifetime. The original one designated his first wife as the beneficiary. Then he added a codicil after Jared was born. When he wrote his autobiography, he placed the proceeds in trust.” He lifted a set of papers and put them in the growing pile. “Next, he gave his wife’s fortune to Jared after she died. According to our files, he disclaimed his portion, and the entire estate passed to Jared.” He’d read the woman’s will a dozen times himself. “The first Mrs. Wynn left her family more than ten million dollars and several pieces of property. Justice Wynn gave everything to Jared, except for a house in Georgia.”

  He cut his son off at the age of eleven, leaving him to be raised by his aunt, using his mother’s money, Avery realized grimly. “When did Jared become his beneficiary?”

  Pulling up the next codicil, Noah responded, “Five years ago.”

  Avery quickly did the math. That would have been around the time Jared received his medical discharge from the Navy. “Which codicil was this?”

  “Number thirteen. In between, he periodically would select a random charity as his new recipient.” He flipped through the pages. “The ACLU. La Raza. The NAACP. The United Farm Workers of America. The Boys and Girls Clubs. You name a charity, and it has found itself inside one of these codicils.”

  Avery skimmed the list. “He’s kept you busy.”

  “I could make partner on his hours alone,” Noah muttered. He looked up at Avery and felt a moment’s chagrin. “Anyway, once he named Jared as primary beneficiary, he continued to add charities to his list.”

  “Any discernible pattern?”

  Noah admitted, “I did a chart once, when I first got his file. Every group that lost a case in a decision where he dissented—he’s placed them in his will.”

  “Really?”

  “Each year, he creates a new codicil adding those organizations he thinks were robbed by the Court. Fifteen codicils.”

  “What about Mrs. Turner-Wynn? Is she in one of the codicils?”

  “No.” Noah shuffled the documents together. “If Jared predeceases his father, the entire estate is equally divided among the organizations in his will, with a substantial stipend to his executor, which is you. His wife inherits nothing.”

  One more nail, Avery thought despondently. “Does she know?”

  “I doubt it.” He explained, “She came storming in here yesterday, after you met at the hospital. Demanded to see his estate papers. When I refused, she threatened to have me fired.”

  “Has she ever been in the will?”

  “No.” Noah folded his hands on the table, coming at last to his final revelation. “But there is a problem, Avery.”

  “What is it?”

  Sliding codicil number twenty-eight across the table, he turned to the page that had troubled him and a senior T&E partner. “I’ve got his original will and testament and twenty-seven codicils, including this last one.”

  “Twenty-seven? This says number twenty-eight.”

  “Number twenty-seven is missing. Although he had us refer to it in number twenty-eight, I didn’t draft it, and I’ve never seen it.” He indicated the paragraph that had caused an uproar when he’d shown the partners Justice Wynn’s latest revisions. “He references a codicil that directs the actions of his attorneys in case of a catastrophic event. When I inquired about what he meant, he told me to mind my own damned business and do as he dictated.”

  “Did he give you any clue about where the codicil was located?”

  “Yes. One.” Noah caught her quizzical look and held it steadily. “He told me that you’d know where it was. And when the time was right, you’d give it to us.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  While Avery absorbed the news, her cell phone beeped. “Excuse me.” She glanced at the screen but did not recognize the number. “Hello?”

  “Did you get my present?” Nigel asked. “I thought you might need a little incentive to stay in the game. Hope the funds help.”

  Avery hurried to the far end of the conference room. “What in the hell were you thinking?”

  “I thought your reluctance might be mitigated by financial incentive.”

  “Whoever you are—because of your ‘gift,’ I’m under investigation by the FBI,” she explained harshly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Now they think I’m conspiring with someone to do harm to Justice Wynn.”

  “You didn’t seem gung ho about your assignment, Avery. Keeping Howard Wynn alive is of critical importance to a great many people. We simply require assurance that you will hold the line until we determine the best course of action. I may also require some intelligence gathering.”

  “I don’t work for you.”

  “According to what I’ve heard, you don’t work for the Court anymore either. Let’s be clear. Administrative leave is the least of your worries.”

  “I have no control over his vote,” she insisted. “I can’t help you.”

  “You don’t know what I want yet.”

  “And I don’t care. I’m relinquishing the power of attorney. His wife will have guardianship.”

  “You won’t do that.”

  “Why not? Because of you, I’ve lost my job and possibly my reputation.”

  “No, I’ve merely put them in jeopardy,” he corrected smoothly. “If you cooperate, you’ll emerge from this period with a shiny halo and a healthy bank account.”

  “All I want is to practice law, which you’ve now made all but impossible.”

  “You protect Justice Wynn and tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make sure you never have to work another day in your life.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t you owe him your loyalty?”

  The echo of her conversation with Justice Wynn tightened her hand on the phone. “What I decide to do is between me and Justice Wynn. Take your money back and leave me the hell alone.”

  “Keep Justice Wynn alive and stay out of trouble, and we’ll all be happy.”

  “Go to hell.” She cut off the call and pressed a hand to her throat.

  “Everything okay?” Noah asked as she returned to his side of the room.

  Avery waved the question off. “Did he have any other instructions?”

  Noah reached into the pile of items. A beige envelope had been clasped and taped, and the seal carried Wynn’s scrawl to certify that nothing had been tampered with during its stay at the offices of Lowry Kihneman. “This should have the keys to his town house. Codes for the door and the safe should be inside as well. Perhaps the codicil is in the safe.”

  “Maybe,” she replied noncommittally. She had no idea what Justice Wynn meant or what he thought she knew. But apparently, he enjoyed having her operate in the dark with her hands tied behind her back. “Is there anything else?”

  “I have made copies of the wills and other documents for you.” He pointed to a small blue-and-white box on the carpeted floor. “It also has miscellaneous contracts and agreements he’s executed through the firm. I’d planned to go over them with you as well.”

  “Another time, maybe.” She reached for the envelope. If the contents got her
inside Wynn’s house, she could look for answers. Nothing prevented her from reneging tomorrow. One more day. “I appreciate you meeting me today, Noah. My apologies for the melodrama.”

  “You’ve had a shock. We had no idea he hadn’t told you.” He stood and shifted a sheet across the blotter. “I’ll need you to sign this form indicating that you’ve agreed to accept the responsibility for holding his power of attorney subject to the terms and conditions I’ve laid out. Take your time.”

  Without a word, Avery read the simple form and scribbled her signature above the words Legal Guardian.

  As she signed, she reminded herself that she wasn’t lying to him. Any good lawyer understood that a signature could be undone. Once she saw what was inside Wynn’s safe, she’d make her choice.

  She laid the pen on the conference table. “Can you hold the box here until later? I have some errands to run, and I’m traveling by cab.”

  “Sure.” Noah fished in his pocket and removed a business card. “Avery, I know this must be very difficult to absorb all at once. I hope you’ll call me if you have any questions.”

  Avery accepted the card with a short nod. “Thanks.”

  “Of course.” He rounded the table and led her out of the conference room to the elevator.

  The car dinged, and Avery stepped inside and pressed the button. “I appreciate your help. I’ll talk to you soon.” When the car reached the lobby, she walked out to the street to hail a taxi. “Georgetown, please. R and Wisconsin.”

  The cab pulled into traffic, and Avery tore open the envelope. A key ring fell into her lap, and she tugged out a single sheet of paper. The sheet had three sets of numbers scrawled across in Justice Wynn’s handwriting.

  Alarm: 9-1-8-7-4

  Safe: 2-5-7-1-1-6-3-8-2 (behind the Caro compendium)

  VGC: 3-1-0-7-7-4

  Avery folded the sheet and tucked it into her purse, then hefted the keys, toying with them. The cab deposited her in front of Justice Wynn’s town house. Avery entered and disengaged the alarm. Remembering her prior visits, she headed to the study. Books lined built-in shelves and rested on every flat surface. Intent on her task, she walked to the far west wall and scanned the titles there. Carefully, she removed Robert Caro’s weighty biographies and laid them on the hardwood floor.