Brent Marks Legal Thriller Series: Box Set Two

  Brent’s mouth dropped from the shock. He had been a little perturbed at Allen for standing him up, but he couldn’t have had a better excuse.

  “Dead? How?”

  “Suicide, apparently.”

  “Suicide? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “They found a suicide note.”

  Brent placed a phone call to Angela to let her know that he had to extend his stay in Los Angeles until the evening, and another call to Melinda, to ask her to email him a copy of Bekker’s will. He stopped at the FedEx Office on Wilshire Blvd. to print out the will, then headed straight to Bekker’s large sprawl on Mulholland Drive. As he arrived at the large driveway lined with tall palms, which was more like a private road than a driveway, he passed several police cars that were leaving. He pulled his blue Jaguar F-Type into the large circular courtyard and parked next to the tinkling fountain and the Coroner’s van, which had just been loaded with Allen’s body.

  Allen Bekker’s humble home was an impressive Tuscan mansion, with Roman columns of fine Italian marble. The tall, carved oak entry doors were open to the majestic polished travertine foyer littered with antique Italian furniture and sporting a magnificent polished marble staircase. A skinny woman in a tired grey business suit looked up at Brent as he walked in.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Brent Marks. I’m Mr. Bekker’s attorney and the Executor of his estate.”

  “In that case, you have your work cut out for you.”

  “I suppose I do.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I’m Greta Durning, from the Public Guardian’s office. We found a holographic will.”

  ***

  Brent arrived home exhausted. He went straight to his email, almost tripping over the cat, who tried to entwine herself between his moving legs, and pulled a copy of what the public guardian was calling a will and the police were calling a suicide note. On the surface of things, it could have qualified as both. It was entirely written in Bekker’s handwriting, signed and dated, and expressed testamentary intent, which was all that was required under California law for a holographic will or codicil. No witnesses were necessary, as they were for a formal will. But Brent couldn’t reconcile himself with the theory that Allen had committed suicide. That just didn’t seem like it was in his nature. He was too much of a fighter to give up so easily.

  The mob of Internet stalkers was already celebrating the news of Allen Bekker’s death, like the Munchkins celebrating the demise of the Wicked Witch of the East. It was interesting how speaking anonymously gave people the right to be crass; to bare their ugly inner thoughts to everyone without the responsibility of owning up to them.

  Bekker is dead! LMFAO – Flusher

  Becker commits suicide – put in your claims now – Truth Seeker.

  Brent turned his attention to the alleged holographic will. As he read it over and over, Calico mewed incessantly for her dinner, and when it appeared Brent was not paying attention to her, she increased the volume, jumped on his desk, and rubbed her face against his nose.

  “Okay, okay, I get the idea,” he said, petting the cat. As Brent rose, she made a spectacular leap off the desk and ran to the kitchen. All Brent saw was an orange and white blur.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Melinda poked her blonde head into Brent’s office and whispered, “Cruella De Vil’s here” and then left. Brent got up to greet Marcy Minton, whose claim to fame was that she was the largest individual customer of Louis Vuitton in the world. She was also Allen Bekker’s ex-wife. Melinda wasn’t kidding. Standing before him was almost six feet of snob, dressed in slinky designer logos with a Hermes bag and matching shoes. She was adorned in fur. Who wears fur in California? Marcy was with a young girl who, not long ago, had been a teenager, less spectacularly dressed, with dark hair and haunting doe eyes. Brent guessed her to be Allen’s daughter, Rebecca. Rebecca looked distraught, grieving, as opposed to her mother, who looked more like a shark preparing for a feeding frenzy. Brent wondered if she had brought more Hermes and Louis Vuitton bags with her in her car, to stuff full of Allen’s cash.

  “Hello, Mr. Marks, I’m Marcy Bekker (back to the married name),” said Cruella, holding out her hand to him like the Queen of Denmark. “And this is my daughter Rebecca, Allen’s only offspring.”

  Brent took the outstretched hand of his faux royal visitor. “My sincerest condolences to you both,” said Brent. “Please come in.” Brent stepped aside and motioned them into his inner office.

  Marcy strode in with her nose held high and slipped into the wooden chair opposite Brent’s desk. Rebecca looked uncomfortable and took the seat nearest to the door, perhaps planning an early escape.

  “Obviously, Mr. Marks, I am concerned for my daughter and her well-being. Allen had set up a generous trust fund for her higher education.”

  Obviously.

  “The trust should continue after his death until the probate has been settled. There’s no need to worry about it for now, Miss Bekker.”

  “Rebecca,” the girl corrected.

  “Rebecca. But there is a bit of a glitch about the will.”

  The corner of Marcy’s mouth twinged. She must have been concerned about the fate of her shopping sprees on Rodeo Drive and her trips to George V in Paris.

  “What kind of a glitch?” asked Marcy. Rebecca didn’t seem to be interested.

  “Well, the Public Guardian claims to have found a holographic will, which they say acts as a codicil and modifies Allen’s current will and purports to revoke the trust. But it doesn’t apply to you, Mrs. Bekker.”

  “Why not?”

  “Allen’s latest trust and will, before the alleged holographic one (if it is valid), gives everything in his estate to Rebecca. I’m afraid that his death terminates the spousal support that you have been receiving from him.”

  Marcy’s face went pale and it looked as if she would throw up.

  “All you alright, Ms. Bekker?”

  “Minton. I’m giving up the Bekker name, since the mother of Allen’s child didn’t seem to be important to him.”

  “Oh, mother,” sighed Rebecca. She was, apparently, accustomed to the drama; and besides, she needed to grieve. Lawyer’s offices are not so good for that.

  “Daddy wouldn’t have killed himself,” Rebecca said. “He loved himself too much.” Her sad, smoky eyes sparkled with tears.

  “I agree with you that suicide does not seem to be consistent with your father’s psychological profile. However, what they’re calling a suicide note also has implications for diverting almost all of his property away from your inheritance.”

  Rebecca seemed more curious than concerned as she reached for a Kleenex from her purse.

  “How’s that?”

  Brent spread the copy of the note across the desk.

  “Does this look like your father’s handwriting?”

  “Yes,” Rebecca said, as she read the note. “So, everything goes to the people who lost money in Daddy’s deals.”

  “Yes, if it is valid.”

  “Well, we have to challenge it! If he committed suicide he couldn’t have been of sound mind!” declared Marcy, holding on to the slippery remnants of what was left of Allen Bekker’s blank checkbook.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” said Brent. “It’s true that a suicidal person is not, ipso facto, a person of sound mind. But in testamentary law, to be competent to make a will, he only needs to be aware of his property, who his natural beneficiaries are, and have an intent to dispose of the property. If this is his handwriting, unless someone held a gun to his head…”

  “Maybe someone did,” said Marcy.

  Brent explained the probate process and that, as executor, he would be filing a probate proceeding, which would establish the validity of the will or wills. He also explained that, as executor, he owed a fiduciary duty to the estate to execute Bekker’s intentions, and did not answer to either one of them.

  “So the court will determine if this alleg
ed holographic will is valid and how it affects or modifies the trust and Allen’s other will. If you want to challenge it, you can do that, but you’ll have to hire another attorney.”

  “So you won’t do it?” asked Marcy.

  “I can’t. It’s a conflict of interest.”

  Brent was relieved that he wouldn’t be working for Marcy. But, still, the entire thing – the handwritten note, the supposed suicide – it all didn’t sit well with him.

  ***

  Brent picked up Angela after work and headed for the Bella Vista restaurant at the Santa Barbara Biltmore Hotel. Just as they were being seated on the patio, the sun was tucking itself under the horizon, and the Bella Vista’s four fireplaces were already blazing.

  “Angie, I know it’s our rule not to talk shop during dinner, but there’s something about this Bekker case that is really eating at me.”

  “I’ll bet it’s the mysterious suicide note – slash – will.”

  “You could have been a lawyer.”

  “I almost was, remember?”

  “Yes, you decided at the last minute to join the bad guys.”

  Angela smiled. “Very funny.”

  “What happens to a federal investigation when the target dies?”

  “Usually the investigation dies with him. But in this case, isn’t the investigation surrounding Tensun?”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “Then it’s probably ongoing, and Bekker’s death wouldn’t affect it at all. And, if you’re thinking of Freedom of Information Act requests…”

  “I was.”

  “That won’t work. But you could still do a request on Bekker and see if you can come up with any records on him. You’ll just need to provide his death certificate with the FOIA request.”

  As promised, Brent cut the shop talk off. The gentle sound of the waves breaking just across the street and the tinkling of the waiters collecting the plates and silverware was the only thing that could be heard for a few moments, while they looked at each other, each involved in their own unique thoughts. The cobalt sky had turned black and the sea mist hung in it like a night blanket, making it a little nippy. The flickering flames of the fireplaces cast shadows that danced across the terrace as the lanterns illuminated the trees.

  The table candle cast a glow on Angela’s cheeks and her eyes sparkled. Is this love? Brent thought. Desire was something he understood, but this feeling was a complete immersion of his soul in the beauty of this woman. Angela broke the silence.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Huh?”

  A profound response. Have to do better than that. This was a probing, introspective question, but simple to answer. Brent let the thoughts loose from his lips.

  “You. I was just looking at you and thinking how lovely you are.”

  “Thank you.” Angela’s eyes half closed, brushed by her long eyelashes. She looked like a little girl blushing; but if she was, the blush was hidden by the orange glow on her cheeks.

  “But there’s more than that. I was thinking how this is so much better than anything I have ever known,” he said, taking her hand.

  “This?”

  “Yes, this. You and me. I feel so good whenever you’re near me. And when you’re not, I feel…”

  “What?”

  “Lost, is what. I feel lost. I feel good coming home when you’ve slipped into my place to surprise me. I love waking up next to you in the morning. I even love the way you pet my cat.”

  “Your cat?”

  “Well, before you, I’d say she was the most profound relationship I’d ever had.”

  Angela giggled and brushed her golden brown hair to one side. Then she looked at Brent as directly as he would gaze into the eyes of the members of a jury during closing arguments, but with more power; as if her eyes could consume him.

  “I have a confession to make as well,” she said, not breaking contact. She reached across the table and took his hand.

  “I can’t imagine life without you.”

  The scene was broken by the waiter, who asked if they wanted some coffee.

  “Just the check, please,” said Brent as he looked back at Angela and smiled.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Brent had to juggle his other cases with the monster that had become Allen Bekker’s probate. On top of that, he had to hire a small staff to help him gather all of Allen’s assets, bills, and accounts. He hired an auditor to help him with the accounting and, of course, Jack Ruder as his investigator. But Brent had more in mind for Jack than just tracking down potential heirs. Something was wrong about everything, and it began with Allen’s death. So, the logical place to begin looking was Allen’s body. The medical examiner had finished his examination and found suicide to be the cause of death, but Brent ordered the mortician to hold the body for a second autopsy, which brought on the wrath of Cruella De Vil.

  “Boss, Cruella’s on line one.”

  “Melinda!”

  “I’m sorry. Mrs. Bekker, the grieving widow, is on line one.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What’s going on, Marks?” Brent could feel the sparks fly from the receiver.

  “I thought you wanted to challenge the will?”

  “I do. I’m hiring an attorney.”

  “Well, you should probably have your attorney call me. I shouldn’t talk to you if you’re represented.”

  “You can’t get out of it so easily, Marks. I haven’t hired him yet. What’s this about a second autopsy?”

  “As Executor, I’m not satisfied with the circumstances surrounding Allen’s death and the holographic codicil to his will. I’ve hired an independent medical examiner to examine the body to see if we can figure out what exactly happened, and why.”

  “How is that going to help?”

  “As Dr. Orozco, the medical examiner, likes to say: sometimes the dead speak to you. I want to see what Allen has to say about the final moments of his life.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” she spat. “I’ll have my attorney contact you.”

  “You do that.”

  ***

  Brent’s Freedom of Information request to the government was going to take a while. In the meantime, he sent Jack to poke around and see what he could find out, under the assignment of gathering assets. Jack would speak to all of Allen’s business associates and, in the process, find out if he had any enemies worth noting.

  Brent plowed through his emails, which had become a regular part of his job, since everybody communicated by email now. In between the junk mail and requests for status from clients, he found a familiar name. It was an email from Gerald Finegan. At first Brent couldn’t figure out if it was an insult or an inquiry.

  Dear Mr. Marks,

  I understand that you are the executor of the estate of deceased fraudster Allen Bekker. I am one of Bekker’s victims and intend to make a claim on his estate for the money he stole from me. I know all about you unethical attorneys, so I don’t suppose that you will do the honest thing. But, be aware that I have spoken to the FBI and they know that you worked for Bekker. Corrupt and unscrupulous lawyers like you should think twice before working for shameless criminals like him. My demand is for the $250,000 he stole from me. We can settle it the easy way, or I can go to the authorities. The choice is yours.

  Gerald Finegan

  While it was true that Brent had some control over Bekker’s estate, he could not make or even consider such a settlement without the approval of the court, and that would first require an investigation of the claim, like those of any other potential creditor. Brent composed an answer to the email, explaining to Finegan that he must have documentation of his claim and that it would be fully investigated and presented to the court. He also advised him to seek his own counsel. Then Brent placed a call to Jack to launch the investigation right away. The mysterious death of Allen Bekker was starting to morph into something a lot weirder than he had expected.

  Before he left for the day, Brent w
as curious, and shifted from his email to the investor bulletin boards, only to discover that he had become a star.

  Crooked mouthpiece Brent Marks appointed executor of Bekker estate. The fraud continues, IMH (it’s my humble opinion) – Truth Seeker.

  Victims of Bekker can now have justice. Make a claim against his estate with shyster Brent Marks. – Stock Sleuth

  Brent couldn’t read any more. He would delegate that to Jack. His emotional brain was screaming “conspiracy” but he promised himself to hold out for a more reasonable explanation. He called up Jack to take over.