lawyer.
“I’ll do it first thing in the morning.”
“How long will it take?”
“Ninety days. Piece of cake.”
This did nothing to relieve her anxiety. “I just don’t see how a person could do this to someone he loved. I feel like a fool.” Lance’s hand moved slightly upward, still massaging.
The divorce was the least of her worries. The lawyer knew it. She could try to fake a broken heart, but it wasn’t working.
“How much did you get in life insurance?” he asked, flipping through the file.
She looked absolutely shocked at the mention of her life insurance. “Why is that relevant?” she snapped.
“Because they’re gonna sue you to get it back. He isn’t dead, Trudy. No death, no life insurance.”
“You must be kidding.”
“Nope.”
“They can’t do that. Can they? Surely not.”
“Oh yes. In fact, they’ll do it quickly.”
Lance withdrew his hand and slumped in his chair. Trudy’s mouth opened and her eyes watered. “They just can’t.”
He took a fresh legal pad and uncapped his pen. “Let’s make a list,” he said.
She paid a hundred and thirty thousand dollars for the Rolls, and still owned it. Lance drove a Porsche, which she’d bought for eighty-five thousand. The house had been purchased for nine hundred thousand, cash, no mortgage, and it was in Lance’s name. Sixty thousand for his dope boat. A hundred thousand for her jewelry. They figured and pondered and pulled numbers from the air. The list stopped at about a million and a half. The lawyer didn’t have the heart to tell them that these precious assets would be the first to go.
Like pulling teeth without Novocain, he made Trudy estimate their monthly living expenses. She reckoned it was around ten grand a month, for the past four years. They had taken some fabulous trips, money spilled down the drain that no life insurance company could ever recover.
She was unemployed, or retired, as she preferred to call it. Lance was not about to mention his narcotics business. Nor did they dare reveal, even to their own lawyer, that they had hidden three hundred thousand in a bank in Florida.
“When do you think they’ll sue?” she asked.
“Before the week is out,” said the lawyer.
It was, in fact, much faster. In the middle of the press conference, when the news of Patrick’s resurrection was being made, attorneys for Northern Case Mutual quietly entered the clerk’s office downstairs and sued Trudy Lanigan for the full two and a half million dollars, plus interest and attorneys’ fees. The lawsuit also included a petition for a temporary restrainingorder to prevent Trudy from moving assets now that she was no longer a widow.
The attorneys carried their petition down the hall to the chambers of an accommodating judge, one they had spoken to hours earlier, and in an emergency and perfectly proper closed hearing, the judge granted the restraining order. As an established member of the legal community, the judge was very familiar with the saga of Patrick Lanigan. His wife had been snubbed by Trudy shortly after she took delivery of the red Rolls.
As Trudy and Lance pawed each other and schemed with their lawyer, a copy of the restraining order was driven to Mobile and enrolled with the county clerk. Two hours later, as they sipped their first drink on their patio and gazed forlornly across Mobile Bay, a process server intruded long enough to hand Trudy a copy of the lawsuit filed by Northern Case Mutual, a summons to appear in court in Biloxi, and a certified copy of the restraining order. Among its list of prohibitions was an order for her not to write another check until the judge said so.
Seven
Attorney Ethan Rapley left his dark attic, showered and shaved and poured eyedrops into his bloodshot retinas, and sipped strong coffee as he found a semiclean navy blazer to wear downtown. He hadn’t been to the office in sixteen days. Not that he was missed, and he certainly didn’t miss anyone there. They
“I’ll do it first thing in the morning.”
“How long will it take?”
“Ninety days. Piece of cake.”
This did nothing to relieve her anxiety. “I just don’t see how a person could do this to someone he loved. I feel like a fool.” Lance’s hand moved slightly upward, still massaging.
The divorce was the least of her worries. The lawyer knew it. She could try to fake a broken heart, but it wasn’t working.
“How much did you get in life insurance?” he asked, flipping through the file.
She looked absolutely shocked at the mention of her life insurance. “Why is that relevant?” she snapped.
“Because they’re gonna sue you to get it back. He isn’t dead, Trudy. No death, no life insurance.”
“You must be kidding.”
“Nope.”
“They can’t do that. Can they? Surely not.”
“Oh yes. In fact, they’ll do it quickly.”
Lance withdrew his hand and slumped in his chair. Trudy’s mouth opened and her eyes watered. “They just can’t.”
He took a fresh legal pad and uncapped his pen. “Let’s make a list,” he said.
She paid a hundred and thirty thousand dollars for the Rolls, and still owned it. Lance drove a Porsche, which she’d bought for eighty-five thousand. The house had been purchased for nine hundred thousand, cash, no mortgage, and it was in Lance’s name. Sixty thousand for his dope boat. A hundred thousand for her jewelry. They figured and pondered and pulled numbers from the air. The list stopped at about a million and a half. The lawyer didn’t have the heart to tell them that these precious assets would be the first to go.
Like pulling teeth without Novocain, he made Trudy estimate their monthly living expenses. She reckoned it was around ten grand a month, for the past four years. They had taken some fabulous trips, money spilled down the drain that no life insurance company could ever recover.
She was unemployed, or retired, as she preferred to call it. Lance was not about to mention his narcotics business. Nor did they dare reveal, even to their own lawyer, that they had hidden three hundred thousand in a bank in Florida.
“When do you think they’ll sue?” she asked.
“Before the week is out,” said the lawyer.
It was, in fact, much faster. In the middle of the press conference, when the news of Patrick’s resurrection was being made, attorneys for Northern Case Mutual quietly entered the clerk’s office downstairs and sued Trudy Lanigan for the full two and a half million dollars, plus interest and attorneys’ fees. The lawsuit also included a petition for a temporary restrainingorder to prevent Trudy from moving assets now that she was no longer a widow.
The attorneys carried their petition down the hall to the chambers of an accommodating judge, one they had spoken to hours earlier, and in an emergency and perfectly proper closed hearing, the judge granted the restraining order. As an established member of the legal community, the judge was very familiar with the saga of Patrick Lanigan. His wife had been snubbed by Trudy shortly after she took delivery of the red Rolls.
As Trudy and Lance pawed each other and schemed with their lawyer, a copy of the restraining order was driven to Mobile and enrolled with the county clerk. Two hours later, as they sipped their first drink on their patio and gazed forlornly across Mobile Bay, a process server intruded long enough to hand Trudy a copy of the lawsuit filed by Northern Case Mutual, a summons to appear in court in Biloxi, and a certified copy of the restraining order. Among its list of prohibitions was an order for her not to write another check until the judge said so.
Seven
Attorney Ethan Rapley left his dark attic, showered and shaved and poured eyedrops into his bloodshot retinas, and sipped strong coffee as he found a semiclean navy blazer to wear downtown. He hadn’t been to the office in sixteen days. Not that he was missed, and he certainly didn’t miss anyone there. They
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