“Can you tell me what you saw?” I asked.
“I didn’t see much. Didn’t have my glasses. I stepped out to get the mail, and I saw someone on a bicycle go up the driveway.”
“Can you describe the figure?”
“Fuzzy.” She frowned. “I wish I could be more help.”
“Did you see the figure leave?”
“No. I went back inside and didn’t think much about it until the patrol cars showed up this morning.”
“Can you tell me if it was a man or a woman?”
She shook her head. “Just a big fuzzy blob.”
I gave her a card and told her to get in touch if she remembered anything else.
We walked back across the street, hopped into the Porsche, and headed back to theAvventura. I wanted to take another look at the prenuptial and the will Trent had drafted for the Madisons.
57
“Let me tell you something about that guy, ” Johnathan Mercer said. “I don’t mean to speak badly about the dead, but…”
Mercer was an attorney friend of Jack’s. He was kind enough to consult with us on the case. We sat in his office across the desk from him after we had gotten the prenup and the will from theAvventura.
Mercer was an old-school kind of guy with a dapper style. His office reeked of tradition—cherry paneled walls, tufted chairs, leather-bound legal tomes, and an oil portrait of himself. His graying hair was swept back and styled, not a hair out of place. His face was sharp and angular, with the distinguished lines of a man in his late 50s. He wore a pinstriped waistcoat over a crisp white shirt with extra starch. A bold red silk tie with a perfect knot hinted at his exactness. Mercer had the eyes of a cunning predator. A killer in the courtroom.
“Keating was a real bottom feeder,” Mercer continued. “Barely competent. Careless. Missed deadlines, filed incorrect versionsof documents, improperly witnessed codicils, and kept sloppy records. Nothing that would get him disbarred, but he earned a few reprimands. This is not the guy you hire to handle a billion-dollar estate.”
I handed him my copy of the prenuptial and will. “Take a look at this and tell me if you see anything unusual.”
Mercer began to read the documents, starting with the prenuptial. His fervent eyes scanned the pages. It didn’t take him long to huff with disapproval. “Well, this isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. There are no disclosures.”
“Disclosures?”
“There needs to be a full disclosure of assets. You can’t waive your rights to said assets if you weren’t informed of their existence.” Mercer continued to read through the documents. He huffed again in disbelief as he looked at the will and just shook his head. “There’s only one witness on this will. There needs to be two for it to be valid. Keating should know that. This is the kind of incompetence I’m talking about.”
I processed the information. “What if it’s not incompetence?”
Mercer caught on. “This will is invalid,” he said, putting it all together. “The courts will look at the most recent valid will. Since Brock divorced his prior wife, any provisions that favor the former spouse in that prior will are revoked. She’s not entitled to any inheritance. Tiffany, however, as the surviving spouse, would be entitled to half of Brock’s estate with the other half going to his kids, according to the rules of intestate succession.”
I shared a look with Jack.
“Half a billion dollars is nothing to sneeze at,” JD said.
“A clever way to get what she wanted,” I said.
“Trent’s incompetence is the perfect cover,” Mercer said.
“And she killed him to tie up loose ends?”
Jack frowned and shook his head. “You know, I actually believed she was innocent.”
“That’s a great theory,” Mercer said. “But how are you going to prove it?”
58
It took some digging. I had to go back over a year on Trent's social media feed. But I found it. A selfie of Trent and Tiffany. It looked like they were out at a club, drinking, having fun. She planted a kiss on his cheek, and Trent smiled. Who wouldn't?
