Ashes To Ashes: Ashton Ford, Psychic Detective (13 page)

Ashes to ashes ...
okay.

But evidently something far more meaningful
than ashes just goes right on truckin'.

Chapter Sixteen: Roots

I used a small copier in Powell's study to
copy JQ's final papers, then returned the originals to the book and
replaced it in the bookcase, with the thought that since it had
remained undetected there all those years, that would be the safest
storage for the time being.

Having only Marcia Kalinsky's words as a
guide, I had no way of knowing just how significant this "true
final will" might actually be—and, actually, it was only a rather
informal codicil to what obviously must have been an involved and
intricate formal will, considering the dimensions of that
estate.

Marcia had told me, you
may recall, that JQ had spent the last two years of his life
reorganizing his estate in such a way that "most everything would
go directly to Karen instead of to his own son." Since there had
also been talk of a "trust" from Karen, I had assumed that the bulk
of the estate had gone into that trust, which is a more or less
standard operating procedure for bequests to minor children. The
"trust," in that sense, is designed to preserve the estate and to
expand it as much as possible through wise investments until such
time as the heir is deemed mature enough to take responsibility for
his own business affairs, meanwhile providing income adequate to
maintain a certain desired standard of living. A trustee is
appointed to manage that trust at the time that the trust is
created on paper—in this case, according to Karen, our friend Terry
Kalinsky—and it was my understanding that such an appointment is
not dependent upon confirmation by a probate court, as it is for an
executor. When the trustor dies, then, the trustee takes over as
irrevocable agent for the trustor in carrying out the terms of the
trust and as sort of a financial guardian for the
beneficiary.

The setting up of a trust is of course a
very intricate legal procedure, with all sorts of ramifications
having to do with inheritance taxes, probate expenses, that sort of
thing. For holdings as massive and as extensive as Highland's, the
intricacies must have approached infinite mass. But I could only
imagine all that, having no actual knowledge of any of it.

Being only "almost a
lawyer," moreover, I could not fully evaluate the possible effect
of a hand-scrawled death-bed codicil upon such a mass of highly
formulated estate planning; indeed, I would go so far as to suggest
that few highly competent lawyers would hazard a guess on that
score even with all the papers in front of them. The final
determination would have to be made by a probate court and the
legal skirmishing in that arena could consume years of court
calendars.

So I really did not know what I had, there.
The flow of events following JQ's death, such as they were, would
seem to have reduced or perhaps totally neutralized any
significance to Karen, herself, but if a legal basis could have
been established in time, the codicil could have had tremendous
significance to Kalinsky—and perhaps it still could.

Marcia had told me, remember, that JQ had
spent the final two years of his life reorganizing the estate. If
that were true, and the codicil seemed to more or less verify that
by implication, then obviously the dying old man had a last-minute
change of heart.

I am going to reproduce for you, here, the
full text of that death-bed wish, "The True Last Will and Testament
of Joseph Quincy Highland:

Let it be known by these presents that
although I am of rapidly deteriorating body, I am of sound and
rational mind and not under the influence of alcohol, narcotics or
medications of any kind whatsoever; being of sound mind and in
excellent possession of all mental faculties, I do set my will and
desires to this writing in full knowledge of my imminent departure
from this lifetime, perhaps within the next several hours; I do
hereby with full faculties intend that this writing be regarded as
a legally binding and governing document that shall serve to modify
any and all provisions of any and all extant documents executed
by me during my lifetime having to do with the distribution of my
worldly assets upon my death, but does not and shall not serve to
invalidate wholly or to replace wholly such documents but only
those provisions that are in conflict with or inconsistent with the
desires herein expressed, to wit:

It is my death-bed wish that all my worldly
assets except the First Trust established for the benefit of my
Granddaughter, Karen Elena Highland, shall upon my death pass
directly to my son, Thomas James Highland, and I do hereby nominate
my son, Thomas James Highland, as sole executor of my estate.

I do also hereby and specifically remove as
Trustee for my Granddaughter's First Trust Terrance Kellan Kalinsky
and do hereby appoint in his place my son, Thomas James Highland,
as sole Trustee of the First Trust established for the benefit of
my Granddaughter, Karen Elena Highland.

Lest there be any doubt as
to my wishes so stated above, I do hereby expressly and
specifically declare all other Trusts, save the First Trust named
above, to be canceled and voided as though they had never been
drawn; all other bequests, save those named above, are likewise
canceled and voided as though they had never been made.

The codicil was signed and dated on the day
that I later determined was JQ's last day on earth.

There also were two witnessing signatures,
those of Bruno and Tony Valensa. Figure that one.

Considering the fact that TJ had passed on
shortly after JQ, and since Karen was TJ's only natural heir,
probably, it would seem on the surface that this newly discovered
document—even if admitted to probate—would have no real impact on
the final settlement of the estate. Unless, of course, there could
be claims against TJ's estate, which could be considerable if the
bulk of JQ's estate had passed to the son before TJ's death—and
that would knock the whole thing into a cocked hat—especially if
Elena had family somewhere and taking into account California's
community property law.

The most striking feature, of course, was
the impact on Kalinsky. This guy had, for the past eleven years or
so, occupied the catbird seat from which old JQ, in his final
hours, had sought to eject him.

Forget for the moment about bequests, large
or small, and just consider that the executor of an estate can
reasonably expect to collect two to three percent of the total
assets for his services. The executor of an estate with the value
and complexity of this one may even be deemed by the probate court
to be worthy of a larger slice, but take just three percent of the
Highland assets and we are talking a chunk of money.

The term
billion
has no real
correspondence in the mind, the value so indicated being such a
high number as to place outside normal human usage. In the United
States, it means a thousand millions. Think of that Three percent
of just one billion produces a figure of thirty million, and we are
talking U.S. dollars. We are also talking the root of all evil; as
some would have us believe, and I was looking at roots entangled
and running everywhere.

Even the Internal Revenue Service was having
trouble trying to determine just how many billions old Joe was
worth.

It was all too murky for my quick
assimilation, and I was staggering about in the dark, anyway, since
I really had no idea whatever as to the actual legal status of the
estate. I had been given casual generalities and a very limited
understanding of the relative positions of all the players in this
drama.

Karen, herself, had been vague and
apparently disinterested in everything except her immediate
problem, or what she perceived as her problem.

Kalinsky had actually told me nothing
whatever but had simply conducted himself in a manner that would
lead to the natural presumption that he was in charge and running
things.

The interview with Marcia had produced more
tangible information than I had gained anywhere else, and even that
was suspect.

My tap on the federal
computers had given me the understanding that the estate was still
in probate, yet everyone at Highlandville seemed to be preparing
for the big turnover on Karen's twenty-fifth birthday, one short
week away. So maybe the federal data banks were running a bit
behind; if that were true, it would then be an indication that the
estate had been settled in very recent times. I cannot believe that
the IRS would stand by and allow that transfer unless they already
knew the dimensions of their own share; likewise the State of
California and various other agencies with fingers in the
pie.

So I had to martial the facts and attempt to
draw my own picture since circumstances simply did not allow me the
luxury of a liberal education in the matter.

Before I do that here, though, I want to
give you JQ's last words to his "Dearly Beloved Karen:"

You are too young and I
too old and limited in time to fully explain the peculiar
exigencies which have moved my hand this night toward your
continued protection under my love. Just be aware and one day when
you are older try to understand that my motivation in this action
is solely toward your ultimate benefit and to shield you from a
very real danger that I, in my physically diminished state, am
otherwise powerless to oppose.

I wish also to request of
you a particular favor, as a testament of our love for each other,
that you remove from my soul a most grievous burden that I simply
cannot carry to my grave: love your mother, Elena, as I have loved
you, and do your best to give back to her that which I took from
her without just cause, understanding in your heart of hearts that
all her supposed sins are instead my sins and all her failures my
failures and all her weaknesses my weakness.

Give back to her, Dear Karen, all that which
you alone now have the power to give. Good-bye, My Darling. We
shall meet again, one beautiful day, beyond the stars.

Powerful stuff, eh. It was even more
powerful in the original script. And I was beginning to love this
old man, this reclusive, eccentric billionaire who'd had the power
to install kingdoms and reshape the economics of earth—to feel a
particular kind of pity for him, also.

With all that power, and all that apparent
wisdom, and all that love, he had nevertheless managed to totally
screw up his own family.

And, yeah, I knew why that book had been
ejected from its resting place of eleven years. But why me, Joe?
Shit. Why me?

Chapter Seventeen: A Fix for Karen

My pool buddy, the bartender, was lurking
about outside my door when I returned to my room. He was agitated,
very apprehensive, and lost no time on pleasantries.

"Need to talk to you, Mr. Ford," he almost
whispered.

I opened the door and ushered him inside,
wondering what the hell.

Turns out his name is Paul Ramirez. He has
worked at the Highland estate for the past couple of years, more or
less. Guy of about twenty-eight, good looking, a Latino male in his
prime and showing it, well set up, intelligent, still lives at home
with his parents though occasionally "stays over" at Highlandville
when an occasion demands. He was supposed to be staying over this
weekend, but had decided that he could not do that.

"There's a bunch of cops
downstairs," he explained. "They're interviewing all the help and I
can't handle that right now. Don't get me wrong, I don't have any
kind of criminal problem, I mean nothing serious. But there are
some bench warrants out on me, traffic tickets I never took care
of, and they're gonna put my ass in jail if they catch it before I
have the money to settle the tickets."

I knew there was something more than traffic
tickets behind his encampment at my door, but I played along. "How
much do you need?" I asked him.

"Oh no, please, don't
think I came here to hit you up. That's going to take three or four
hundred bucks, with all the penalties and interest. 'Course, I
could use a few bucks to hit the beach for a while, let this thing
cool. I noticed awhile ago all the questions you were asking, then
when the cops came—and I've heard the talk around here tonight so I
get the idea you're trying to help Miss Highland. Listen, she's an
okay lady, she gets my vote, I don't think she could have done
something like that. Point is, I have some information that could
be very important to her and I thought, since I can't go to the
cops, not right now ..."

"You need a few bucks to hit the beach for a
while."

He showed me a nervous smile. "Yes sir."

I had a couple of fifties
and small change in my wallet. I gave him the fifties, then wrote
him a check for five hundred dollars, pushed it at him, said, "Go
down first thing Monday and clear up that traffic problem. Write
down my telephone number before you cash the check. Start calling
me Monday afternoon every hour on the hour until you get me. Miss
Highland is going to need all the help she can get. Think of the
five hundred as a very small down payment on her gratitude if you
can help her out of this mess. Understand me?"

He replied, "You bet, sir, I sure understand
you."

I said, "Okay, right now we are probably on
very limited time. What do you have for me?"

He came right back with: "Bad blood between
Doctor Powell and Mr. Kalinsky."