Chapter 5: The Will That Changed Everything
Gerald Foss had been Jonathan's attorney for nineteen years.
He was sixty-one years old, wore the same style of dark suit he had worn since 1987, and had a habit of placing documents on tables with both hands — slowly, deliberately — as though each one carried its own weight.
He placed the revised will on Jonathan's bedside table that afternoon with both hands.
"I want to walk you through it," Gerald said.
"I've read it."
"Humor me."
Jonathan leaned back.
"Go ahead."
Gerald opened the document.
"The Naperville estate, the Milwaukee plant, and the two downtown condos are held in an irrevocable trust.
Victoria cannot access them, cannot contest them, and cannot benefit from them under any circumstance, including a future legal settlement."
"Good."
"The liquid accounts — $82 million — are divided as follows." Gerald turned the page.
"Forty million to the Jonathan Mercer Charitable Foundation, which you established this morning and which Gerald Foss" — he cleared his throat — "which I serve as interim trustee."
"You said you didn't mind."
"I don't mind.
I'm noting it for the record." He turned another page.
"Thirty-nine million remains in a personal account under your direct control, to be distributed as you see fit during your lifetime."
"And the remaining three million?"
Gerald paused.
He looked up from the document.
"That is the portion I want to discuss."
"It's already decided, Gerald."
"Jonathan—"
"It's decided." Jonathan's voice was quiet but final.
"Two point four million goes directly to Chloe Bennett's surgical fund, administered through the hospital's patient financial services department.
The remaining six hundred thousand goes to Lucas Bennett in a personal account, no conditions, no restrictions."
Gerald set the document down.
"He's a hospital orderly you've known for less than forty-eight hours."
"He's a young man who works two jobs to try to save his sister's life, and who handed me a phone when he had every reason not to." Jonathan looked at the ceiling.
"He didn't know what I was going to do with that call.
He just knew I needed to make it."
"And that's worth three million dollars to you."
"Gerald." Jonathan turned his head to look at his attorney directly.
"I was lying in that bed listening to my wife describe my funeral.
I had five days.
I had no one in that room who gave a single thought to whether I lived or d\*ed." He paused.
"Lucas asked me if I wanted water."
Gerald was quiet for a moment.
"All right," he said.
"There's one more thing."
Gerald picked up his pen.
"I want Lucas informed today.
Not tomorrow.
Today.
Before the end of his shift." Jonathan's voice softened slightly.
"He's going to argue.
He's going to say he can't accept it.
Don't let him argue for more than five minutes."
Gerald almost smiled.
"And if he argues longer than five minutes?"
"Tell him his sister's surgery has already been scheduled.
That tends to end arguments."
Gerald closed the document and returned it to his briefcase with both hands, the way he always did.
"You know," he said, standing, "in nineteen years, I've written a great many wills."
"I know."
"This is the first one that felt like a good idea from start to finish."
He picked up his briefcase and walked to the door.
Jonathan watched him go.
The room was quiet.
The heart monitor tapped.
Outside the window, the rain had finally stopped, and the late afternoon light was coming through in long, pale strips across the floor.
Jonathan's phone buzzed on the bedside table.
He looked at the screen.
It was a number he didn't recognize.
A Chicago area code.
He answered.
"Mr.
Mercer." The voice was female, professional, unhurried.
"My name is Detective Anita Reyes, Chicago PD.
I'm the lead investigator on your case.
I'd like to come by this evening, if you're well enough.
We have some questions — and some information we think you'll want to hear."
"What kind of information?"
A brief pause.
"It concerns your wife's finances," Detective Reyes said.
"Specifically, a series of transfers made from your joint accounts over the past eighteen months.
Mr.
Mercer — the amount is larger than you may realize."
May you like
Jonathan's hand tightened on the phone.
"How much larger?" he said.
