Chapter 4: The Attorney Who Arrived Anyway
Gerald Holt was sixty-three years old, had practiced law in Chicago for thirty-eight years, and had never once been late to anything that mattered.
He arrived at St.
Jude Medical Center at 7:14 the following morning, seventeen minutes before visiting hours officially began.
He wore a gray suit, carried a leather briefcase that had seen better decades, and walked to the reception desk with the unhurried certainty of a man who knew exactly which battles were worth fighting before breakfast.
"I'm here to see Jonathan Mercer," he said.
"I'm his attorney of record."
The receptionist checked her screen.
Her expression shifted slightly — the particular look of someone who has been given instructions that now conflict with the person standing in front of them.
"Mr.
Mercer's family has requested that non-family visitors be cleared through—"
"I'm not a visitor," Gerald said pleasantly.
"I'm his legal counsel.
That distinction is protected under Illinois statute.
Would you like me to write down the citation?"
She made a phone call.
Gerald waited, briefcase in hand, reading nothing, looking at nothing in particular.
Two minutes later, Lucas appeared from the corridor behind the desk.
He had clearly not slept.
His scrubs were the same ones from the night before.
"Mr.
Holt," Lucas said quietly.
"I called you last night."
"You did." Gerald looked at him carefully.
"You said it was urgent.
You also said someone had tried to access the patient portal after hours."
"She tried to block you from the visitor list."
Gerald's expression didn't change.
"Did it go through?"
"I flagged it with the charge nurse before it processed.
Hospital policy requires forty-eight hours for visitor restriction requests on patients who are conscious and competent." Lucas paused.
"I made sure they had that policy in writing before I went home."
Gerald looked at the young man for a moment.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-five."
"You should have been a lawyer." Gerald picked up his briefcase.
"Take me to him."
Jonathan was awake when they entered.
He looked worse than the day before — thinner somehow, the skin around his eyes more deeply shadowed — but his gaze was clear and direct.
"Gerald," he said.
"Jonathan." Gerald sat in the chair beside the bed without being invited.
He set his briefcase on his knees and opened it.
"Lucas tells me you want to change the will."
"I want to do more than that." Jonathan's voice was steadier than it had any right to be.
"I want to know what she's already changed."
Gerald went still.
"What do you mean?"
"Three months ago, Victoria told me she'd spoken to you about updating the beneficiary structure on the Milwaukee property.
She said you'd handled it."
Gerald set a folder on the bed.
"Jonathan.
I have not spoken to Victoria in two years.
Not once.
Not about anything."
The heart monitor ticked steadily.
"She forged it," Jonathan said.
It wasn't a question.
"I don't know yet.
But I'm going to find out this morning." Gerald pulled out a document.
"In the meantime, I need you to sign three things.
The first revokes her power of attorney, effective immediately.
The second appoints a medical advocate who is not your spouse.
The third—" He paused.
"The third is a new will.
I drafted it last night based on what Lucas told me."
Jonathan looked at Lucas, who was standing near the door, hands in his pockets.
"You told him everything?" Jonathan asked.
"I told him what I heard," Lucas said.
"And I told him what I recorded."
Gerald looked up from the documents.
"There's a video."
"Forty seconds," Lucas said.
"Clear audio.
You can see the envelope."
Gerald closed his briefcase.
He opened it again.
He took out a different folder entirely — thicker, with a rubber band around it.
"Then we're not just changing a will," he said.
"We're building a case." He looked at Jonathan.
"Are you well enough to sign today?"
"I'm well enough to do whatever needs to be done today," Jonathan said.
"Because I don't know how many days I have left."
The door to the room opened.
Victoria stood in the doorway, a tray of coffee in her hands and a smile arranged carefully on her face.
The smile lasted exactly as long as it took her to see Gerald Holt sitting beside the bed with a folder open across his knees.
The tray tilted slightly in her grip.
"Gerald," she said.
"I didn't know you were coming."
May you like
"No," Gerald said, not looking up from the document.
"I don't imagine you did."
