“Well, why don’t you let him?”
Sheila’s eyes flicked for a moment as she thought of the real reason-the cocaine.
Steve noticed. He said nothing, but as with the window-shopping bit, he made a mental note that for some reason the girl was holding out on him.
She recovered quickly. “Because I don’t want him running my life. I want my own lawyer who’s working for me, not some stooge of Uncle Max’s who’s taking his orders and reporting back to him.”
“Lawyers don’t do that,” Steve told her.
“You don’t know Uncle Max. He’s stinking rich, and he uses his money to control people. He controls my money, and tries to use it to control me. He thinks just because he’s my trustee he can run my life.”
“And you won’t let him?”
She looked at him and laughed. “Why do you think I live in that stinking apartment? My trust fund pays me two hundred a week. Uncle Max would give me more if I did what he wanted. I don’t, so he doesn’t.”
“Tell me about the trust,” Steve said. “Who set it up, your father?”
“My father died before I was born. My mother was killed in a car accident when I was four.” Sheila sighed. “It was in Vermont. One of those twisting mountain roads. The brakes failed, and the car went off a curve. Suddenly I was an orphan.
“After that, I lived with my grandfather at his house in Vermont. Actually, we’d been living with him before, my mother and I. Before she died, I mean. I’m not telling this well. What I mean is, I was already living there.
“Anyway, my grandfather died a year later. He left a third of his money to Uncle Max, a third to my cousin Phillip, and a third to me. He designated Uncle Max sole trustee for the two of us.”
“Wait a minute. I thought you said your cousin’s father was still alive. You saw him yesterday with Phillip at Uncle Max’s.”
“That’s right. Uncle Teddy was completely disinherited.”
“Why?”
“Uncle Teddy was pretty wild when he was young. Of course, I was too young at the time to understand what was going on. But I do know when grandfather died, Uncle Teddy was in jail.”
“Uh huh. So Uncle Max owns the whole shooting works.”
“That’s right And you’re going to have to hustle to get your retainer.”
Steve smiled. “You have no objection to taking money from Uncle Max, I see.”
“None at all. I just don’t want him telling me what to do. But as long as I can hire my own lawyer, I’m perfectly willing to let Uncle Max pay him.”
Steve nodded. “I’m perfectly willing to let Uncle Max pay him too.”
15
Maxwell Baxter, “casually” dressed in a thousand-dollar, tailor-made suit, regarded Steve Winslow as one might regard some rare species at the zoo. Corduroy. A green tie. Blue jeans. Really!
Maxwell Baxter was showing none of this. His manner to Winslow was infinite politeness and elaborate condescension, which, coupled with his icy reserve, was as irritating as he had hoped it would be.
“Mr. Winslow,” Max said with a thin smile. “I don’t wish to seem rude, but you are not my niece’s attorney.”
Steve was seated on the couch. He had declined Baxter’s offer of a brandy, correctly realizing the offer was only an ironic attempt on Max’s part to make him ill at ease. Uncle Max had made himself a drink, and was standing near the bar holding it.
Steve looked up at him, realizing Baxter was standing just so he would have to do that.
They’d exchanged opening remarks. Steve had introduced himself, and begun to explain the situation Sheila had found herself in. Baxter had interrupted to say he knew all about it. He’d followed that by the condescending offer of a drink, and then the flat denial that Winslow was Sheila’s attorney.
“She has asked me to represent her,” Steve said.
Max waved this aside. “Doubtless she has. However, you must be aware of the fact that she has no money with which to pay you. I assume you have no desire to work for nothing.”
“She has her trust fund.”
Max smiled. “Of which I am the sole trustee. The disbursement of Sheila’s money is entirely at my discretion. You will receive a fee only if I choose to pay you. And I do not choose to pay you.”
Steve smiled back. “Did it ever occur to you that I might represent Sheila anyway, sue you for my fee and attempt to upset the trust?”
Max shook his head, pityingly. “Mr. Winslow, I am afraid my niece has not been entirely frank with you. She had lawyers look into the trust three years ago. They found it was impregnable.”
Steve frowned. That seemed strange. Sheila had no money to hire lawyers, and Uncle Max certainly wouldn’t have paid them. Maybe with a trust of that size at stake, lawyers would be willing to work on contingency. But then, if Sheila already had lawyers, why had she called him?
“That may well be,” Steve said. “I haven’t seen the trust yet.”
“Implying you think you could do better? Excuse me a moment.”
Max turned and walked into the study. He was back a minute later carrying a file folder. He presented it to Steve.
“Here’s a copy of the trust. Don’t read it now, it’s quite lengthy. Take it with you and peruse it at your leisure.”
“That’s very considerate of you.”
“Not at all. Merely expedient. Letting you read the trust is the best way to convince you that any action you take is bound to be fruitless.”
Max smiled coldly and sat down in the easy chair. “The attorneys that Sheila had look into the trust are Poindexter and Brown. Perhaps you’re wondering why Sheila called you rather than them in this matter. The answer is simple. She owes them money. They have never been paid for their services. I know because, having failed to collect from Sheila, they billed me as Sheila’s trustee. Naturally, I declined to pay. They have not sued. And the reason they have not sued is because, having studied the trust, they know it to be judgment proof and realize such suits would be futile.”
Steve nodded. “I see. In that case, I might attack the will.”
“The will!”
“That’s right. Your father’s will.”
Max was genuinely surprised. “But the will has been proven genuine. There’s no question about it.”
“Oh no? Your brother was disinherited by that will. And I understand he’s your older brother. Now, any will that disinherits the firstborn son is particularly open to attack. You just might find yourself out in the cold with Uncle Teddy in the driver’s seat.”
Max smiled, back in control again. “Mr. Winslow, once again you are speaking in ignorance of the facts. Before you get yourself out on a limb, let me try to explain this to you.”
“For my own good, of course,” Steve said sarcastically. Maxwell Baxter was one of those people he instinctively disliked.
Max took no notice. “My father was an eccentric man in many respects,” he began. “But he was a good man, a kind man and a very honest man. He had very high scruples and a great sense of right and wrong.”
“All right, all right, he was a saint. So what?”
“Alice, Sheila’s mother, was his eldest child. The proverbial apple of his eye. In his original will, the bulk of his estate went to her. Alice was killed in a car accident when Sheila was four. Teddy, being the next eldest, should have become the principal heir. But Teddy was rather wild in those days. It happened that the day Alice was killed, Teddy was in New York promoting a fraudulent business deal. He was arrested the following day. Father was outraged, of course, and so, when he changed his will, Teddy was left out in the cold.”
“And, wishing to provide for Sheila, he set up the trust fund, with you as trustee.”
“Exactly. He set up a similar fund for Teddy’s son, Phillip. And to make sure that Teddy couldn’t get his hands
