Chapter 26
Daniel was holding in his hand the final handiwork of Howard Bancroft’s legal career. Noah had waited until after dinner to produce it. They were relaxing in the cozy living room, now lighted only by the soft glow of table lamps.
Daniel had just finished reading the power-of-attorney document. He peered at Noah over his reading glasses. “So, there was an ulterior motive behind this weekend of togetherness.”
Noah expelled a puff of cigar smoke. “Not at all, Daniel. I could have presented this to you in the city. At any time.”
“But you chose to give it to me here. Why?”
“Because here in the country your mind is uncluttered. We can talk uninterrupted, away from the distractions of the office, without Maxine fussing over you at home. We can speak frankly, one man to another, son-in-law to father-in-law.”
He could see that the old man was still dubious. He had expected him to be. In fact, he had expected a fiery outburst. Daniel’s reaction was much milder than Noah had been braced for.
But the old man was stubborn and unpredictable. His mood could fluctuate drastically within seconds. There might yet be an eruption of temper, and it might come at any moment. Noah watched warily as Daniel worked his way out of his easy chair and propped himself on his cane.
Noah leaned forward solicitously. “Do you need something, Daniel? More port? Let me get it for you.”
“I’ll get it myself, thank you,” Daniel said brusquely.
He did so, leaving Noah in a state of carefully concealed agitation. His feet were propped on the ottoman in front of his chair. His posture was a slouch. He appeared to have nothing weightier on his mind than the smoke rings he blew toward the ceiling.
Daniel returned to his chair and declined to speak until he had taken a few sips of his port. “If this is a family meeting, why have you chosen to conduct it when one family member is noticeably absent?”
Noah took his time answering. He studied the smoldering tip of his cigar as though carefully choosing, then analyzing, what he was about to say. “This is an extremely delicate matter, Daniel.”
“Which is my point.”
“Mine also. It’s not an issue to spring on Maris over the telephone.” He took a sip of his single-malt scotch. As he returned the tumbler to the end table, he noticed the wedding reception photograph of them. He touched the silver frame wistfully and smiled fondly. “Maris thinks first with her heart, then with her head.” His gaze moving back to Daniel, he added, “You know that. You’ve lived with her longer than I have.”
“She’s not a child.”
“True. She’s a woman, and her instincts and reactions are purely feminine. They’re endearing. They make her the lovely person she is. But they don’t always serve her well professionally. Remember how emotionally she reacted last week when she learned of my meeting with WorldView? I predict her reaction to this document would be even more irrational.”
For several moments he stared at the document that now lay on the coffee table between them. “If I know my wife, she would panic. She would think that we’re shielding her from something ugly. She would leap to an erroneous conclusion. You have terminal cancer. You need a heart transplant. You… well, you get my drift. God knows what she would imagine, and we would have a hell of a time dispelling her worst fears.”
He shook his head and laughed softly. “Last week she accused us of leaving her out of the loop and needlessly protecting her from an unpleasant situation. If—”
“If I sign that document without discussing it with her first, she’ll be furious with us.”
“No doubt. I guess it comes down to choosing when we want to have a scene like the one we had last week. Before or after the document is in place. If it’s before, her response time will be protracted. She’ll put you through a battery of physical exams before she’s satisfied that you’re not at death’s door.
“If it’s after the document is signed,” he continued, “her reaction time will be abbreviated. Which, personally, I think is our best option. We all have better things to do with our time and energy.” He paused to take a few puffs on his cigar. “I’m thinking of Maris, too, Daniel. I’m trying to spare her from having to make a difficult decision. She cannot bring herself to accept some of life’s inescapable certainties.”
“Like my mortality.”
Noah nodded solemnly. “Or even the possibility of reduced capacity. She is in complete denial on the subject. You’ve always been her hero. She would look upon this document as a betrayal of that image. She might even feel that by executing a power-of-attorney document like this, we’re tempting fate. That as soon as she signs it, you’ll be stricken with a debilitating malady.”
He paused strategically and pretended to consider his wife’s behavior. “In all honesty, I doubt Maris would sign it at all unless you had signed it first. That would ease her mind. Relieve her conscience and her sense of responsibility.”
Daniel picked up the document with one hand and tugged thoughtfully on his lower lip with the other. “I’m not a moron, Noah.”
Noah’s breath caught in his throat.
“I see the validity of such a document.”
He expelled that anxious breath slowly and tried to sound perfectly composed as he said, “Apparently so did Howard. He authored it.”
“Which puzzles me. Howard knew that a similar document is already in place, along with my will and other personal documents. Mr. Stern drew them up years ago, but Howard had copies in his files.”
“As Howard explained it to me, those documents were outdated.”
And now came the tricky part. Up to this point, he had counted on it being an exercise in persuasion. His arguments were sound, and, as Daniel had noted, not without validity. Now, however, he must do some fancy footwork and one misstep could trip him up.
With calculated casualness, he rolled the ash off the tip of his cigar into a pewter ashtray. “I think Howard realized how obsolete that previous power-of-attorney document was. He brought it to my attention first, instead of bringing it up with Maris, for the reasons we’ve cited tonight. He didn’t want to upset her.”
“Why didn’t he bring it to my attention?”
“For the same reason, Daniel.” He averted his gaze as though it pained him to say what he was compelled to say. “Howard was worried what your reaction would be. He didn’t want you to think that he thought you were no longer capable of making these kinds of decisions for yourself.”
“We were better friends than that,” Daniel snapped. “For God’s sake, we’d been confiding candidly in each other for decades. I had joked with him about the foibles of growing old.”
“This goes beyond complaining about a few aches and pains. Howard was sensitive to the delicate nature of this document.” Noah raised his hand when he saw that Daniel was about to interrupt. “I’m only telling you what he told me. He was afraid you would take umbrage.”
“That I’d shoot the messenger?”
Noah shrugged as though to say, Something like that. “It’s such a personal, private matter, Howard thought it might be better if someone in the family were to bring it to your attention.”
Daniel harrumphed and took a sip of port. He flipped through the document again. He paused to reread a particular clause, and even before he said anything, Noah knew which clause had snagged his attention.
“Until Maris signs this—”
“I would have full power of attorney. I know. I spotted that flaw, too.”
“Why would Howard construct the document this way, when he knew it would go expressly against my wishes? Not that I mistrust you, Noah, but Maris is Matherly Press, and vice versa. There will never be a decision made or acted upon without her involvement and approval.”
“Of course. Howard knew that. As do I. As does everyone. When I pointed the loophole out to him, he was mortified and acknowledged that it was an oversight.”
Noah chuckled. “I think his Old World heritage sneaked in while he wasn’t looking. He was thinking of Maris as a daughter and wife, not as a senior executive of a multimillion-dollar company. He had enormous affection for her, as you know, and probably still regarded her as the sweet little girl in pigtails he used to bounce on his knee. Anyhow, I insisted that he add the codicil on the last page, which stipulates that the document is invalid until signed by all of us.”
He hoped that Daniel wouldn’t notice that the last page could be detached without it appearing that the document had been tampered with or altered. That had been a last-minute brainstorm, one he should have thought of sooner. He’d hired the unscrupulous lawyer with whom he’d threatened Bancroft to write the codicil. The legalese sounded legitimate, although it lacked the classy touch of the rest of the document. He hoped Daniel wouldn’t notice that, either.
Noah took one final draw on his cigar, then ground out the lighted tip and left it lying in the ashtray. He slapped his thighs lightly as he stood up, officially closing his sales pitch. “Speaking for myself, I’m bushed. Obviously you need to sleep on this. We can talk about it later. Have you thought about what you’d like for breakfast? There’s enough food—”
“I don’t need to sleep on it,” Daniel said abruptly. “Let me sign the damn thing and get it over with. I’m tired of talking about it.”
Noah hesitated. “Don’t decide anything this weekend, Daniel. Take the document back to the city. Have Mr. Stern review it.”
“And by doing so question the judgment of my late friend? No. Howard’s suicide has already generated nasty speculation. I won’t have people saying that his competence had slipped. Where’s a damn pen?”
“Signing won’t make it legal. It has to be notarized.” That had been another potential problem with an obvious solution—the lawyer downtown, whose breath was stronger than his principles. After this was all settled, Noah would have to deal with him or risk being blackmailed. But that was a problem for another day.
“We’ll make it official once we get to the city,” Daniel grumbled. “But I want this matter concluded tonight. For my own peace of mind. Otherwise I won’t be able to relax, or think about breakfast, or anything else. Tomorrow, I want nothing on my mind more problematic than baiting a hook. So give me a goddamn pen.”
Noah’s acting performance was superb, if he did say so himself. He reluctantly produced a pen and passed it over to Daniel. But before releasing it, he gazed deeply into Daniel’s eyes. “You’ve had a lot to drink,” he said, oozing concern. “Nothing will be lost by waiting until—”
Daniel yanked the pen from his son-in-law’s hand and scrawled his signature on the appropriate line.