Whitney P. Vance
October 5, 2016
Bosch reread the letter before unfolding the second document. It was handwritten in the same shaky but legible scrawl as the first.
Whitney Vance Last
Will and Testament
October 5, 2016
I, Whitney Vance, of Pasadena, Los Angeles County, California, write this Will by hand to declare my desires for the disposition of my estate after my death. As of the date of this Will, I am of sound mind and am entirely capable of determining my own affairs. I am not married. By this Will I expressly revoke any and all previous, antecedent Wills and Codicils, declaring any and all to be null, void, and invalid.
I have currently employed the investigative services of Hieronymus Bosch to ascertain and locate my issue and the heir of my body conceived in spring 1950 by Vibiana Duarte and born of her in due course. I charged Mr. Bosch to bring forward the heir of my body, with reasonably sufficient genealogical and scientific proof of heredity and genetic descent, so that the heir of my body may receive my estate.
I appoint Hieronymus Bosch sole executor of this, my Will. No bond or other security shall be required of Mr. Bosch as executor of my Will. He shall pay my just debts and obligations, which shall include a reasonably generous fee for his service.
To Ida Townes Forsythe, my secretary, friend and confidante of 35 years, I give, devise, and bequeath $10,000,000.00 (ten million US Dollars), together with my thanks and gratitude for her loyal service, counsel, and friendship.
To the heir of my body, my issue, my genetic descendant, and the last of my bloodline, I give, devise, and bequeath all of the remainder of my estate, in its entirety, of any, all, and whatever kind and character, which shall include all my bank accounts, all my stocks, bonds, and business interests, my homes and all my real property in fee simple, and all my personal property, possessions, and chattels. In particular, to the heir of my body I bequeath the pen with which this Will is written. It is made of gold mined by our progenitors and passed down through generations to have and hold until it is passed to succeeding generations of our blood.
Done by and in my own hand
Whitney P. Vance
October 5, 2016, at 11:30 A.M. Pacific Standard Time
Bosch was stunned by what he had in his hands. He reread the will and it didn’t lessen his wonder. He held a document that was essentially worth billions of dollars, a document that could change the course of a giant corporation and industry, not to mention the life and family of an unsuspecting woman born forty-six years ago of a father she never knew.
That is, if she was still alive and Bosch could find her.
Bosch read the first letter for the third time and took Whitney Vance’s charge to heart. He would be vigilant and determined.
He refolded the two documents and returned them to the envelope. He hefted the heavy pen in his hand for a moment and then placed it back in the envelope as well. He realized that at some point, there would be an authentication process and he might have already damaged it by his handling of the stationery. He took the envelope into the kitchen and found a large resealable plastic bag to preserve it in.
Bosch also knew he had to safeguard the package. He suspected that there would be many forces out there bent on destroying it. The thought reminded him of when Howard Hughes died and various wills came to the surface. He didn’t remember how that probate was decided but he recalled the multiple claims to the fortune. The same could be the case with Vance. Bosch knew he needed to make copies of the documents in the envelope and then secure the originals in his safe deposit box.
Bosch went back into the living room and turned off the TV so he could make a call. He hit the speed dial for Mickey Haller’s cell phone and his half brother picked up the call after one ring.
“What’s up, broheim?”
“Are you my lawyer?”
“What? Of course I am. What did you do now?”
“Funny. But you’re not going to believe this. Are you sitting down?”
“I’m sitting in the back of the Lincoln, heading in to see my girl Clara Foltz.”
The translation was that Haller was heading to court. The downtown courthouse was formally known as the Clara Shortridge Foltz Criminal Justice Center.
“You heard about Whitney Vance dying?” Bosch asked.
“I heard something about it on the radio, yeah,” Haller said. “But what do I care about some billionaire kicking the bucket?”
“Well, I’m holding his last will and testament. He sent it to me. It names me executor and I don’t know the first thing about what to do with it.”
“Are you pulling my dick, broheim?”
“No, broheim. I’m not pulling your dick.”
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Hold on.”
Bosch then heard Haller redirect his driver from the downtown destination to the Cahuenga Pass, where Bosch lived. Then he got back on the line.
“How the fuck did you end up with his will?”
Bosch gave him a short summary of the Vance case. He also revealed that this was the case he had called Haller about to get the referral to a private DNA lab.
“Okay, who else knows you have this will?” Haller asked.
“No one,” Bosch said. “Actually, somebody might. It came in the mail and Vance’s letter says he gave the task to his longtime secretary. But I don’t know if she knew what was in the package she mailed. She’s in the will to the tune of ten million.”
“That’s a big reason to make sure she got the will to you. You said it came in the mail? Was it certified—did you have to sign for it?”
“No, it was stuffed into the box with all the junk mail.”
“That was risky but maybe it was the best way to get it to you under the radar. Slip it out with the secretary, have her drop it in a mail box. Okay, listen, I need to get off the line so I can get somebody to take my appearance in arraignment court. But you sit tight. I’m heading your way.”
“Do you still have that copier in the car?”
“Sure do.”
“Good. We need to make copies.”
“Definitely.”
“Do you even know anything about wills and probate, Mick?”
“Hey, bro, you know me. Have case, will travel. Doesn’t matter what kind of case it is, I can handle it. And what I don’t know, I can bring somebody in on to help. I’ll be there inside of thirty.”
As Bosch put the phone down he wondered if he had made a critical mistake bringing the Lincoln Lawyer into the case. His instincts were that Haller’s lack of experience in probate and inheritance law would be more than balanced by his street smarts and legal cunning. Bosch had seen him work and knew he had something that didn’t come with training, no matter what the school or specialty. He had a deep hollow that he somehow filled by standing as a David against the Goliaths of the world, whether in the form of the power and might of the state or a billion-dollar corporation. Bosch also had no doubts about Haller guarding his back. He could trust him. And he had a growing feeling that this might be the most important support to have in the days ahead.
He checked his watch and saw it was near nine now and Bella Lourdes would be at the station. He called but she didn’t answer. He assumed that was because she was already working the phones responding to the batch of call-in tips he had left on her desk. He was leaving her a message telling her to call him back when his call-waiting indicated she was already doing so.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” she said. “Where are you?”
“I’m still at home. You’re going to have to handle things on your own today.”
She groaned and asked why.
“Something’s come up on a private case I’m working,” he said. “It can’t wait.”
“The one with all the birth certificates?” she asked.
“How did you—”
He remembered her eying the stack of copies he had placed on his desk in the cubicle.