Perpetuities, dark nights, and hot lead

Spencer Farris, The Levison Group

I was in my office on the 23rd floor of the Levison Towers last Wednesday night, poring over old law books. I needed a loophole in the rule against perpetuities, and fast, if I was going to satisfy my latest client, Keilor Realty. Keilor owned a high rise in the heart of downtown, and young nephews were circing old lady Keilor’s hospital bed like buzzards at a hanging.

I was so engrossed in my work that I didn’t notice the visitor in my office until her perfume grabbed my nose like a stern librarian. I looked up from my desk and there stood a mirage in blue satin. She had flowing blonde hair and a body that the dresses in her closet would fist fight for their turn to cover. Evidently today’s winner was very scrappy for its small size.

“Mr. Farris?” she asked. The gravel and silk in her voice made me ignore the fact that she clearly couldn’t read the nameplate on my desk, or the one on my door.
“I think so,” I replied. “Unless you are here about my cable bill.”

“I don’t watch TV,” she said. “Mind if I sit down?”

I knew my chair would never forgive me if I said no.

“Of course. Please do. What is your name?”

“Spillani. Michelle Spillani,” she said, as she poured herself into my side chair like a fine aged scotch.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Spillani?”

“Oh Mr. Farris, I hope you can help. My late uncle Henry died last week.”

She didn’t look particularly grief stricken, but I extended my sympathies anyway.

“Oh thank you, but that isn’t the point. Uncle Henry told me he was leaving me a lot of money, but no one can seem to find his will. If I can’t prove that I am in the will, I will lose my house, my car and everything.”

Now she did look a bit sad. “Hmmm. That does sound serious. Give me a little direction. Was Henry your mother, or your father’s brother?”

She smiled like a teenaged boy who saw the last Harry Potter movie first. “Don’t be silly, Mr. Farris. I am an orphan.”

As she got up to leave, I knew that neither my chair nor I would soon forget Michelle Spillani.

“What about my retainer?” I asked.

“I will pay you later. But I hope this is enough to get you started.” She dropped a stack of bills on my desk that would have made a Rockefeller blink. As she turned to leave, I knew that I needed to help this lady. And I needed the dough to pay the rent this month, so I agreed to take the case.

All good cases begin with think time, and I do my best thinking with a cold one in front of me. I headed to my favorite place — Judge Jean’s Bar and Grill. Jean was a judge back when there were only ten laws. Still, she liked to talk about the law, and knew more of the ins and outs of our town than a sewer rat with a skeleton key.
“Finding a lost will is tough work. Best thing to do is find Henry,” she told me.

Her advice was like a tech support call to Microsoft — the information was completely accurate, and completely useless to me.

I headed over to see my favorite private investigator, Skip Hall. Hall’s desk looked like a paper factory had thrown up. He was the kind of guy who found things — sometimes even before they were lost. I never asked Hall how he did his work, and I paid him in cash.

“Spencer! I haven’t seen you since the time I found that witness for you on the bus crash case! What can I do you for today?”

“Skip, I need to find a missing guy named Henry. His very attractive niece is looking for him, and I don’t know where to start. By the way, Henry seems to be dead.”
“Sure sure, no problem. I am guessing the niece is in his will, right?”

“No flies on you.”

“Easy stuff. Give me somewhere to start — last name?”

“Great question, Skip. If I knew the answer to that one, then I wouldn’t need you, now would I?”

Hall grimaced, but then smiled. The promise of money had that effect on him.

“Give me a couple of days, I will let you know.”

I was reading the Mann Act when I got a call from Mr. Hall. He found both the dead uncle and the will. I told him the check was in the mail and hung up.

My next call was to Ms. Spillani.

“I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?” I asked her.

There was a long pause, and then my client asked for the details. I told her that we found Henry’s will. It was like the Constitution — long and no mention of her at all.

“I was afraid of that,” she said. “Henry was very forgetful. Does this mean I have to return the money that he gave me in the suitcase?”
“Probably not. Don’t you want to contest the will?” I asked hopefully.

“No thank you, Mr. Farris. A girl doesn’t want to get a reputation. Thank you.”
She hung up, leaving me with more questions than answers. Not the least of which was what the heck the rule against perpetuities meant.

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Under Analysis is a nationally syndicated column of the Levison Group. Spencer Farris is the founding partner of The S.E. Farris Law Firm in St. Louis, Missouri. Comments or criticisms about this column may be sent to this newspaper or directly to the Levison Group via e-mail at comments@levisongroup.com.
© 2012 Under Analysis L.L.C.