“I can clear that from my end, but you’d have to go through her doctors. Physically she’s improving. She’s young, healthy, and—though her injuries and trauma were severe—she’s gotten excellent care.”
“Anthony may be dead, but there remains a matter of privilege and confidentiality. And I have a responsibility to look out for the welfare of his surviving spouse as well as his estate.”
Eve’s gaze remained as cool and direct as his. “We can sit here and talk about privilege and court orders while the person who killed your client, beat and raped his wife is snuggled in somewhere planning who he’s going after next. We can keep doing that while the traumatized spouse of said client adds to her current anxiety as she is apparently without funds, resources, or a credit line. Or we can cut through it.”
Wythe frowned, drummed his fingers, then rose, walked over to a small putting green on the side of the room. “Do you play?”
“No,” Eve said. Peabody shook her head.
“Helps me think.” He sank a ball, scooped it out, set it back on the narrow green, sank it again. “I’m going to give you some broad strokes,” he said. “Some, we’ll say, hypotheticals. Clients who come to me for estate planning generally have complex finances, so the paperwork is rarely simple and straightforward. Still, some want just that.”
He walked back to his desk, picked up his latte. “You’ll also have those who, sometimes for spite, sometimes for good reasons, wish to disinherit a family member, or set aside that inheritance with restrictions. Some wish to leave the bulk of their estate to an organization or a charity. It might be, we’ll say, the hospital where they’ve been attached for a number of years, and the bequest might be on the terms it’s used for a specific purpose, with specific naming instructions from the benefactor.”
“I see.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do. The client may have a spouse or partner. He may, if there is real property, such as a home, leave that property to the surviving spouse, along with gifts given during their marriage or partnership. Jewelry, for instance, clothing, furs. It may be this client is very exacting, very precise in his bequests, naming pieces of art, furnishings, and so on that may be left to the spouse or partner, or must be sold at auction to benefit the charity the client has already designated.
“As a lawyer, one who handles a great many estates, I would advise, of course, that a trust be established for the spouse or partner, at the very least to help this individual maintain the real property, certainly to pay off any existing liens on same. My advice is sometimes dismissed.”
“Okay.”
“Let me also point out that even expediting, an estate like this hypothetical example would take up to two years to settle. This real property could not be sold until that time, in the event there were any challenges to the terms. If you speak to Daphne before I’m able to do so, will you ease her mind, tell her this office will advance her what she needs?”
“All right. You did their prenup.”
Now he sighed—a sound almost like a bull snorting. “I did. Again, I can’t discuss specifics. I will say that while I strongly advised Daphne to engage her own attorney to vet the agreement, she didn’t do so. And the period of time it took to write the prenup to Anthony’s specifications was not inside the ten days I liked him.”
“What would you say if I told you there’s evidence coming to light that Anthony Strazza abused his wife? That the abuse was emotional, verbal, physical, and potentially sexual.”
Wythe shoved away from the desk, stared hard at his putting green. “That’s not going to do it this time.”
He turned his back, looked through the glass at the curtain of snow.
“I didn’t socialize with Anthony, though we belonged to the same club—stuffy, old-fashioned place I’m fond of here in the city. We had very little in common otherwise. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d said he bullied her—verbally—domineered, pressured her to be and behave in a certain manner. But you’re saying he used violence?”
“I can’t discuss the details.”
“Touché,” he countered. “I only met her a handful of times. Young, fresh, ridiculously lovely. I never expected the marriage to last, frankly. I assumed one or both of them would become bored and walk away from the marriage. But I never, even saying I didn’t like the man, I never suspected he’d be violent with her. I’m not sure what I’d have done about it if I’d known.”
He came back, sat again. “I have a daughter. She’s the second Wythe in the firm. She married about three years ago and is about to give me my first grandson. I think the world of the man she married. Absolutely the world. And if I learned he’d raised his hand to my daughter, I’d break both his arms. I don’t know what I’d have done if I’d known Daphne was being abused. No, I’m wrong.”
He sat back, nodded. “I have a son. Our black sheep, as he opted not to follow me as I followed my father, my grandfather into law. Instead, he’s one of you.” Wythe smiled as he said it. “If I’d known, I’d have gone to Nelson, asked him to look into it.”
“Detective Nelson Wythe,” Eve said, “under Lieutenant Mercer. He’s a good cop.”
“That’s my boy.”
“What about the first wife?” Eve asked.
“I didn’t know her well. As I said, I didn’t socialize with Anthony. I didn’t handle the divorce, but passed that to one of our associates. It’s my understanding Anthony’s ex-wife accepted a monetary settlement and moved out of the country.”