Then he nodded, once, and reached for his phone.
Douglas Marsh agreed to meet three days later.
A restaurant he chose — neutral ground, he said, through his attorney.
I arrived five minutes early and watched him walk in.
He was in his mid-forties.
Well-dressed in the careful way of someone who wanted to appear casual but had thought about it.
He had his father’s eyes, according to the photograph Hale had shown me.
He did not offer his hand.
“I want to be straightforward with you,” he said, settling into his chair.
“I have nothing against you personally.
I’m sure Eleanor was fond of you.
But a trust established by a woman with dementia, naming a beneficiary who can’t be conclusively identified, is not a valid legal instrument.”
“Your grandmother didn’t have dementia when she set it up,” I said.
“She was sixty-four.
The medical records from that year show no cognitive impairment.”
