For two years, I had watched him visit once every three months, stay eight minutes, and ask about tax shelters. Celia complained about the antiseptic smell while Walter struggled to sit upright.
I folded the letter and stood.
“You could show your father some respect.”
Adrian laughed. “He was a confused old man, and you took advantage of him. A few chess games don’t entitle you to our inheritance.”
Mr. Grant opened his briefcase. “Your attorneys should examine the filing I submitted at eight this morning.”
“We already have an injunction against the primary trust,” Celia said.
“That trust was dissolved eighteen months ago. Three independent neurologists documented your father’s mental competence when he approved the changes.”
He placed a stamped binder before the attorneys and explained that Walter had transferred seventy percent of his liquid holdings, his shipping shares, and his entire property portfolio into an irrevocable living trust.
