Alice shook her head like a disappointed mom. On the flight from Omaha last night, she had blown fifteen bucks on wireless Internet service and apparently spent the whole three hours researching Chris Vail’s background and career and found no evidence at all that he knew anything about wills. “Yesterday I had Zula send a scanned copy of Richard’s will to our family lawyer back home,” she announced, “who may be a small-town lawyer but I can tell you that he has made out a lot of wills, as it is a major part of his practice, and he found three things wrong with it on the first page. Rookie mistakes, he called them.” She shook her head.

Stan had put his phone away and was sitting there red faced. Marcus was agog.

“Do you know what it looks like to me? It looks like this Chris Vail character got a call from Dodge that Dodge wanted a last will and testament drawn up, and he said to himself, ‘I don’t want to lose my billionaire, I do believe I’m just going to take care of it myself. How hard could it be to draw up a will?’ And he wrote the first and probably the last document of that type of his career, and I’m sure he was well-intentioned, but he botched it.”

“Alice—” Stan began.

“Malpractice, is what some would call it,” Alice said.

This woman was a cobra. Corvallis made a note of it.

Wishing he were elsewhere, he let his gaze stray to Zula, who was looking back at him deadpan. Welcome to the family, C-plus.

“Well, it’s all water under the bridge,” Alice sighed. “The will is written the way it’s written and Dodge signed it because he was too busy to care and there is nothing we can do about it now. The man who did it has moved on to a different place and there is no sense in bedeviling him with recriminations and threats. But I am not Dodge. I am paying attention and I will hold Argenbright Vail to a higher standard as far as competence and billing are concerned.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stan said. But the moment was ruined by the ringing of a phone: Corvallis’s. Stan, perhaps feeling that he had just been saved by the bell, heaved a sigh and looked over at him.

“Sorry,” Corvallis said, and lifted the phone from his shirt pocket. He did a double take at the name on the screen, then held it up so that the others could read it: El Shepherd.

“I would recommend not taking that call just now,” Stan snapped. Then he looked to Alice, as if seeking her approval. She glanced away demurely, which seemed to settle Stan down. “Have you talked to Mr. Shepherd yet?” Stan asked.

“No,” Corvallis said, “just some of his minions.”

“What was the general tenor?”

“Intense focus on the situation,” Corvallis said. “Not a whole lot of what you would call warmth. A sense of lawyers silently gesticulating.”