"You realize that you're still under oath, Mr. Phelan?" he began.
"I do."
"Are you under the influence of any drugs or alcohol?"
"No, sir, I am not."
"Good. Let's go back to December the ninth, the day your father died. Where were you when he was examined by the three psychiatrists?"
"I was in his building, in a conference room with my family."
"And you watched the entire examination, didn't you?"
"I did."
"There were two color monitors in the room, right? Each twenty-six inches wide?"
"If you say so. I didn't measure them."
"But you could certainly see them, couldn't you?"
"Yes."
"Your view was unobstructed?"
"I had a clear view, yes."
"And you had a clear reason to watch your father closely?"
"I did."
"Did you have any trouble hearing him?"
"No."
The lawyers knew where Nate was going. It was an unpleasant aspect of their case, but one that could not be avoided. Each of the six heirs would be led down this path.
"So you watched and heard the entire exam?"
"I did."
"You missed nothing?"
"I missed nothing."
"Of the three psychiatrists, Dr. Zadel had been hired by your family, correct?"
"That's correct."
"Who found him?"
"The lawyers."
"You trusted your lawyers to hire the psychiatrist?"
"Yes."
For ten minutes, Nate quizzed him on exactly how they came to select Dr. Zadel for such a crucial exam, and in the process got what he wanted. Zadel was hired because he had excellent credentials, came highly recommended, and was very experienced.
"Were you pleased with the way he handled the exam?" Nate asked.
"I suppose."
"Was there something you didn't like about Dr. Zadel's performance?"
"Not that I recall."
The trip to the edge of the cliff continued as Troy Junior admitted that he was pleased with the exam, pleased with Zadel, happy with the conclusions reached by all three doctors, and left the building with no doubt that his father knew what he was doing.
"After the exam, when did you first doubt your father's mental stability?" Nate asked.
"When he jumped."
"On December the ninth?"
"Right."
"So you had doubts immediately."
"Yes."
"What did Dr. Zadel say to you when you expressed these doubts?"
"I didn't talk to Dr. Zadel."
"You didn't?"
"No."
"From December ninth to December twenty-seventh, the day the will was read in court, how many times did you talk to Dr. Zadel?"
"I don't remember any."
"Did you see him at all?"
"No."
"Did you call his office?"
"No."
"Have you seen him since December the ninth?"
"No."
Having walked him to the edge, it was time for the shove. "Why did you fire Dr. Zadel?"
Junior had been prepped to some degree. "You'll have to ask my lawyer that," he said, and hoped Nate would just go away for a while.
"I'm not deposing your lawyer, Mr. Phelan. I'm asking you why Dr. Zadel was fired."
"You'll have to ask the lawyers. It's part of our legal strategy."
"Did the lawyers discuss it with you before Dr. Zadel was fired?"
"I'm not sure. I really can't remember."
"Are you pleased that Dr. Zadel no longer works for you?"
"Of course I am."
"Why?"
"Because he was wrong. Look, my father was a master con man, okay. He bluffed his way through the exam, same way he did all of his life, then jumped out of the window. He snowed Zadel and the other shrinks. They fell for his act. He was obviously off his rocker."
"Because he jumped?"
"Yes, because he jumped, because he gave his money to some unknown heir, because he made no effort to shield his fortune from estate taxes, because he'd been crazy as hell for some time. Why do you think we had the exam to begin with? If he hadn't been nuts, would we have needed three shrinks to check him out before he signed his will?"
"But the three shrinks said he was okay."
"Yeah, and they were dead wrong. He jumped. Sane people don't fly out of windows."
"What if your father had signed the thick will and not the handwritten one? And then he jumped? Would he be crazy?"
"We wouldn't be here."
It was the only time during the two-day ordeal that Troy Junior fought to a draw. Nate knew to move on, then to come back later.
"Let's talk about Rooster Inns," he announced, and Junior's shoulders fell three inches. It was just another one of his bankrupt ventures, nothing more or less. But Nate had to have every little detail. One bankruptcy led to another. Each failure prompted questions about other doomed enterprises.
Junior's had been a sad life. Though it was hard to be sympathetic, Nate realized that the poor guy had never had a father. He had longed for Troy's approval, and never received it. Josh had told him that Troy had taken great delight when his children's ventures collapsed.
The lawyer freed the witness at five-thirty, day two. Rex was next. He'd waited in the hall throughout the day, and was highly agitated at being put off again.
Josh had returned from New York. Nate joined him for an early dinner.
Chapter Forty-Five
LVEX PHELAN had spent most of the previous day on 1 V the cell phone in the hallway while his brother was roughed up by Nate O'Riley. Rex had been in enough lawsuits to know that litigation meant waiting: waiting for lawyers, judges, witnesses, experts, trial dates, and appeals courts, waiting in hallways for your turn to give testimony. When he raised his right hand and swore to tell the truth, he already despised Nate.
Both Hark and Troy Junior had warned him of what was to come. The lawyer could get under your skin and fester there like a boil.
Again, Nate started with inflammatory questions, and within ten minutes the room was tense. For three years, Rex had been the target of an FBI investigation. A bank had failed in 1990; Rex had been an investor and director. Depositors lost money. Borrowers lost their loans. Litigation had been raging for years with no end in sight. The president of the bank was in jail, and those close to the epicenter thought Rex would be next. There was enough dirt to keep Nate going for hours.
For fun, he continually reminded Rex that he was under oath. There was also a very good chance the FBI would see his deposition.
It was mid-afternoon before Nate worked his way to the strip bars. Rex owned six of them-held in his wife's name-in the Fort Lauderdale area. He'd bought them from a man killed in a gunfight. They were simply irresistible as subjects of conversation. Nate took them one by one-Lady Luck, Lolita's, Club Tiffany, et cetera - and asked a hundred questions. He asked about the girls, the strippers, where they came from, how much they earned, did they use drugs, what drugs, did they touch the customers, and on and on. He asked question after question about the economics of the skin business. After three hours of carefully painting a portrait of the sleaziest business in the world, Nate asked, "Didn't your current wife work in one of the clubs?"
The answer was yes, but Rex couldn't just blurt it out. His throat and neck flashed red and for a moment he appeared ready to lunge across the table.