Douse said, “Unless it can be shown to me that you’ll have an extended role in the matter, I’m not able to go into details with you, Doctor. But speaking generally, let me say this: Without concrete proof of an actual act of decession, it will take substantial time to establish the validity of the heir’s tenancy and rights and subsequent transfer of ownership of those rights and the concomitant property.”

He stopped and watched me. When I didn’t move, he went on: “When I say substantial time, I mean just that. What we’re dealing with, here, is multiple jurisdictions. Everything from local up to federal- because of the dynamics of the tax code. And that’s just in terms of basic transfer. It doesn’t even start to consider the whole issue of guardianship- guarding her rights. There are matters of proxy ownership, various fine points of estate law. And, of course, the IRS always steps in and tries to plunder whatever it can, though with the trusts that have been established, we’re on solid ground regarding that can of worms.”

“Guardianship?” I said. “Melissa’s reached her majority- why would she need a guardian?”

Anger looked at Douse. Douse looked back at him.

Ocular tennis match. The ball finally landed in the banker’s court.

“Majority,” he said, “is one thing. Competence is another.”

“You’re suggesting Melissa’s incompetent to run her own affairs?”

Anger returned his attention to the paintings.

“ “Affairs,’ ” said Douse, “doesn’t even begin to describe it.” He swept an arm around the room. “How many eighteen-year-olds would be competent to manage something of this magnitude? I know mine sure wouldn’t.”

“Mine neither,” said Anger. “Add to that the emotional stress. The family history.” He turned to me. “You’d have a good handle on that.”

It sounded like an invitation. I didn’t RSVP.

Douse touched his bald head. “From where I’m sitting,” he said, “both as her attorney and as a parent, my educated judgment is that her resources would be put to optimal use just trying to grow up. God knows it’s going to be hard enough, considering.”

“That’s for sure,” said Anger. “I’ve got four at home, Doctor. All teens or tweens- we’re going through the wringer. Major-league hormone alert. Give an adolescent lots of money, might as well hand them a loaded gun.”

“Do you have kids of your own, Doctor?” said Douse.

“No,” I said.

Both of them gave knowing smiles.

“Well,” said Douse, playing with a jacket button, “as I said, that’s about all I’m free to divulge, barring an extended role for you.”

“What kind of role?”

“Should you choose to commit yourself to an extended course of psychological consultation- coordinating the management of Melissa’s emotional affairs in sync with Glenn’s and my stewardship of the financial aspects of her life, I’d be sure to see that your views were considered at all critical junctures. And well compensated.”

“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You’d like me to help you certify Melissa psychologically incapable of handling her own affairs so that a guardian can be appointed to manage her money.”

Anger winced.

“Wrong,” said Douse. “We don’t want anything. Our welfare isn’t what’s at stake here- we’re only thinking of hers. As longtime friends of the family, and as parents and professional managers. And we’re in no way attempting to influence your judgment or opinion. This conversation- which I might remind you originated spontaneously- simply reflects a discussion of issues that have acquired a certain sense of urgency due to unforeseen events. Plainly put, Doctor, we need to square things away damned quickly.”

“One thing you should be clear on, Doctor,” said Anger, “is that the money’s not Melissa’s yet. Not in a legal sense. She’d have a heck of a time getting hold of it before the process completes itself. And as Jim said, the wheels of bureaucracy grind slowly. The process will take a long time- months. Or even longer. In the meantime, her needs have to be met- the running of this household, salaries, repairs. Not to mention marshaling investments through a web of regulations. Things need to progress smoothly. As far as I can see, a guardian’s clearly the best way to go.”

“Who’d be the guardian? Don Ramp?”

Douse cleared his throat and shook his head.

“No,” he said. “That would contravene the spirit, if not the letter, of Arthur Dickinson’s will.”

“Who, then?”

More dead air. Footsteps thumped somewhere in the big house. A vacuum whined. The phone rang once.

“My firm,” said Douse, “has been of long service to this family. There’s a certain logic to seeing that continue.”

I said nothing. He unbuttoned his jacket, pulled out a small crocodile case, removed a white business card, and gave it to me gravely, as if it were something of value.

J. MADISON DOUSE, JR.

ATTORNEY AT LAW

WRESTING, DOUSE, AND COSNER

820 S. FLOWER STREET

LOS ANGELES, CA 90017

Douse said, “The founding partner was Chief Justice Douse.”

Leaving out the “my uncle” part. Confusing conspicuous discretion with class.

Anger blew it by saying, “Jim’s uncle.”

Douse cleared his throat without opening his mouth. The end result was a deep, bullish snort.

Anger hastened to repair: “The Douse and Dickinson families have been bonded by many years of implicit trust and goodwill. Arthur entrusted his affairs to Jim’s dad, back in the days when those affairs were even more complex than they are now. It’s in your patient’s best interests that she be taken care of by the best, Doctor.”

“Right now,” I said, “it’s in my patient’s best interests to marshal her emotional defenses in order to deal with losing her mother.”

“Exactly,” said Anger. “That’s exactly the reason Jim and I would like to see everything squared away as soon as possible.”

“The problem,” said Douse, “is one of procedural transfer- establishing continuity. Every step of the process as it currently operates was contingent upon Mrs. Ramp’s approval. Even though she had little to do in terms of a hands-on, day-to-day management role, legally- procedurally- we were required to interface with her. Now that she’s… no longer available, we’re obligated to-”

“Deal with her heir?” I said. “Must be a hell of an inconvenience.”

Douse buttoned his jacket and leaned forward. His forehead puckered and wrinkled and he sniffed like a tackle out for a quarterback. “I sense a… combativeness here, Dr. Delaware, that’s wholly unwarranted by the facts at hand.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe I just don’t like the idea of being asked to lie professionally. Even if your intentions are good. Melissa’s not incompetent- nowhere near it. She hasn’t a trace of thought disorder or any other mental disturbance that would impair her judgment. As to whether or not she’s mature enough to handle forty million dollars, who knows? Howard Hughes and Leland Belding weren’t much older when they took over their parents’ estates, and neither of them did too badly. And banks and law firms have been known to screw up handily, haven’t they? What’re the latest figures on the S-and-L mess?”

“That,” said Anger, coloring, “has nothing to do with-”

“Whatever,” I said. “The bottom line is, any decision to delegate management of Melissa’s money will have to be Melissa’s. And it will have to be voluntary.”

Douse pressed his fingertips together, withdrew them, repeated the gesture several times. It might have been a parody of applause. His eyes were steady and small.

He said, “Well, there’s obviously no need for you to assume the burden of assessment, Doctor. Given your reluctance.”

“What does that mean? Bring in the hired-gun expert witnesses?”

His face remained blank as he showed his cuff monogram and consulted a gold-and-rivet Cartier that looked much too small for his wrist.