by Adam Zorzi
By mid-morning Saturday, the sun returned. Abbie had not. They hadn't received any responses to the flyers other than neighbors who had called or e-mailed to say they'd stay on the lookout. Katie grilled him constantly. Are you sure she didn't get off the leash when you ran with her? Could she have gotten in someone's car and been driven hundreds of miles from home? Could someone have stolen her? What would she be worth to an animal testing lab?
That's when he'd lost his temper. “Shut up, Kaitlyn! Shut up!” he'd shouted when they'd been watching Dancing With The Stars after dinner two nights ago. Abbie's empty bed was in plain view as a silent reminder of loss. He didn't need Katie on his back, too.
Katie had looked shocked. He rarely raised his voice to her.
He'd stood and looked down at her. “I mean it, Kaitlyn. I know terrible things can happen. I don't need you to list them for me every minute I'm home. Try thinking positive. Maybe a family took her in and didn't know about identification chips. Maybe she chased a squirrel over the fence and is exploring the woods. Maybe someone's found her and hasn't seen our flyers yet.”
He knew he'd sounded hysterical. His suggestions were ludicrous. Even his ten-year-old knew that, but he hadn't want to hear it. He'd put on his running clothes and had run eight miles in the rain that night. Katie hadn't said much to him since then.
Jill seemed curiously disinterested in the whole problem. When he'd raised the subject the day before, Jill had responded calmly. “What's the point of both of us being upset around Kaitlyn? She's hurting. One of us,” she'd looked at him with disappointment, “needs to check his feelings at the door and act like a parent.” They hadn't discussed it since.
Dan had continued to go to the county's animal control center after work every day to ensure that Abbie hadn't slipped through any bureaucratic cracks. The pleasant young assistant manager kept reassuring him they'd call the minute Abbie showed up. Nevertheless, Dan felt the pull to check for himself each time, even if it meant walking between the walls of cages and seeing those other dogs whose families, if they had one, weren't looking quite so hard.
At least the sun had come out. Maybe it was a sign for optimism.
***
Saturday afternoon, Dan watched a college basketball game on TV. He heard Jill come in the back door and slam her keys and purse on the breakfast bar. She'd been out to lunch with some of her girlfriends, which usually put her in a good mood. He'd stayed home to be with Katie. Not that much was required. She was in her room with the door closed and had refused the egg salad sandwich, apple, and iced tea he'd prepared for lunch.
He tensed at the sound of Jill's footsteps coming quickly toward the den.
“Haven't you humiliated me enough?” she cried at the doorway. Other than the fact that she was crying, she looked terrific. A pretty spring dress. Even her hair had been styled so she didn't look quite so haunted.
She walked over, snatched the remote from the sofa beside him, and turned off the TV.
He didn't know what he'd done. Not the faintest idea. “Jill, what are you talking about?”
“Humiliation. By you. Towards me.” She was still standing near the TV.
“Could you be more specific?” he asked. “Maybe you should sit down.”
“Yes, I'll be specific. Three of my friends and I were having a good time at the new Stony Point bistro. The sun was shining and we had a table outside. It was the first time I'd enjoyed myself in months. Everyone loved my haircut. I got compliments. I felt great.
“It was my turn to pay. We were finishing our coffee, enjoying the chocolate mints that came with the bill, and deciding whether to get our nails done when the waiter asked me if I had another credit card because mine was no longer valid.
“The only other card I had with me was for Costco. We weren't lunching at Costco,” she almost spat. “I didn't have enough cash so everyone paid for their own meal plus mine. I was the hostess and I couldn't pay for my lunch much less my guests. Humiliating.
“They all said it was nothing, but I saw the looks they gave each other. Pity. Poor, stupid Jill with the cheating husband who has now cut off her credit cards. Needless to say, we didn't go for manicures.” She dissolved into more tears.
“What card?” he asked calmly.
She looked at him with swollen eyes.
“Don't pretend. Just tell me why you did it.” She gulped.
Aside from the fact that Jill never got manicures, he didn't know what she was talking about. He ran through their credit cards in his head. American Express for big purchases and vacations. Visa for household purchases. Costco for bulk shopping and gas. She had a business credit card. Each had a debit card for their joint checking account. That was it. None of them had been closed.
“I haven't done anything. I haven't even looked at our balances since Abbie went missing.”
She moved towards him. “Why not? You told me you had to check our finances daily. Sometimes more.”
He shook his head. “Not really. I was being overly cautious.”
What he couldn't say was that Bella had mocked his day trading. He'd insisted he wasn't a day trader. He was a serious investor who analyzed everything. Bella had laughed. “Don't you realize Wall Street is one big casino and the house always wins? Do you really think you, all alone in your office, can outwit all the financial institutions all over the world with their twenty-four seven research staffs of thousands? Keeping in mind that a lot of corporations and institutions want to lose money for tax purposes. It's legal gambling.”
His oversight sounded stupid phrased that way.
“I read The Wall Street Journal, Forbes, and watch MSNBC every day,” he'd said defensively.
“Oh, Daniel, The Wall Street Journal is a gossip rag. Anything printed there was known weeks ago by the real players. Same for TV news and magazines. They're outdated before they're aired or printed. Who do you think feeds them?”
“They have investigative reporters,” he'd answered in a huff.
“They have public relations firms feeding them carefully crafted press releases and leaked misinformation. Do you really think that little brunette with the skunk stripe in her hair could read a financial report much less analyze it? She's on-air eye candy.” When Bella had seemed to realize she'd wounded him, she'd softened her position. “Daniel, I don't care if you have ten cents or ten million dollars. I don't want your family's nest egg to get broadsided because you're out of your depth. You're too smart for that. Too responsible.”
“Dad always…”
Bella had stopped him. “Dan, your dad starting saving and investing in a different era. Automated trades, global investments, and institutional cartels didn't exist. Following his example of being prudent with household finances is admirable, but you can't follow his exact practices. They're outdated.”
He’d thought about what she'd said for a long time. She was a well-regarded securities lawyer in New York. She knew what she was talking about. He'd stopped day trading and immediately, felt less stressed about money.
“Dan? Why did you need to humiliate me even more?” cried Jill.
“What card?” he repeated.
She didn't answer, but went in the kitchen and pulled the offending card out of her wallet. He trailed her. “This one,” she said as she handed it to him.
He looked down at their Visa card. It was valid. It was current. He always paid the balance before it was due so as not to incur interest. Their credit limit was $7,500. Had the card been stolen?
“Jill, I swear, nothing's wrong with this card unless someone has stolen the numbers and pushed it past the limit. I'll check right now.”
He hustled upstairs into the small room they called the office. There was a desk in front of the window overlooking the front yard, bookshelves, and a computer with scanner and printer. He logged in and looked at the account.
Zero balance. Closed at cardholder's request. Two weeks ago.
That wasn't right. He hadn't closed it. Jill obviously
hadn't. They'd been hacked.
He called the toll free customer service number, punched in numbers four times, and then heard himself shouting representative into the phone as he pounded his fist on the desk.
***
Dinner didn't improve the atmosphere in the household.
“How long is Dad going to sleep in the guest room?” Katie asked as she picked out a warm jalapeno muffin and passed the basket to Dan. He didn't respond and kept his eyes on his fajita and black beans.
“Until his condition is better,” said Jill as she dished out corn insalata.
“What condition?” Katie wasn't going to let this go.
“We've told you, Kaitlyn. He has a condition called sleep apnea, so he sleeps alone in a room with a machine if he needs it. The equipment is too noisy for me to sleep through.”
“Josie said her dad slept in the guest room for three weeks and then moved out. He and her mom got a divorce and now he has a new wife.”
“Kaitlyn, you shouldn't listen to gossip or repeat it.” Jill sat and served herself.
“Are you and Dad going to get a divorce?” Katie pressed.
Jill didn't look at Dan. “I've never heard of sleep apnea causing divorce. Eat, before your food gets cold.”
Katie rolled her eyes. “That's what you always say when you don't want to talk about something.”
“That's right. I want to eat dinner without gossiping.” She took a bite of her fajita and turned to Dan. “Were you able to straighten things out with the credit card company?”
How could she ask that? The customer service representative who told him Jill Carter Ramsay had closed the account gave him the exact date and time it had been closed. Jill had staged that whole scene. He couldn't believe it. He'd thought Jill was completely guileless. She couldn't be that cunning and vindictive.
He'd vastly underestimated how much his affair with Bella hurt her. He believed Jill deserved someone younger, less serious, and more fun than he was. She deserved someone who loved her with his whole heart without any portion eternally reserved for another woman. He thought if he'd divorced her to marry Bella she'd recognize that and move forward. Now, he was the one who desperately wanted to keep things together for Katie. She was trying to hurt him somehow. One of her friends must have dreamed this scheme up. Jill simply didn't think that way, and she had no financial acumen. She entrusted him with all their financial and insurance matters. “Dan,” Jill said again. “Is the credit card problem fixed?”
“Yes,” he said playing along in front of Katie. “We'll get new cards next week. Apparently, it happened to customers whose accounts are serviced in Phoenix. They apologized.”
“We were hacked?” asked Katie.
Dan sensed her excitement. “Not really. More like a giant mistake.”
“And you got them to apologize?” Katie seemed awestruck.
“I made a phone call.”
“That's so cool, Dad. We got hacked and one phone call from you made them apologize. You're awesome.” Maybe she was thawing a little after days of believing he'd lost Abbie and lied about it.
“I'd like to give them the telephone numbers of my friends so they can apologize to them, too,” said Jill.
Dan smiled. “I didn't think of it. I should have. I'd love to see the looks of their faces.”
“Me, too.” Jill smiled.
CHAPTER TWENTY
She didn't have to wait long in the classic southern gentleman's law firm reception area. Silence reigned. Thick antique carpets and heavy velvet drapes muffled sound. A tastefully dressed receptionist spoke in muted tones to callers.
After being offered coffee, tea, and cucumber water, she'd been left in privacy. Appointments seemed to be scheduled so clients didn't meet. From where she was seated, she had a view of the James River as it wound around and defined the city.
“Please, come this way. Mr. Bowles will see you now,” said a conservatively-dressed young woman who escorted her to what must be a coveted corner office.
He rose to welcome her from behind his highly polished mahogany desk. He clasped her hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Ramsay. Your father-in-law and my father were longtime friends. I'm sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” she said. “It was a terrible shock.” He offered her the same beverages and she declined. He showed her to one of two Chippendale chairs in front of his desk and returned to his seat across from her.
William J. Bowles, III was identical to any number of affluent white men native to Richmond. He was neither tall nor short, had brown hair and blue eyes, and wore a navy suit from Beecroft and Bull with a rep tie. No doubt his shoes were black wing-tips from Church's. He was perfectly bland.
“I wasn't sure what you needed, so I pulled all the trust documents for your family. How would you like to proceed?” he asked smoothly.
“Mr. Bowles, my husband and I are having…marital difficulties.” She closed her eyes and let her long lashes linger on her cheeks before looking up again. “He's admitted a long affair with another woman.” She paused again, as if she were still bewildered by what her husband had done.
“I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs. Ramsay.”
She nodded. “Naturally, I'm considering some form of separation, but my understanding is that everything we have, except for a small brokerage account and our home, is tied up in multiple trusts. Your father, of course, was my husband's family lawyer. He created trusts when my husband and I got married, and I believe more were created when our daughter was born. I'd like to know how complicated it would be to unwind—if that is the correct term—the trusts without damaging our daughter in any way.
“I also believe our daughter and I were named in one or two of my late father-in-law's trusts. I'm not sure of my position with regard to them now that he has died.”
She took a deep breath as if mustering the courage to pose her questions.
“Could you explain them to me, Mr. Bowles? That's not breaking any confidence, is it?” She dabbed at her eyes. “I'm ashamed to admit I know nothing about investments. I don't know the difference between a trust and a will.” She gave a small shrug. “I work in marketing. My husband handles our finances.”
The lawyer's face remained unchanged. “I'm sorry to hear that you and your husband are considering ending your marriage. It's my obligation as your attorney to urge you to reconsider. Divorce is costly and difficult even in the best circumstances.”
“Are there best circumstances for divorce?” she asked softly.
“There are some that are more amicable than others,” he rephrased and smiled slightly.
“My husband has been abusive, Mr. Bowles,” she whispered. “I don't want our daughter to grow up thinking that's acceptable.” She folded her beautifully manicured hands in her lap and sat very still.
“I'm sorry.” His manner softened towards her. “That changes things, of course.”
“Am I allowed to know about the trusts?”
“There's no confidentiality problem with your trusts nor those of your father-in-law in which you or your daughter, Kaitlyn Carter Ramsay, are beneficiaries.”
She made a little noise that she hoped sounded like gratitude.
“Mrs. Ramsay, estate planning usually involves three types of instruments—a will, a trust, and some form of insurance. Wills are documents in which a person specifies who should inherit whatever he owns at the time of his death. That sometimes causes a beneficiary—a person who inherits something—to pay taxes he didn't anticipate.
“Trusts eliminate that problem. A trust instead of a person is created to own something Assets owned by a trust may be bought and sold and donated at any time instead of being linked to a life event like death. Trusts aren't considered part of an estate and don't pay estate taxes. Your family estate planning doesn't include insurance.”
She nodded. “Thank you. I understand about the will, but I'm still not sure about trusts. Do different trusts own different things?”
“
Yes, for example, a person could establish a trust for his artwork. There are some advantages in making the owner of the art a trust instead of a person. The disadvantage is that the person gives up control over the artwork. A trustee, not the original owner, makes decisions about when it's a good time to sell a painting or buy a piece of sculpture or donate a piece to a museum.”
“I understand. Thank you, Mr. Bowles.” She brightened a bit as she spoke. “What a good example.”
He beamed at her praise.
“Your original question is a good one. When a trust instead of a person owns something, it usually can't be considered property in certain legal actions such as divorce or bankruptcy.”
“Oh, I see.” She looked crestfallen.
“Let's start with the educational trust your father-in-law established for Miss Ramsay. Funds from that trust can only be applied to an educational institution such as an elementary or secondary school, college or university, or professional or vocational institute. Whatever assets remain after Miss Ramsay completes her education will be distributed to her when she turns thirty-one. Your father-in-law's death doesn't affect the trust at all. Trust assets will continue to pay for Miss Ramsay's education.”
She looked confused. “I'm sorry to sound foolish, but what do you mean by trust assets?” A flash of pity crossed his face.
“Assets are what the trusts owns. Like the example of an artwork trust. Artwork is the asset of that trust. The assets of Miss Ramsay's trust are a mix of cash, stocks, and bonds. Without assets assigned to it, a trust is empty.”
She tried to appear surprised. “You mean we could have trusts with no money in them?”
He nodded. “It's possible, although unlikely.”
Her hands started to shake. She must have paled because the young woman who had escorted her into the office now entered with a glass of water as if by magic. Mr. Bowles must have silently signaled her.
“May I get you something, Mrs. Ramsay? Do you feel all right?” she asked. She probably had smelling salts in her pocket for faint-hearted female clients.