by Karen Bell
‘And when we finally came to the formality of exchanging contracts a week before she passed, she had written a sum of just twelve hundred dollars to cover the legals.’
Mila had been listening quietly, drawing her own conclusions about Ryan from what he said. She assumed that Dorothy and her sister Daisy had passed away right here in the house, possibly even in the bedroom she’d slept in, but she found it appropriate, rather than creepy. It seemed that Ryan found family wherever he went and Mila couldn’t help wondering if she was maybe another of his collectable strays.
‘That’s a really touching story. Is anything you don’t do well Sergeant Ryan?’ she asked, with an innocent smile. She could see that the double meaning of her question was not lost on him, given that he was standing between her legs with one hand on each warm thigh and their faces were inches apart.
‘Well I don’t usually do commitment well. Ask a long line of momentary girlfriends,’ he admitted, then realizing what he’d said, rushed to apologise. ‘I’m sorry, that sounded terrible. I was just trying to say that somehow it feels different with you. It feels right. It’s just refreshing to meet someone honest and unpretentious.’
Mila didn’t respond, so he continued. ‘There are a lot of game players out there. It’s the men who are accused of it but you’d be surprised by the number of incredibly complicated women out there.’
She’d been listening intently to what he was saying and was feeling more and more the fraud. He was a good, honourable, decent man. He just wanted the same in a partner.
The keeping of secrets in her case wasn’t intentional but there was just no easy way to tell someone – ‘My husband used to rape me nightly. He used to string me up and bring strange men into our home. He scarred me for life and now I need you to make me whole again. Oh and by the way, he left me with a debt of half a million dollars and the men he owed could well kill me, my daughter and even you, if I don’t find a way to repay it.’
Ryan saw the play of emotions running over her face and thought he had hurt her feelings.
‘I’m so sorry Mila. Let me make it up to you.’
‘No, it’s not what you said. It’s me. I haven’t been entirely honest with you.’ She paused as if bracing herself.
‘I need to tell you that my marriage was far from ideal. I don’t talk about it because I’m trying to put it behind me but the more time I spend with you, the more I realize what a genuine connection feels like and the more focus it places on all those lost years.’
This was not really news to Ryan who had suspected since the break-in that all had not been well in the Taylor household.
‘Why didn’t you just leave?’ he asked.
‘It wasn’t that simple. My husband could be quite domineering behind closed doors even though he was the model of congeniality in public. I guess after so many years of listening to him, I just began to believe that I was unworthy of better.’
It was an admission that Ryan could see made Mila feel incredibly vulnerable. ‘Did he hurt you …physically?’ he asked, feeling the blaze of anger rising within.
‘Let’s not go there,’ she responded, looking down at her hands. ‘I don’t want to spoil what’s been a perfect night and now morning.’
Ryan swore under his breath, taking her avoidance as an affirmative but he asked no more questions, just took his hands off Mila’s legs, unconsciously curling them into fists. The very thought of a man raising his hand to her… His head burned, as adrenalin surged through him with nowhere to go, because the dragon he longed to slay for her was already dead and buried.
Mila seemed keen to change the subject. ‘So what time do you have to be at the police station?’
He checked himself and made a conscious effort to look at his watch. ‘Officially now, but I called earlier to say I’d be late. I can drop you home on the way in. Let’s have some breakfast and then we’ll go. There’s a cool breeze today so we can take the car instead of the bike.’
They both sensed that the time for intimacy had passed but each was grateful for the simple presence of the other as they sat together in the kitchen and shared a meal. Ryan steered the conversation to lighter topics as much to lift his own dark shroud as to see a smile again on Mila’s face.
They laughed, as Mila was caught red-handed feeding Jake toast beneath the table. ‘Fourteen years of training and you’re going to undo it all in ten minutes,’ he scolded, but his voice was gentle.
Ryan was not actually going to the station this morning, but to the Sydney headquarters of the Australian Federal Police. He was going to be busy all day but he made a mental note to find out more about Robert Taylor; the asshole who had dared to mistreat Mila.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
‘I have an appointment to see the bank manager at eleven a.m.?’ Mila was standing at the enquiries desk of her local branch.
‘Of course, Sue Westmore will be right out. Can I get you a coffee?’
‘No thank you, I’m fine.’ A female bank manager, thought Mila. Well the heels and tight top were a waste of effort. Serves you right for being sexist. She’s either going to advance you the money or she’s not.
An attractive woman Mila’s age stepped out to greet her before showing her into an office. ‘It’s lovely to meet you finally Mrs Taylor. I was wondering if you actually existed.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Mila, tilting her head to one side.
‘Well it’s just that your husband came in on so many occasions without you. It’s just unusual these days, that’s all…’ her voice trailed off, as it occurred to her that she may have offended a client.
‘I didn’t realize that my husband came in to the branch to do the banking. He was out of town so much of the time.’
‘Oh he didn’t come in for everyday banking, just when he was making changes to loan agreements and the like.’
‘Loan agreements?’ Now Mila was beginning to feel really uneasy. There were no loans that she knew of.
‘Yes, extensions to lines of credit and the like; withdrawals of term deposits, you know, things that required signatures. So how is Mr Taylor anyway, it’s some time since we’ve seen him and we were beginning to worry because he has slipped behind in repayments these last two months.’
That uneasy feeling was growing, swelling like a balloon inside her. ‘My husband passed away five weeks ago. I was coming in today to inform the bank and to ask for some of our savings to be released so that I have something to live on until probate goes through.’
Sue Westmore shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She had opened up their accounts on the computer screen in front of her and was flicking between pages but stopped and looked up when she heard the news.
‘I’m really so sorry to hear that Mrs Taylor – may I call you Mila? My sincere condolences.’
‘Thank you. It all happened quite suddenly and I had meant to inform the bank sooner…’
‘That’s quite alright, that’s not a problem. What I am looking at here is that you and your husband had all of your accounts set up in an unusual way. You will be aware that he had several accounts solely in his name, but the home loan in both. I’d have to check on the date it was established but I can see you gave a Power of Attorney enabling your husband to act as a signatory on your behalf as well as his.’
Mila remembered that the bank had requested both names on the loan even though the house had been in Robert’s name. But the mortgage had been paid off years before.
The manager continued. ‘I can see that eighteen months ago there was a large deposit in both your names too.’
‘Yes,’ said Mila with relief. ‘That was the proceeds of the sale of my parents’ home after they passed away.’
It had been a savvy decision of Robert’s insisting that they sell her parent’s home following their death. At the time she’d been sad to say goodbye to the house where she, and her parents and later Holly had shared so many memories, but Robert had been right in pointing out that it was old and b
ecoming a money pit. He’d also predicted that the housing market was about to collapse and convinced her that the money was better off in term deposits. How clever she had thought him when just a few months later, for the first time in many decades, the housing market had dropped by some twenty percent.
‘I signed with my husband to have the money held in term deposits to be rolled over every three months.’
‘That’s right, I can see notes to that effect, but there is a cooling off period and your husband came in just two days later and decided to invest only half of that amount with us. The broker at the time offered him our best possible rate but he apparently said he could do better elsewhere.’
‘But I don’t know where else that money could be invested? He didn’t tell me he’d put it elsewhere.’ Mila could hear the alarm in her own voice.
‘That’s not the end of it Mrs Taylor. When the next rollover came about three months later, he withdrew the rest.’
‘What? You mean we have no money invested here? How am I going to find out where he’s put it?’
‘There are ways of tracing accounts in peoples’ names. You have to show one hundred points of identification before investing money with a bank, so assuming it’s with another bank it could be found… but if your husband invested it privately, or spent it…well that could be almost impossible to trace.’
Mila could feel the blood coursing into her forehead and her cheeks burned.
‘Mrs Taylor I have tell you that the line of credit secured by your home is also over drawn. In the light of falling property prices, the lending department has been concerned by your level of gearing.’
‘What is gearing?’ asked Mila, her head now throbbing as though caught in a vice.
‘Gearing in this instance refers to your debt to equity ratio, or to put it more simply, the amount you borrow against the value of your assets. If the debt becomes higher than the value of the home securing it and you can’t find a way to catch up on repayments, the bank will have to look at foreclosure to recover the borrowed money. Do you work Mrs Taylor? Your income wasn’t listed on the loan.’
‘No,’ she answered meekly. Mila tried to absorb all that was being said and understand the ramifications. ‘But I could sell the house and pay back the bank assuming there’s enough.’
‘It looks like that might be the only course of action. I don’t want to alarm you Mrs Taylor but it’s my gut feeling that if there had been money invested elsewhere, your husband would not have borrowed against the home. I could be wrong, of course, interest rates for borrowing are low and there’s always a scheme somewhere promising high risk, high returns…’
‘My husband wasn’t a risk taker,’ Mila interjected, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘He was as frugal as they come, an accountant. I just can’t see why he would have risked everything we had, my parents’ life savings, our daughter’s inheritance.’ There was hysteria in her voice now and the room had begun to turn. ‘There is no other money, maybe some superannuation.’
‘Maybe a life insurance policy?’ suggested the bank manager hopefully.
‘May…be.’ Mila could hardly speak now. Her mouth was dry but tears were welling in her eyes. Sue Westmore hurried to get her a glass of water and some tissues.
‘Can I suggest that you enlist the services of an investigative accountant to help you look into that and I’ll see what I can do from our end?’
‘I don’t have money to employ an accountant. I’m down to my last few hundred dollars and if there was any money to draw down on, I couldn’t access it without my husband’s signature.’
While the manager appeared genuinely sympathetic and moved by her predicament, it didn’t stop Mila feeling like a fool. She was pretty sure that the savvy businesswoman sitting before her would never have allowed a man to take sole control of her finances.
‘Okay, I can see you’re in a real bind so lets just keep what I’m about to say off the record shall we? I’m going to pretend that I still don’t know your husband has passed. I’m going to treat this as a request for an extension to your overdraft and authorize a debit card so you can withdraw. Looking at the ratios, the best I can do without a whole new application is an additional five thousand dollars. Will that get you out of trouble?’
Mila had a whole new definition of the word trouble but she appreciated that Sue Westmore was really sticking her neck out to help and she nodded her appreciation and acceptance of the offer.
‘Let me do the paperwork and you’ll receive a keycard in the post in the next couple of days. Get yourself some good advice Mrs Taylor. I really wish you the best of luck. We girls have to stick together.’
Mila didn’t remember how she got to her car in the multi level car park or how long she sat with the radio blaring, windows up, screaming into her hands. Ironically she somehow pulled it together in time to realize that if she didn’t leave soon, she would have to pay a hefty sum for parking.
Still shaking, she pulled Robert’s wallet and his keys from her handbag. She looked at the photo of him on his driver’s licence and felt as though she was staring at a complete stranger. What have you done? What have you done? She searched his face for answers but the photo gave nothing away. Did he get himself into trouble by accident or was it all a selfish plan to have the last laugh? As egotistical as he was, Mila just refused to believe that he would have done this intentionally. She mentally corrected herself. He would have done this to me but not to his parents and not to Holly.
It was her father’s calming voice that she now heard through the despair. You’re a smart girl Mila, use your brain, use your instincts. You will work out what to do.
Mila turned Robert’s keys in her hands, looking at them carefully for the first time. Apart from the house, basement and car keys, there was the post box key – it shouldn’t be too hard to find the source of that, and two more unidentified keys one of which looked like it might belong to an entry door, the other a heavier old fashioned style, perhaps a gate or even a safe. Mila wondered if either belonged to the office where Robert did illegal bookkeeping for those men who’d broken into her home. Holding them all together was a PriceWaterhouse Coopers key ring. Fifteen years of working there should have amounted to a healthy enough superfund.
Mila drove out of the car parking station and pulled up in the shade a few streets away. Remembering that her home line was not secure, she decided to call from the relative safety of her car, using the mobile. The last thing she needed to do was to give her blackmailers more information than they already had, despite the fact that any money she could find would most likely end up in their hands or with the bank.
One phone call to his old workplace and Mila was able to find the name of superfund into which Robert’s pension had been paid.
She didn’t know his membership number but was lucky to get a sympathetic customer service rep who was prepared to ask a series of identifying questions after hearing that Robert had passed away. It wasn’t too much of a stretch for Mila to sound desperate and she learned that once they received a copy of his death certificate she could have access to all his information.
Mila asked whether her husband’s statements had been sent to their home address or their post office box, trying to sound nonchalant rather than ignorant. She’d quickly realised that privacy was paramount to these insurance companies and she didn’t want to arouse suspicion or have the operator come to the conclusion that she was seeking information that Robert didn’t want her to have. Her efforts were rewarded, when the customer service rep read out the suburb of the post box. Bingo, she said to herself. That’s just saved time driving around to all the post offices in the area. I’m not going down without a fight – do you hear me Robert?
Spurred on by her anger and buoyed by the small success, she drove straight to the post office and with the help of staff, soon located the box. It had to have been three months since Robert had emptied it and it was overflowing. Mila was hopeful that at least some of the windowed en
velopes would give her clues regarding their finances and maybe even lead her to the door that belonged to the unidentified key.
She cleared out the postbox, trying to decide where to take it all to sort through the contents, finally opting for the study room of local library and making a mental note to check around her home later for concealed cameras or bugs. Not that she would know where to start or what to look for. Maybe she could slip the question into conversation with Ryan. She could see it now. You didn’t happen to notice any hidden cameras did you after the robbery at my place? Oh no reason, just asking.
It was still school holidays, and the study room in the library was empty as Mila began opening mail. She bypassed the envelopes identified as Medicare or hospital as well as electricity and telephone bills and looked for anything from a bank or financial institution other than their own. Nothing, but there was an envelope from the superfund and Mila tore it open with her breath held, scanning to the last page. She stared at the numbers.
One hundred and sixty two thousand dollars. It was a lot of money, or at least it would have been if it wasn’t for the fact that Robert owed those thugs about three times that. It would have been enough to help Holly put a down payment on a unit or enough to allow Mila to get some qualifications. She scanned the statement for any death policy that might have been included but there was none. Don’t give up Mila, he might have had a separate policy through someone else.
The stack of unopened envelopes was diminishing and Mila was getting that gnawing feeling again in the pit of her stomach, doing the sums in her head of what she now owed – over a million dollars between the bank and the loan sharks compared to the value of her home, Robert’s car and this policy. By her rough calculations she would be least a quarter of a million dollars short.
Money had never been a priority for Mila. She’d never had an excess and never wanted it. She’d learned from a very early age that it couldn’t buy happiness, but it was a brutal realisation hitting her now, that owing money and not having the means to pay it was a weight of terrible magnitude.