Baker had resigned from police duty the following morning. It would take time to be able to walk away completely, but he was able to devote more time each day to his Trustee work. The idea of being wealthy and giving away money had appealed to him in the beginning, but he now realized the seriousness of his charge.
In the meetings over the first few days, Millard Howe, the Starks’ estate lawyer, went over quite a few different documents with him, all with various processes and guidelines to follow, and others explaining what they were trying to accomplish. Baker thought it was all excessive. He expected they’d hear about various causes, discuss the merits, and, if they so decided, transfer funds to the recipient. The endless forms, processes, and decision trees the Starks left behind seemed superfluous. The charts were pasted up on the walls of Howe’s modest one-story office building outside the Dome, covering most of the surfaces other than the windows overlooking the small parking lot outside.
When Howe told him how much he’d be paid for serving in the role, Baker had been thunderstruck, and thought he’d misheard. Making as much in a month as you had in a year was surely overkill. Given that Howe told reporters that Baker would be compensated so as to ensure he could maintain his previous standard of living, he thought he’d make the same in this role that he had as a police officer. Howe noted that Stark knew the pressure Baker would face in the role, and the statement was designed to prevent people from thinking that Baker was suddenly wealthy and worthy of the type of threats Stark had faced on a daily basis.
They’d issued a press release early on. Will and Hope wanted to give the vast majority of their estate away, ideally while still living, and the Trust was established to continue their quest. The Trust had rules noting that money must be given away at the discretion of the Trustee after consultation with the Advisor, and only after passing many criteria to ensure the funds met the Starks’ values. The basic tenets were published with a web address enabling people to print out the detailed request forms if they met the criteria. Baker and Howe would review the forms, verify that the request in fact met the Starks’ guidelines, and then respond with their decision, also in writing. Paper would give them a trail with necessary signatures, something which appealed to Howe’s legal nature. Baker expected it to be a smooth, simple process.
The reality had left his faith in humanity shattered. And that came from a man who’d spent years in law enforcement.
The office was flooded in a deluge of paper mail. Of the thousands of letters, only a few dozen met the guidelines the Starks had established and which had been printed clearly on every press release published, and on the web site available for downloading forms. While there were a handful which were close, the vast majority were people who simply wanted money, and expected to receive it, despite meeting none of the criteria the Starks had established. And they had no qualms about employing whatever means necessary to achieve those ends.
Dozens of letters arrived claiming to be blood relatives of one of the Starks, typically a previously unknown child of Will’s. Several claimed to be a missing aunt, uncle, or cousin, and demanded a “proper share for a member of the family,” even threatening legal action if the Trust did not immediately grant them their demands. The most disgusting were the handful of letters from those claiming that Josh had been their father. Baker was sickened that anyone would be so lazy as to not check facts before claiming to be the young adult child of a dead six-year-old boy. The tamer versions tried to sound formal by incorrectly lengthening “Will” to “William” or “Wilson,” assuming that the use of a full formal name gave credibility to their claims. Both Howe and Baker knew that the man’s full given name was, in fact, just Will.
The second type of scam involved the verbal promise. These claimed that one of the Starks (again, in some cases, including Josh, who’d never spoken a word in his short six years of life) had promised funds for varying purposes. Both men knew that the Starks made a habit of never walking away from an encounter where they expected to give someone money without actually completing the transaction on the spot. Baker recalled Will talking to a parent during a youth baseball game, and the man had made enough of an impression about a business idea that Will decided to provide an angel investment. Stark had gone home, gotten his checkbook, and written the check on the spot. But Stark hadn’t told the man of his decision until he’d returned with the ability to make the investment. He had a difficult time thinking the Starks had made many “check in the mail” promises. They made the decision early on to reply with a candid response that neither man had been informed of any verbal promises, but to invite such requesters to go through the defined request process. Only a few did, and the two men were left with the likely explanation that no actual promises had ever been made.
Others actually went so far as to submit written letters reputedly signed by the Starks promising funds. The vast majority had the kind of typographical errors that the Starks simply wouldn’t make, including managing to misspell Will, Hope, or Stark, or simply left out the actual signature in the designated spot. The few that passed these basic criteria contained signatures that were so obviously forgeries that Millard Howe’s legal team went after the requesters for mail fraud.
Of the tens of thousands of letters received, less than five percent used the forms the Trust required to consider the requester for funds from the Trust. Of the five percent that followed the process, only a handful met even a majority of the guidelines the Starks set down.
Baker found himself rereading the letter Will had sent him. It helped keep him sane. The letter, in its simplest sense, talked about Will’s experience in dealing with his philanthropic image. Many people asked him for money; some demanded it; others attempted to compel him for it. He most preferred to direct his money where it would multiply in its effect, providing gifts or grants to promising business startups likely to employ dozens or hundreds or even more down the road. He’d provide charitable gifts to those who had experienced true misfortune and for whom the funds would provide a chance to restart their lives. He donated money to research organizations that sought cures to common diseases and illnesses, especially those impacting children. He did not, as he stated, prefer to give money to people who had experienced no specific misfortune and for whom the money would be used just to fund their own lifestyle. To Will, that was the true definition of greed: to hoard resources to oneself, for the sole benefit of oneself, regardless of the level of fortune the person possessed; a poor person could be greedy, and a wealthy person generous. Both Will and Hope, wealthy as they were, met the definition of generosity better than anyone he’d ever known.
Will also noted that he’d heard stories of Baker, by no means a wealthy man, displaying generosity of this sort in helping the victims of crimes he was working as a police officer, and saw a similar generosity of spirit in the work the two men did in establishing and running the baseball program for children in and around Pleasanton. Hope was moved by the stories Will shared about Michael Baker, and she stated emphatically that Baker was the man she wanted as Trustee. Will had agreed. And so Michael Baker found himself in this role, reading thousands of letters, most of which so clearly went against the publicly stated purposes of this Trust.
He felt a sense of relief when his phone rang, interrupting his read of yet another forgery. He listened to the voice on the other end. Millard Howe looked up, having noticed that Baker had said nothing on the call, and watched as Baker’s face went ashen. The former police officer hung up the phone and sprinted from the room. Howe trailed after him.
“Michael!” Howe shouted. “Michael! What’s wrong? Where are you going?”
Baker didn’t answer. He emerged into the parking lot, jumped into his car, and drove away at high speed, oblivious to the fact that there were other cars in the vicinity. Howe stood, watching him, wondering what to do. He finally realized that he’d never track Baker down at the speed the man was driving, and that he’d simply have to wait for Baker to contact him.
Howe moved back into the office and shut the door, then walked to his desk. He heard the door click shut behind him as expected. Then he heard the sound of the deadbolt lock being turned, which was unexpected. Howe whirled around, tensing for an attack.
Then he relaxed, recognizing the man now standing inside his office. “Adam? What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk, Mr. Howe.” The man looked somber, and Howe found himself concerned.
“How did you get into my office? I didn’t see you outside.”
“I move quietly, Mr. Howe. Please, let’s sit down and talk.”
Howe didn’t move, suddenly wary.
Adam shrugged and sat down at the table Howe and Baker had used, in the seat Baker had only recently vacated in such rapid fashion. “Mr. Howe, I wanted to let you know that I am the secret Advisor to the Trust, the one named in the will.”
Howe blinked. He hadn’t even thought of the other Advisor in the past two weeks, given that the Starks for some reason had not seen fit to let him or Baker in on the person’s identity. “What ‘secret Advisor’ are you referring to, Adam?”
“The one mentioned in the will you helped the Starks draft,” Adam said, repeating his earlier words.
Ah, that cleared it up. “So you read the will I asked you to store securely, gleaned that there was a role for a ‘secret Advisor’—“ he flashed air quotes “— and decided you’d volunteer for the job?”
Adam smiled. “I’m not volunteering. I was volunteered, much as you and Mr. Baker were volunteered. And as was the case with the two of you, I accepted my role.”
“And what proof do I have that what you’re saying is true? The Starks left me instructions to name Mr. Baker as Trustee in the event of their deaths. They never told me the identity of another person who would be involved.”
“Mr. Howe, you are an intelligent man. If the Starks defined a role within the will for a secret Advisor, it would make sense that they went to the trouble to actually find one, correct?”
Howe shrugged.
Adam laughed. “Ever the lawyer, aren’t you? I’ll keep talking then. If they named such a person, then someone would need to know about it and be able to verify it was true. If I showed up shortly after the Starks’ deaths and said I were the Trustee, would you believe me?”
“I have documentation from the Starks stating explicitly that the role was Michael Baker’s. I would not have provided you the necessary means to expend funds on behalf of the Trust.”
“Precisely. I couldn’t be the Trustee, because they’d told someone — you — that someone else had been given that role. You were the estate attorney for the Starks, so you would be involved as well. Mr. Stark liked to split responsibility, which is why he had you craft everything so it wasn’t just one person making decisions in a vacuum, and he didn’t want two people because he didn’t want to have ‘ties’ in determining what to do. Three was the smallest number that could meet those challenges, and so he had three people in mind. Everyone knew about you. You knew about Baker. So who would, logically, know about the secret Advisor?”
Howe’s eyes widened. “Michael knows you?”
“Indirectly. Let’s just say that he and I share a common secret, which was Stark’s way of making sure we’d be able to confirm each other’s identity. I don’t need to confirm Michael’s, because you’ve already done that, but he’ll be able to confirm mine.”
Now Howe was curious. “What secret?”
Adam laughed. “Mr. Howe, what good are secrets if too many people know them? I knew that my information from Stark had been shared with only one other person, and when Mr. Baker was named Trustee, I finally knew who that was. I’ve made arrangements to have my previous role significantly filled by others, and can thus devote a good deal of time to my new position. I’ll make contact with Mr. Baker, so that he can confirm that Mr. Stark chose me for the position.”
Howe scowled. “How do I know you won’t coerce Michael into agreeing to your claim?”
Adam shrugged. “You’ve undoubtedly set up code words. Words you use to communicate with each other if something goes wrong, without alerting others. Mr. Stark had us establish a similar system in the secure data center, and I imagine he recommended that the two of you develop something along those lines. So if I coerce Mr. Baker in any way, you’ll know.” He glanced around. “Where is Michael, by the way? I’d like to talk to him.”
Howe shrugged. “I have no idea. He ran out of here just before you materialized in my office, looking upset and driving off quickly.”
Adam furrowed his brow, and then his brown eyes widened. “He’s not on the police force anymore, so he’s not receiving dispatch calls. That means there’s only one thing likely to make him react like that.” He headed to the door, just as Howe reached the same conclusion. Adam raced out of the office into the parking lot, leaped onto a motorcycle, and sped off, with no helmet on his head. After locking the office, Howe jumped into his car and drove after him.
Moments later the men arrived at the hospital serving residents outside the Dome. “I hope it’s nothing serious,” Howe muttered. Adam only grunted his assent. They entered the building, found signs indicating the direction of the trauma wing, and rode the elevator to the fourth floor.
Howe tried to get the room number of Baker’s young son, but the woman on duty merely pushed her glasses further up on her nose and shook her head, murmuring something about patient privacy laws. Adam approached, and asked for Mrs. Baker’s room number. Adam leaned in, smiling, but the desk worker ignored him, instead pretending to work on her computer screen, obviously sensing that the two men at the desk were working together. Adam thanked her for her time and walked away, grabbing Howe’s arm. “Let’s go.”
He marched down a side hallway, and Howe grabbed his arm, pulling Adam to a stop. “What are you doing?” he whispered.
“I saw the room number reflected in the glasses that woman wore,” Adam replied. “Mrs. Baker is here. Let’s go.” Howe reluctantly followed, wondering if they were breaking some kind of hospital rule.
Adam led the way to the room and knocked on the door, stepping aside so that Howe would be the first person Michael Baker would see. A moment later, the ashen-faced former police officer opened the door a crack, a small hint of relief appearing at the sight of the familiar face. “Millard. Thank you for coming. I should have called and told you, but...”
“Don’t worry about it, Michael,” Howe replied. “We figured it out.”
Baker just then noticed Adam. He looked at the man intently, frowned, and said, “I don’t believe I know you, do I?”
“Not directly,” Adam replied. “We do have a common friend, though.”
“Millard?”
“Will Stark.”
Baker glanced at Howe. “Should I know this man?”
Howe shrugged. “He’s a colleague. May we come in?”
Baker hesitated, and then opened the door with some reluctance, closing it immediately after the two men had entered the room.
Katherine Baker was lying on an elevated bed, and it was unclear if she was sleeping or unconscious. She had numerous tubes running into her body, the familiar beeping sound tracking her pulse the only consistent noise in the room. Bandages covered her face, which was clearly bruised heavily. A small boy was on the bed with the woman, curled around one of her legs, his face positioned to watch her. The boy could be no more than six or seven years old.
“Your son?” Adam asked.
Baker nodded. “His name is William. We named him after one of the best men we’d ever known.”
Adam nodded. “A wonderful choice. What happened to her?”
“Witnesses said she and William headed out to do some grocery shopping. When they got home, there were people waiting for her. They pulled the two of them out of the car, and threatened my wife if she didn’t give them money, money they said Stark owed them. They...they picked up a rock and hit her in the head, meaning to scare her, but g
ot carried away and kept at it until my son’s screaming and tears finally made them run. She’s got a lot of facial lacerations and bruises, and a severe concussion as well. The doctors say she’ll be OK, eventually, but she’s going to need to stay in here for several days, probably a week. William was there and saw the whole thing, and he’s quite traumatized by it. He refuses to leave her side, because he’s convinced she’ll die if he does. I’d love to get him to go home or to a friend’s house, but I can’t get him to leave.”
Howe was conflicted. He glanced at Adam, but the man’s face was terrible, the look of someone who’d experienced a most horrifying event. Adam put his hand on Baker’s shoulder. “I promise you, Michael, that the people who did this will be punished.”
Baker smiled weakly. “Thanks. Unfortunately, it won’t take away my son’s memories of what happened, or stop the nightmares both of them will have.”
A Question of Will (The Aliomenti Saga - Book 1) Page 14