“Renny, join us,” Eicholtz beckoned when he saw Renny standing in the doorway. “Everyone decided to call it a night. We’re going to get together at ten o’clock in the morning.”
Gus Eicholtz was the most genuine person on the List, and Renny wished he could talk with him in private and ask him some questions. But with Jerrod Weiss morosely nursing a double scotch, now was not the time.
“I’m going to have a Coke and go to bed,” Renny said.
While Renny fixed his drink, Eicholtz and Weiss sat in silence.
Weiss said, “We’ve had some significant attrition on the List the past twenty-four hours. First, the Johnston family goes aground on the rocks of primogeniture; next, Bart Maxwell follows the way of Alexander Hammond and dies childless.”
Renny didn’t detect a hint of regret in Weiss’s voice.
The Coke was not helping Renny’s creeping nausea, and he wasn’t sure he could stomach much more of Weiss’s meanspiritedness.
“I wonder who’s next?” Weiss added.
“Who knows?” Eicholtz responded. “This has been a sad night.”
“I think I’ll go up to my room,” Renny said. “I’m beat.”
He took a couple of steps and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Turning his head, his eyes met Weiss’s gaze, a malevolent stare that almost pushed Renny out of the room. Eicholtz, his back to Renny, was pouring another drink and didn’t see the exchange. Renny stumbled slightly as he walked out of the room.
“Come in.” Jo opened the door at Renny’s knock. “Sit down.”
Renny slumped into a small chair.
“That was quick. Are you all right?” she asked a little anxiously.
“Yes, I feel like I did after a hard-fought football game in high school. A little shaky in the legs, but I guess I’m OK.” He took a deep breath.
“I’d say you have been fighting, but not with flesh and blood,” Jo responded. “Here, let me get you a glass of water.”
The water tasted better than anything Renny had drunk the entire evening. His stomach relaxed, and he was able to think without being distracted by nausea.
“Thanks. My stomach has been acting up since dinner, but I think it’s settled down now.”
“Good. Why did you come up so soon?”
“They canceled any further meeting tonight; we’ll get together in the morning. The only men in the dining room were Eicholtz and Weiss. Eicholtz seemed sorry about Bart, but Weiss…”
“What?”
“I don’t know. He is a cold fish. He said, ‘I wonder who’s next?’ It was creepy.”
“Um, maybe he’s glad less people have an interest in the money.”
“Could be.” Renny closed his eyes tightly. “I’ve aged a couple of years in a single evening.”
“We both need some rest,” Jo answered. “I have to be at work by Monday afternoon, and it will be a long drive home to Michigan. I need to get an early start.”
“Let’s have breakfast together?” Renny asked.
“What time?”
“About seven-thirty?”
“OK.”
Renny was asleep within seconds after his head landed on the pillow. At two o’clock he woke up with a splitting headache. The rain was beating against the window, and the wind howled. Turning on the light, he stumbled into the bathroom and ran hot water over a washcloth. It provided little relief, so he searched through his travel kit for some pain pills. Taking two, he tried to go back to sleep. Twenty minutes later, he took two more. At four o’clock he dozed off to fitful, disjointed dreams. When he awoke at six-thirty, he heard the storm fading outside. His head was still producing a muffled pounding, so he swallowed two more pain pills and lay back down.
Then he remembered his father’s headaches. Although in excellent health until his death, H. L. suffered occasional, severe headaches that the doctor diagnosed as migraines. Not frequently—maybe six or seven times a year—he would be knocked out for a day, usually spending the time in bed in a darkened room. Now Renny knew how his father felt. Renny moaned a prayer, “God, I don’t want to have headaches like my father,” and fell back asleep.
An hour later, he woke up with some residual pain and pressure behind his left temple. The worst had passed, and the storm was almost spent as well. It was overcast and cloudy, but no longer raining. Renny took a long shower and dressed in casual clothes.
Opening the door to go downstairs and meet Jo for breakfast, he saw an envelope with his name on the outside. He opened it and read,
Dear Mr. Jacobson,
Due to the tragic events of last night, we have decided to postpone our meeting to discuss a possible distribution from the List. We will notify you concerning the date and time.
Sincerely,
Desmond LaRochette
Renny wondered who the “we” referred to. The List was not a democracy. Like the law firm, Renny was a peon, not an equal partner who participated in the decision-making process. A peon with a sore head.
It hurt to look outside, and Renny sat with his back to a window in the main dining room, positioning himself so he would see Jo come through the door. He distanced himself from Layne and Roget, who were drinking coffee and reading the Charleston newspaper on the other side of the room.
Jo appeared in a short white dress that made her dark hair appear darker and the sunburn from yesterday seem a little redder.
“You look bright and Jamaican this morning,” Renny said as he stood to greet her.
“You look like you were hanging on to a palm tree in the middle of the storm last night. What’s wrong?” Jo asked.
“Is it that obvious? A horrible headache kept me up off and on all night. I feel lousy.”
“Do you want some coffee?”
“No. I think I would do better with juice.”
Breakfast was a buffet, and Jo went to the table and poured Renny a large glass of orange juice.
Renny took a couple of swallows and leaned back in his chair. “I could have used Nurse Johnston last night. I have never had a headache so bad in my life. It kept me awake until after four this morning. My father had occasional headaches that knocked him out for a day or two, but I’ve never had any problem with them until now. I hope I’m not following in his footsteps.”
“It may be the result of tension from last night.”
“It sure wasn’t the booze. I was sober when I went to bed, but I had some crazy dreams.”
Before Jo could comment, a waiter came up to the table. “Would you like the buffet?”
Renny looked at Jo. “All I want is another glass or two of this juice.”
“I’ll do the same. Here, Renny, let me get you another glass.”
Jo poured a glass for Renny and herself. Renny glanced over to the table where Layne and Roget were sitting. Layne caught his eye and raised his coffee cup with a smile.
Renny didn’t know what he thought about Layne. He couldn’t figure out how much of his arrogance was show and how much was genuine conceit.
Jo took a sip of juice. “Can I pray for you this morning?”
“Sure. Believe it or not, I prayed for myself last night. I don’t have total faith in aspirin.”
Jo closed her eyes. Renny looked at her face for a second, then closed his eyes as well.
“Father, I ask you to touch Renny and remove the cause and effects of this headache. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
Renny started to say, “Is that all?” when he felt a warm tingle flow down the side of his head to his cheeks. The last remaining pressure on his left temple lifted.
“It’s gone! I felt a tingle on my head, like warm water, and the pressure and pain left. It worked!”
“Great!” Jo exclaimed.
“Can you do that whenever you want?” Renny asked excitedly. “I can’t believe it!”
“I can ask, but I don’t always see instant results. When I was getting the juice, I asked God to touch you this morning. I think it’s just a token of God’s lo
ve. He knows your address.”
“Removal of pain I can understand.” Renny drained his juice glass. “Speaking of addresses, can I have yours?”
“Of course. I’d like yours, too.”
Renny wrote his home phone number on the back of one of his business cards. “I’ve added my landlady’s number, too.”
“Let me put my phone number on one of your cards.” Jo took a card, wrote her number, and handed it back to him.
“I’d like to talk as soon as you get back to Michigan.”
“OK. Will you promise me one thing?” Jo asked.
“Up to half my kingdom.”
“It’s not that demanding, but I think it’s important. After the meeting today, contact the lady who helped your family. Now is the time to follow through on what your mother told you before she died.”
“I forgot to tell you. There isn’t going to be a meeting. I had a brief note from LaRochette this morning telling me the meeting would be rescheduled because of Bart’s death. He mentioned the next item of business was the distribution of money.”
“Since there’s no meeting will you have enough time to go to Charleston?”
“Before you prayed, all I wanted to do was limp back to Charlotte and go to bed. But I feel great, and I agree with you. I need to see Mama A.”
10
Whose wealth arithmetic cannot number.
PHILIP MASSINGER
The old desk clerk seemed relieved when Jo returned her room key and paid her bill. Having avoided the embarrassment of the “real” Mr. Joe Taylor Johnston learning that his room had been rented to an impostor, the clerk placed the key back on its numbered hook with satisfaction.
Renny carried Jo’s luggage down the stairs to her truck. The sun shot rays through the clouds, and Renny marveled at how quickly a storm could roll in from the ocean then dissipate, leaving the air clear and fresh. He began to look forward to driving south to Charleston.
Climbing the stairs back to Jo’s room, he met Gus Eicholtz carrying his bag down the steps.
“Good morning, good morning,” he greeted Renny heartily. “I want to see you for a minute before you leave if I can.”
“Sure, when and where?”
“I need to put my bags in the car and check out. I’ll be in the meeting room in about ten minutes.”
“OK. I’ll see you then.”
Jo had her back to him, partly opening the curtains over the bayside window when he came through her door. A ray of liberated sunlight pierced the gap and shone on her. Renny paused to imprint the scene on his mind. He couldn’t believe the change in his feeling and mood between the night before and this glorious morning.
Renny cleared his throat to announce his presence, then asked, “Is that all your luggage?”
“Everything except a tote bag and my beach hat.” Jo reached over and took the large straw hat from the bed and positioned it on her head. “I’ll take care of it. It will not get a lot of use in the cold, cold North.”
Jo grabbed her bag, and Renny closed the door and followed her down the hall.
“I passed Gus Eicholtz on the steps. He said he wanted to talk a minute before he leaves town, so I’m going to meet him in the private dining room as soon as you’re on your way.”
“I liked him and Bart Maxwell the best. Are you going to ask him some of your questions?”
“I might, but I’ll listen to him first. One thing I’ve learned since all this started is that you can’t plan what will happen when the List is involved,” Renny said.
“I’m going to contact Dr. Davidson at the hospital in a day or so and try to find out the results of the autopsy.”
“I would like to know that myself.”
“I’ll call you one way or the other.”
Renny opened the truck door for Jo, and she climbed into the cab of the big vehicle.
“When you decide to sell your father’s truck, I can get you top dollar for it in western North Carolina. There are men who would sell their wife, children, and maybe their favorite hunting dog for a truck like this one.”
“I may take you up on that.”
Renny didn’t want to let go of the door. He stood with his head down, rearranging the crushed seashells of the parking lot with the toe of his shoe.
“Well, bye,” he said.
“Thanks for all your help. We’ll see each other soon.”
Renny shut the door and watched as Jo backed out of the parking space and drove slowly toward the highway. She waved as she rounded the corner of the inn and passed from sight.
The door of the dining room was ajar, and Renny pushed it open. Eicholtz was examining an old oil painting on the opposite wall. It was a picture of the inn.
Eicholtz shook Renny’s hand. “This is probably what this place looked like when our forefathers first met here. It hasn’t changed much.”
Renny joined the big man in front of the picture. Sure enough, except for the electric service wires, a fresher coat of paint, and removal of the hitching posts for horses and buggies, the inn was much the same as it had been in 1863.
“The inn hasn’t changed much, and neither has the List,” Eicholtz said. “But something makes me think change is coming.” The big man sat down in a dining room chair and motioned to Renny to take a seat.
“What do you mean?” Renny asked.
“Bart dying in the meeting, the appearance of Ms. Johnston; I feel like we need to check the bolts on the wheels of this wagon.”
Renny waited.
Eicholtz shifted in his chair and leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees. “Renny, the List has been run almost like the private property of the LaRochette family. We discuss issues as if we’re equals, but the LaRochettes have always controlled everything.”
“Mr. LaRochette didn’t dominate the discussion,” Renny said slowly, not wanting to commit to an opinion until he saw more clearly the direction Eicholtz was steering the conversation.
“We may talk, but almost everyone looks to Desmond when it’s time to make a decision. You were a neophyte, so your vote in favor of admitting Ms. Johnston will probably be overlooked. I can’t say the same for myself or Bart Maxwell. Of course, now Bart’s dead.” Eicholtz stopped, and Renny had the distinct impression the older man was internally debating what else to say.
Eicholtz took a deep breath and continued, “Did you try to access some of your family’s money once you learned about the List?”
Renny nodded.
“It was frozen, wasn’t it? You couldn’t even find out an account balance without List approval, correct?”
“Yes. And I intended to raise that in the meeting last night but never had the chance.” Renny’s palms started to sweat a little.
“That’s not unusual. If you had brought it up, you would have been told joint control is standard operating procedure. It ensures that nothing will be lost from the List corpus, the common fund of money from which distributions to each family are made. To get the right to access the money in your account, you have to sign a durable power of attorney that allows the List to reclaim the money from your family’s account in case you died childless or became mentally incompetent. Otherwise, because no one knows about the List before his father’s death, the money would grow moss in those old Swiss banks. People have questioned the practice in the past, but it was always refuted by the example of Alexander Hammond. Because he died childless, his family’s portion of a distribution from the List corpus could have been lost when there was no one to claim it. It was not a large amount when he died in the 1870s, but through use of the durable power of attorney the monies were recovered and placed back in the corpus.”
“That means the Johnston and Maxwell money—”
“Will revert back to the List. And unlike the 1870s, we are not talking about a paltry sum. Both Taylor Johnston and Bart Maxwell signed the papers necessary for the List to recoup their funds if they died childless, or as it turns out in Taylor’s case, without a son.”
> “But a power of attorney is ineffective once the person who signed it is dead.”
Eicholtz shrugged. “Who tells the foreign bank the person has died?”
“But, but, that’s fraud.”
“Self-preservation, my boy, self-preservation. It’s the bedrock motivation of the List.”
Renny tried a different tack. “What would prevent someone from withdrawing all their money before their death and transferring it to another account?”
“Remember, all withdrawals have to be the result of joint activity by the individual and the List. Everybody plays by the rules because he either doesn’t care or is afraid to rock the boat.”
“If someone tried to jump ship, the List might refuse to authorize a distribution or withdrawal?”
“Potentially, although as far as I know it has never happened. There have not been as many withdrawals as you might think. All of the families weathered Reconstruction with modest help from the List. After that, I think the ruling LaRochette decided to see how large the money tree could grow. With the advent of the income tax in the U.S. after World War I, everyone saw the List as a way to accumulate tax-free wealth, safe from the federal government’s greedy clutches.
“I talked about the control issue with your father before he died. He and I were getting old and cranky enough to think about attempting to change the process. I also mentioned it to Bart after last year’s meeting, and he was interested in reforming the procedures.”
“What about Jo’s father?”
“I never contacted him, but your father and I discussed talking to him.”
Renny decided to pop the question burning in his mind since listening to the tape from his father. “How much money is in the corpus of the List?”
With a sigh, Eicholtz said, “Of course you want to know. Normally that is not discussed until the new member signs the durable power of attorney. That will be the next step for you in the overall process. It’s like the proverbial carrot on the stick; they keep something out there to lead you down the designated path. However, as my first act of independence and rebellion…”
Eicholtz picked up a cocktail napkin and pulled out his pen. He put a dollar sign on the napkin followed by a twenty-five and eight zeros.
The List Page 14