The List

by Robert Whitlow

  “Try to remember next time. I could use some encouragement.”

  “I don’t want to give you too much encouragement. Or at least too much too soon.”

  “Every crumb is appreciated, the sooner the better.”

  “How was the meeting with Thomas Layne?”

  “Much better than expected.”

  “Did he ask about me?”

  “Not really. I told him I hoped we would marry and that you had no interest in causing problems for the List. He didn’t seem interested or worried. Apparently they are less paranoid about you than we thought.”

  “Then what was his reason for contacting you?”

  “There is going to be a meeting of the List this Saturday in Georgetown to approve a distribution to the members. He wanted my support in approving as large an amount as possible.” Renny hoped his truthful, if incomplete, version would satisfy her.

  Jo said nothing for a few seconds, then asked, “Did you tell him yes?”

  “Sure. I’ve thought everything through. All I want to do is get enough money in our hands to give us financial security. Then we can both do what we want to do with our lives. The amount Layne was throwing around would do that in spades. Then we can tell the List goodbye.”

  Jo was silent for a longer period. “I don’t like it, Renny. You sound like the men who started this whole thing. It sounds good, but something isn’t right about it. The money is not clean.”

  “Look. Money is not clean or dirty in itself. It’s your attitude toward it and what you do with it that matters. That’s what I’ve learned from reading about riches in Matthew. Both our families have a right to our respective shares. In one way, we’re only getting half of the amount we should because they refused to recognize your legitimate rights. And once I’m out, they’ll have the balance of the Jacobson money, too.”

  “It’s not them I’m thinking about, it’s us. Please don’t make a final decision on this until we both have time to pray about it and seek to hear from the Lord.”

  Renny considered another line of argument but realized it was easier to just say, “OK. We’ll talk on Friday.”

  When Renny arrived home, Mrs. Stokes was taking out her garbage. Renny greeted her and said, “I talked with Jo this afternoon.”

  “Everything fine?”

  “Yes. I’m going to Georgetown this Saturday.”

  “Any problems?”

  “No, just more things to take care of about my father’s estate. Would you take care of Brandy for me until I get back Sunday evening?”

  “I’ll be glad to.”

  “Thanks.”

  Renny paused at the bottom stairs, wondering if he should ask her to pray for him. No, he didn’t want to have to explain the situation and answer well-meaning questions.

  Later, Renny picked up his Bible and turned to Matthew. He had continued reading the past couple of days, but since all the problems he had at the church on Sunday it had not been the same. He knew God was out there, but he wasn’t sure God had his phone number. Talking with Morris at Yogi’s had been the closest he’d felt to God since he resisted the call to publicly acknowledge his new faith. He suspected the presence of the Spirit at lunch was for Morris’s benefit; he just enjoyed the overflow. After staring at the words for a few minutes, he closed the book and watched the last three innings of a baseball game on TV.

  The following morning was Wednesday. No sooner had Renny set his coffee cup on his desk than the phone rang. It was Thomas Layne.

  “Talked with Flournoy. He’s in. No problem. Wants to put a bullet in Desmond anywhere he can.”

  “Not literally, I hope.”

  “Of course not. We’ll still be in this together after the changes are made.”

  “OK. With Eicholtz’s proxy, that’s five votes to three.”

  “Correct. Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if Smithfield jumped on board ship once he sees the way the wind is blowing. He is LaRochette’s toady, but he has no loyalty to him.”

  “What about Roget?”

  “Doubtful. Roget hangs around Desmond’s beach place all the time. He and Desmond are both oily and rub each other the right way, so to speak. Robert has ambitions, but he wants to ride Desmond’s coattails. At any rate, we don’t need him. Once the vote is in and I explain about the distribution, he won’t complain. And don’t worry about Desmond. He’s a master manipulator, but he’ll capitulate when overwhelmed. See you Saturday,” Layne said abruptly ending the conversation.

  Renny said goodbye to a dead receiver.

  He took a sip of hot coffee and tried to remember something he was supposed to do that wasn’t on his calendar when the phone rang again.

  “Desmond LaRochette on line two.”

  Renny choked as he swallowed. Picking up the phone, he said “Hello.”

  “Renny, Desmond LaRochette here.”

  “Yes sir. Good morning.”

  “How is everything in Charlotte?”

  “Fine, everything’s fine.” Renny’s mind was racing in fourteen directions, none of which had an identifiable destination.

  “Good, good. I was calling to make sure you received my letter.”

  “Yes sir. It came yesterday. Thank you. I’ll be there.”

  “And the power of attorney?”

  “Yes, I’ll sign it in front of a notary here in the office and bring it to the meeting.”

  “Excellent. As a courtesy I also wanted to mention something else that’s come up in the past couple of days.”

  Renny swallowed harder than before. “Yes sir?”

  “It has to do with our primary account in Switzerland. I’m concerned about the security of the Swiss banking system. You have read, of course, about the gold taken from Jews executed in concentration camps. A lot of it ended up in Swiss bank vaults.”

  “Yes,” Renny said, relieved at the direction of the conversation.

  “Well, the Swiss have a horrible public relations problem on their hands. I understand they’ve promised foreign governments, including the U.S., increased access to previously confidential records. Do you follow my concerns?”

  “You think the secrecy of the List account is in jeopardy. Why? There’s no Nazi link, is there?”

  “Of course not, but any threat to secrecy, no matter how remote, is a threat to the continuation of the List and preservation of our assets.”

  “I see.”

  “If you were going to open a confidential bank account today, where would you do it?”

  Renny thought a second. “Probably the Cayman Islands or one of the other offshore havens.”

  “My thoughts exactly. Here’s where you can help. You work in the banking section of your firm, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m an associate.”

  “I need some information about our options—the location of suitable banks, types of restrictions, rules on confidentiality, financial stability of potential depositories, rates of return, methods of accessing money. As an expert, you can help us.”

  Renny looked at the walls of his office. He could almost reach across it in every direction. Oh yes, he was a banking expert. “I’m not really an expert in these matters. Don’t you have someone more experienced you can contact?”

  “Perhaps, but I’d prefer keeping this in the family. That way we can have a frank discussion about all issues. Do you have some time to work on this before the weekend?”

  If Renny could avoid Heywood, he could squeeze some time in the evenings. “Yes. I can work on it today.”

  “Very good. I would prefer a briefing before we gather with the other members on Saturday. You and I could get together to discuss your findings and recommendations Friday night. I’m staying at my beach house just north of Georgetown on Highway 17. Do you know where the Franklin D. Roosevelt Wildlife Preserve is, near Debordeau Colony Club?”

  “Yes. I’ve been past it many times.”

  “There’s a sand driveway just past the edge of the preserve on the north side. My prop
erty is between the preserve and Debordeau. There is an arched iron entranceway on the right. After turning onto the drive you will come to a gate across the road. Punch in 369 and drive up to the house. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Renny wrote the number on a slip of paper. “OK.”

  “How soon can you get here?”

  Renny turned his calendar to Friday. “I have a full day of work, but I’ll leave as soon as I can. Is ten too late?”

  “No, that’s fine. We should be able to go over everything in a reasonable amount of time. I’ll see you then.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have a good day.”

  Renny hit the speed dial for Morris Hogan. “Hey. Are you busy?”

  “What do you mean? The folks on the top floor don’t pay me to sit around and look pretty.”

  “OK, OK. I need some information ASAP about offshore banking.”

  “Have you found another account in your father’s estate?”

  “No. It’s for a client.” Renny figured the List qualified as a client. “I need to know the ins and outs. Where’s the best place and why. That sort of stuff.”

  “OK. I should tell you to contact someone at one of the banks you represent so they could bill you $125 an hour for a change.”

  “Come on, Morris.”

  “Let me finish. However, because you’re my best friend, give me an hour to copy a folder I just happen to have in my office. It has no privileged info and should have everything you need.”

  “Thanks a million—make that ten million. I’ll be over to pick it up.”

  After returning to his office with the file, Renny spent the rest of the morning hiding in the firm library poring over the information. Morris was right. It had everything LaRochette could want: names of bank contacts, safe procedures for transferring funds, security against any breach of confidentiality, balance sheets of specific banks, and recommendations from field representatives who knew the system from A to Z. Before he realized it, he looked up and it was 12:15. Then he remembered: He was supposed to call Paul Bushnell. He went back to his office, grabbed the phone book from his desk, and dialed the number. The church secretary answered.

  “Paul Bushnell please.”

  “I’m sorry, he’s out for the afternoon. Can I take a message?”

  “No, that’s OK. It’s not important. I’ll give him a call next week.”

  23

  We have made a covenant with death, and with hell are we at agreement.

  ISAIAH 28:15, KJV

  Thursday passed in a blur. Renny worked late into the evening on the documents Heywood needed for a loan closing scheduled for Friday afternoon.

  While Heywood took care of the closing, Renny was working in his office. His secretary buzzed him. “Call on line three. A Mr. Eicholtz.”

  Before Renny could pick up the phone, Heywood burst into his office, swearing. “Get it in gear, Renny. I need a secondary note unsecured by collateral directly from the buyer to the seller because of some unrevealed security interests. Why didn’t I know there was previously secured collateral involved? Did you double-check the UCC search on the seller?”

  “Uh, I’ll get right on it.” Renny had not double-checked outstanding security interests because he was working on the Cayman Island bank questions. “How much is the side note?”

  “Eighty-four thousand at prime plus one. I needed this five minutes ago.”

  “Yes, sir.” Renny was punching keys on his computer before Heywood slammed the door.

  His secretary buzzed him again. “Are you going to take the call?”

  Renny grabbed the receiver and almost shouted, “Hello!”

  No answer. He buzzed his secretary. “Did Mr. Eicholtz leave a number?”

  “No. He must have hung up.”

  Renny had the documents to the parties in less than twenty minutes. When he took the paperwork into the conference room, Heywood introduced him, “This is Renny Jacobson, one of our junior associates. I apologize that he didn’t have everything ready on time.” He turned to Renny. “You may go now.”

  After absorbing the collective glares of everyone in the room, Renny slunk out of the conference room. He spent the last hour at work worrying that Barnette Heywood was going to storm back into his office. Leaving a few minutes early, he made sure he didn’t walk past Heywood’s door.

  Mrs. Stokes was watching television in her bedroom when Renny stopped in to tell her about his change in plans.

  “I have to go to the coast earlier than I thought but I’ll still be back Sunday evening.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll look out for Brandy.”

  “Thanks.” Renny turned to go, then said, “Pray for me, Mrs. Stokes.”

  “Oh, I will, I will. God bless you, Renny.”

  Mrs. Stokes closed the door after a frazzled-looking Renny walked away. Going to the prayer closet, she sat down and asked for help. Slipping to her knees, she started praying.

  Renny called Jo on his car phone. “How are you?” he asked.

  “A little tired, but I’m glad you called. My schedule has been different every day, and I have to leave in a few minutes. Are you on the car phone?” “Yes.”

  “You sounded a little fuzzy. Well, I’ve prayed every chance I could about the List, and I am convinced you should just let it go. You’re smart and can work for a living without entangling yourself further in something neither of us fully understands.”

  For the first time ever, Renny regretted talking to Jo. He decided to face her head-on. “I don’t agree. Since we’ve talked, I’ve positioned everything to guarantee the distribution. The situation at the law firm is the pits, and I can’t see myself staying with it long term. It should all be over in a few days, then I’ll back away.”

  Renny listened to loud static as he passed under a high-voltage power line. “Did you say something?” he asked when he had a clear signal.

  “No. I guess I’m too surprised. Don’t you think we need to agree about this?”

  “I wanted us to agree, too, but ultimately it has to be my decision.”

  “Then why ask my opinion?”

  “I respect your opinion. We just have different ideas about the best way to go.”

  Again silence.

  “Are you on your way to Georgetown now?”

  “Yes. I’m seeing LaRochette tonight to discuss opening a new account outside Switzerland. He asked me to do some research about it before the meeting tomorrow.”

  “Renny, can you hear me?” Even on the car phone Renny could sense desperation in her voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t go to Georgetown. Please don’t go.”

  “Jo, I appreciate what you feel, but there are things I have worked out. You don’t need to worry.”

  “Don’t be condescending,” she said sharply.

  “I’m not, or I don’t mean to be. We have a simple difference of opinion. I think it’s best to do this my way.”

  “You’re not going to listen to me, are you?”

  “Yes. I heard you. Just because I’m not going to do what you suggest doesn’t mean I’m not listening.”

  “Well, I can see this conversation has nowhere to go, and I have patients to see who will let me help them.”

  “Jo—”

  “Call me Sunday. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Renny put the phone in its cradle. Boy, she’s hot. But she’ll cool down and be glad once this is over.

  All the way to Georgetown, Renny imagined life as a multimillionaire. His thoughts were different than immediately after his father’s death—a nobler thread ran through his dreams and plans. He would become a discreet philanthropist. Maybe build Mama A’s church a new sanctuary or gymnasium. He would contribute to worthy charitable causes from art museums to zoo acquisitions, all anonymously so as not to attract attention to himself. He would identify himself as an investor on his tax return, pay all taxes owed, and not worry about an IRS subpoena. He would not invest solely o
n the amount of anticipated return but would also consider the integrity and societal benevolence of the company or project.

  Of course, there would be plenty of money left to enjoy a comfortable life—with Jo. A beach house, mountain house, city house, and vacations all over the world in between. The expenses that made life stressful for others would not be a factor for them. Their children would not have to struggle and scrape; each would be the beneficiary of a well-funded trust that supplied all their needs from infancy through postgraduate education and would leave no doubt of their father’s love and care for them.

  He would no longer work as most people understood it. Rather, like the aristocracy of times past, he would devote himself to creative pursuits. He could write. And if no publisher recognized his talent and genius, he would publish his works himself.

  It took many miles and a lot of imagination to spend $100 million, and when he came back to earth he was only a few miles from Georgetown. It was dark and raining, and he decided to go directly to LaRochette’s house. Driving north on Highway 17, he soon recognized the tract of land given many years before to the U.S. government by Bernard Baruch, a wealthy adviser to Franklin D. Roosevelt. The U.S. government owned the property but had never developed it for public use. Turning his wipers on high to clear the rain from the windshield, Renny slowed. He turned between two small red reflectors that marked the driveway to LaRochette’s place.

  An electric gate wedged between two ancient live oaks blocked the driveway about two hundred feet from the highway. Renny punched in the access number, and the barrier swung smoothly open. Once past it, the driveway wound over a mile through low-growing trees and dune grass before it opened into a clearing.

  LaRochette’s beach retreat was worthy of the long entranceway. A French provincial surrounded by massive live oaks, it spread out before the lights of Renny’s car in a sprawl of pale gray stucco, steep roofs, and narrow windows. A guesthouse to the right was as large as a typical beach house on the Isle of Palms. The driveway curved in a large arc around a fountain surrounded by low shrubs. Renny parked behind a silver Mercedes coupe. He’d forgotten an umbrella, so he grabbed his briefcase and made a quick dash up a walk of crushed seashells to a covered area in front of the main entrance. His heart was pounding as he rang the bell.