Gerald’s face paled under her onslaught.
Rachel bored in. “Let me explain this to you. The money belongs to me and I say how it is dispersed. If you want to continue living your degenerate lifestyle, that’s up to you. But I’ve got my own plans. I’m going to school in the spring. Now get your things. We are leaving.”
Gerald looked at her helplessly. “But Grandmother always arranges everything...”
Rachel almost laughed. The man who had seemed to be so charming and poised was nothing but a lecherous little mama’s boy. “All right, Gerald. I’ll take care of it. You just run along and pack your bag.”
Gerald gave her a look of pure hatred. “You’ll regret this you...you...”
Rachel smiled sadly. “If you want to say ‘whore,’ go ahead. Because after last night, that’s what I am.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Deep Darkness
“What do you mean by ‘financial technicalities,’ Michel?”
Augusta St. Clair sat, fuming in her chair, listening to Michel Duvigney on her speakerphone.
“You must realize, Ms. St. Clair, that transferring the interest income from two hundred billion dollars in cash and various worldwide holdings into your accounts takes a great deal of effort and time. This whole business has taken us by surprise. After all, we never imagined that Robert had an heir, and you are directly responsible for that omission.”
Augusta was not pleased at the answer. “Wait a minute, Michel. When I met Rachel’s grandmother, I assumed that she was just another gold-digger after the money. How was I to know that the woman who showed up on my doorstep was really Robert’s wife?”
Duvigney remained silent.
“And another thing. I thought that the money was held in trust.”
Duvigney sighed and then responded. When he spoke her name it sounded like a snake hissing. “The money is held in trust, yes, that is correct, Ms. St. Clair.”
Augusta glanced at Eva, her secretary. Eva scribbled something on a pad, stood up, and handed Augusta the note. Augusta squinted at it.
Don’t get angry, Madam, your face is turning red. You know what the doctor said.
Augusta waved the fluttering woman away and asked another question. “If the money is in a trust, why don’t you just make Rachel a trustee and let me, I mean us, control our own money.”
Augusta could hear Duvigney sigh.
“The trust does not work that way, Ms. St. Clair. The principal of the St. Clair fortune is not transferrable. In other words, you cannot spend the inheritance; you can only receive the benefits from it. It was set up that way to keep the principal from being depleted in case the heir was profligate in his or her ways. And there are others who benefit from the principal that we must take into consideration. There are several lines in the St. Clair family, and all true St. Clairs benefit from the fortune.
“There are some cousins, and others, like yourself, who are widows of lesser heirs. And there are orphaned children of members of the St. Clair family who are receiving money from the smaller trusts that are drawn from the inheritance. Robert St. Clair’s inheritance is only a portion of the total St. Clair fortune. Granted, it is the largest portion, but there is much more to this than just handing over a few bank accounts and some properties. Oh, no, Ms. St. Clair, we will not be making you a trustee. Besides, Rachel St. Clair is the heir, and she is the person with whom I should be having this conversation.”
Augusta ignored the remark and pressed on. “And how does my grandson figure in all this?”
Another sigh from Duvigney. “If you wish an analogy that may help you understand, I will give you one. Rachel St. Clair is the heir. She fulfilled her obligations by marrying your grandson and taking the St. Clair name. Now all of her heirs will be St. Clairs and the fortune remains in the family. As for your grandson, Gerald St. Clair is like Prince Phillip of England. He is married to the Queen, but he is not the King. He is the Prince Consort. Oh, Phillip has an extraordinary income and high rank, as will Gerald, but Phillip does not have royal authority. That is held in Elizabeth’s hands. And if she dies, the title will not pass to Phillip, but to Charles. At this point, that is Gerald’s situation.”
“What if Rachel should die?”
There was a pause.
“The estate passes to the eldest child, or to any one of her children with the Key.”
“And if she dies and there are no children?”
“Then, and only then, Gerald St. Clair receives the income from the bulk of the St. Clair inheritance in his own name. However, if Rachel and Gerald do have children and if they ever divorce, then Rachel, having fulfilled her obligation under the terms of the inheritance, continues as the recipient of the income and passes it to her children, who would be considered legitimate St. Clairs. Gerald would receive an allowance, but he would basically be out of the picture.”
Augusta stood up and began pacing. “Michel, it seems that the operative word here is recipient. That implies receiving, and to date, Rachel has received nothing. When is that going to change?”
“I have started that process and Rachel should be receiving the first check within a week. It will be drawn from the proceeds of some of the investments that I have transferred into Rachel’s name.”
And how much will that amount be?”
“Again, Ms. St. Clair, I should be having this conversation with Rachel.”
“Rachel has given me power of attorney to act on her behalf, so you can talk to me, Michel.”
There was a pause, and Augusta could tell that she had been put on hold. Then Duvigney’s voice came back on the line. “If you will have your attorney send me those authorizations, I will then make a note in Rachel’s file stating that you are a representative on her behalf.”
“I sent them last week, Michel.”
Augusta’s face set like stone as she stared down at the phone. “Why do I get the feeling that you are stalling me?”
“I assure you, Mrs. St. Clair, that I am facilitating this process—”
Augusta interrupted him. “I may not be on your level, Michel, but I have many friends. I do not like to be trifled with. Rachel has authorized me to set up a joint account for her and Gerald, as well as an individual account for her. She wants part of the money placed in the joint account for the management of the estate and for Gerald’s allowance. The rest will go into her private account. I would suggest that the first installments be put into those accounts as quickly as possible. I hope my friends don’t have to intervene. Do I make myself clear?”
“Very clear, Augusta, but there is no need to pursue this matter. I have already sent a substantial check, and you should be receiving it within three days.”
“And what do you consider to be substantial?”
“Around four million dollars.”
“That’s better. And I want an update next week as to the final resolution of the bulk of the estate. Good bye.”
Augusta punched the speakerphone button. She turned to Eva. “Get Gerald down here, immediately. And then call Randall.”
*****
The calls had come in, just a few seconds apart. Randall sat in his apartment, watching the news and enjoying a very nice Zinfandel from California when his phone beeped quietly. His new caller ID showed Duvigney’s phone number on the readout. He set the wine down, walked over to his desk, and picked up the receiver.
“Talk to me, Michel.”
There was a short pause. Randall knew Duvigney was trying to figure out how he knew who the caller was. Then Duvigney began speaking.
“Randall, I’ve got a problem.”
“I know. You wouldn’t be calling if you didn’t. Augusta is pressuring you to come up with the money. And, unfortunately, you don’t have it available at this moment, due to your unwise investments and penchant for grand living. Am I right so far?”
There was another pause. Randall knew he was keeping Duvigney off-balance.
“The money is not gone, Randall. The
principal of the estate is untouchable. It is held in several extremely stable, income-producing instruments. and the heirs enjoy the fruit of those investments. You are, however, correct in assuming that my firm made some unwise decisions and depleted the interest balance accounts for Robert St. Clair’s portion of the inheritance. It will take some time for those funds to replenish themselves. In the meantime, I am keeping the St. Clair woman at bay by selling off some of my personal investments. But I think you understand that I cannot have her continue to pressure me. It would not be in the best interest of my firm if I had to open my records at this time. I was thinking that perhaps you might come up with a way to make the whole matter simply...disappear?”
“Well, well, Michel! I sense a bit of desperation here. You really are in a jam. I understand what you are proposing, and of course, it is not as simple as you think. The St. Clairs move in powerful circles. You will need to give me some time to come up with a solution.”
Just then, a subtle click on the line let Randall know that another call was coming in.
“Hold on, Michel. I’ll be right back.”
Randall clicked over to the call that was waiting. “Gordon Randall Security.”
“Mr. Randall, this is Eva Swanson, Augusta St. Clair’s secretary. She wishes to speak with you.”
“Tell Augusta that I will get right back to her. I’m on another call right now.”
“Thank you, Mr. Randall.”
The line clicked and Randall moved back to Duvigney’s call. “Well, well. It seems that Augusta might be having some problems, too. Let me call her and then I’ll get back to you. Once I know what she’s up to, I may have an answer to your dilemma.”
“Very well, Randall, but don’t keep me waiting.”
“Not at all. Oh, and did I say that these kind of covert actions are very expensive?”
“How did I know that you were going to tell me that?”
“It’s the nature of the beast. I’ll call you soon.”
Randall was amused. First Duvigney and then Augusta. Both of them needed his help quickly. That meant more money in his bank account. Duvigney’s call was interesting, to say the least. The man was obviously worried. The old thief had probably been dipping into Robert St. Clair’s estate for years.
And why not? There had been no known direct heirs when Robert St. Clair died. Only when Augusta had started pressing Duvigney for more money did the search for Rachel Borntraeger St. Clair and her daughter, Jenny begin.
Randall chuckled. Who could have guessed that a little Amish girl in a small Pennsylvania town would prove to be the heir to the great St. Clair fortune? Certainly not Duvigney!
Randall glanced down at the tape recorder on his desk to make sure the recording light was still on. Then he picked up the phone to call Augusta. This could prove interesting.
*****
Gerald St. Clair sat stiffly in the chair across from his grandmother. Augusta could tell he was dying for a smoke, so she kept him waiting while she looked over some documents. Finally, Gerald spoke up. “Do we have some kind of a problem, Grandmother?”
Augusta looked up at her grandson. He was a true St. Clair. Devilishly handsome, a bottom-of-his-class graduate of the finest Ivy League prep school and college, accomplished tennis player, notorious womanizer, and altogether a totally non-productive, yes, even worthless, human being. Augusta sighed. She wished that Gerald were more like Robert, Rachel’s grandfather.
Robert St. Clair...The most beautiful man I ever met and the only one of the family with any gumption at all. What a team we would have made...
Yes, Robert had been the St. Clair worth catching, and she had made it very clear to him just how much she wanted to be with him. But he had spurned her. He fell in love with that Amish girl in Pennsylvania and married her. It was a bitter memory, for she had loved Robert passionately. And she could see Robert in Rachel. The same determination, the same passion...
“Grandmother?”
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Then Augusta gathered her thoughts and smiled patronizingly at Gerald. Even with all his faults, she needed him. He was her only link to the St. Clair fortune. “Yes, dear, we do have a problem. I spoke with Duvigney today.”
Gerald repositioned himself in the chair. “Well, what’s the good news?”
“The good news is that he is sending us a check for four million dollars in the next three days.”
Gerald scowled. “Only four million? We’ll go through that in a few months. Where’s my share of the big bucks? You promised me billions if I married Rachel.”
Augusta got up and sat on the arm of her grandson’s chair. She stroked his hair gently and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “There, there, darling. Your grandmother will come through for you. But there is a bit of a problem.”
Gerald twisted away from Augusta’s caresses. “And what might that be?”
Augusta got up and walked to the window. “It seems that even though you are married to Rachel, you don’t really have any claim on the money as long as Rachel is alive. As Duvigney put it, she is the queen, but you are not the king.”
Gerald reached toward his coat pocket for a smoke, but saw the warning in his grandmother’s eyes and dropped his hand. “And if she dies?”
“Then you are the heir, but only if Rachel has no children.”
Augusta paused and then came out with her question. “Have you fulfilled your...your husbandly duties yet?”
A strange look that Augusta could not read came over Gerald’s face, and then he shrugged and smirked. “Grandmother, you’re blushing. Of course I have. We are married, you know.”
Augusta pointed at him. “You must stop those activities immediately. Rachel must not get pregnant. That would jeopardize our standing in the line of inheritance.”
Gerald spread his hands. “You’ll be happy to know that right now we’re not sharing a bed. Rachel and I had a little tiff in Capri. She’s a little distant right now, but I’m sure I can win her over.”
Augusta sighed. “I don’t think you will work it out, and the truth is, I don’t want you to work it out.”
“What do you mean, Grandmother?”
“Sometimes you can be very slow, Gerald. When Rachel came back from Capri, she told me that she will be submitting her application to veterinary school right away. With her money, I’m sure they will accept her. She will be moving to Ithaca in the spring. That means that you will be living on a simple allowance, which of course will not be enough to support us in the manner to which we are accustomed.”
Gerald swore under his breath.
“It’s probably for the best, Gerald. I don’t want you to work it out. Go to your other women if you must fulfill your needs—but no more with Rachel. If you want to get your hands on the money, there must never be any children.”
Augusta lowered her voice. “So you see, we have a problem to deal with that is not insurmountable. Rachel must never leave here. I have shared our little dilemma with Randall and he has assured me that he will find a solution.”
Gerald’s mouth dropped open and he stared at Augusta for a long moment. Then he shuddered. “Grandmother, you really are wicked, aren’t you?”
Augusta turned to her grandson. “Yes, Gerald, I am very wicked. You can’t even imagine how wicked I am. Always remember that.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Guardian
Willy Oxendine sat looking out the front windows of the Old Greenwich Station in Greenwich, Connecticut. Most days his job as Station Master was fairly dull and so when the MTA afternoon train pulled in, he always played a little game as he watched the passengers get off. He tried to imagine where they were coming from, what they did for a living, and where they were headed. Of course, many of the passengers were from Greenwich and Old Greenwich, so he already knew their stories. That was why one passenger in particular caught his attention right away.
Hmmm. There’s one that’s not from around here...
<
br /> Willy watched as the young man got off the train, turned up the collar of his dark pea coat, and looked around at the bustling crowd of commuters. The icy wind tugged at the coat, and Willy watched the young man button it even tighter around his neck. Then the stranger headed toward the red station building, his heavy canvas duffle bag leaving a trail of icy shards through the crusted snow as it dragged over the windblown hummocks. Willy kept an eye on the young man as he pushed through the lobby door and looked around. He stomped his feet and slapped himself with his arms to get the circulation going again.
Black watch cap, pea coat, duffle bag...maybe he’s a sailor? Nope, doesn’t have the swing in his walk.
The young man’s cap was pulled down over his ears, and his face sported a two-day growth of blond beard. He walked straight over to the counter and looked Willy in the eye. “Excuse me, sir, but do you know of any folks who need an experienced stable hand?”
Willy gave him the once-over.
Ah-ha! Farm boy—lookit them hands. Seen a lot of hard work and that coat fits tight around them big shoulders. A hay-bucker if I ever seen one.
Willy looked up at the stranger’s face. It registered in a good way—clean, honest, what ya see is what ya get kinda face, and Willy smiled. “Well, son, are you really good with horses? We got a lot of stables out here, lots of rich people that buy horses and don’t know a dang thing about ‘em.”
“Yes, sir, I am very good with horses. Been around them all my life.”
“You got any references? These folks are picky.”
The young man hesitated and his face fell. “Well, sir, I didn’t think to bring any when I left home. I...I had to leave in a hurry.” Then he brightened. “But all I need is a chance to show somebody what I can do. I’m a hard worker and I’m dependable.”
Willy stared hard at the honest face in front of him and right away he trusted it. “Okay, you don’t look like a druggie or a thief. I’ll take your word. Just so happens that Benny Peterson was in today and he’s looking for another hand out at the St. Clair place.
The Amish Heiress (The Paradise Chronicles Book 1) Page 16