(2012) The Court's Expert

by Richard Isham

  Taking another plunge, the broker continued: “My client and I haven’t talked thoroughly about his position in the matter, although he is certainly a genuinely interested party, I can say that for certain.”

  “Is there a Mrs. Martorano, do you know?”

  “She passed away some years ago. He doesn’t talk about it much, a very sad case. She was killed in a holdup attempt in Southern California, as I understand the situation,” he volunteered.

  “Oh, how terrible!” Mrs. Paderewski exclaimed showing honest alarm. “I shouldn’t be so nosy, but does he have family to look after him?”

  “Yes, there is a large family that is very close, it seems. That’s part of his motivation for trying to find a place in the Sierra Nevada. He loves the area so much, and he wants his children and grandchildren to feel at home in the mountains. There are endless vistas to see around here. They’re superb mountain people, as I understand it. Their last family outing was a weekend hike that took them to the top of Sawtooth Peak, a thirteen-thousand-foot mountain reachable from Mineral King.

  “I tell you what,” the broker continued, “once we’re down the hill and I have some time to speak with Mr. Martorano, we’ll get some focus on the prospects. If he feels good about going forward, I’ll let you know. Regardless, I’ll call you anyway in the next couple days. In the meantime, are there any concerns you have about taking further steps at this time,” he prodded, handing his business card to her.

  “I’m very gratified to think that such a fine family might get this property. I never had the blessing of a family, as you may know. It would mean a great deal to me to have this property become home to people like the Martorano’s. Come to think of it, if there’s any chance, I’d love to meet the family, you know, if that would ever be convenient for them,” she offered.

  “I am very confident that you will meet many of them,” the broker continued, “if you get into negotiations on the sale of the property. I can’t say I know Mr. Martorano very well, but my experience to date has been very positive. I have admiration for his accomplishments, and he’s the last one to mention such things. This is a very good sign, from my experience. The people who talk a lot about their accomplishments tend to be trouble on occasion,” and the broker cast a quick glance at Larry, who obviously had all he could handle at the moment piloting his heavy pickup downhill through the slalom course that carved the South Fork Road back to Three Rivers.

  Soon enough they reached the starting point of their trip. Everyone was a little giddy, and it wasn’t from intake of pills or alcohol. For his part, Larry was totally preoccupied with the prospects of actually finding his dream home in the Sierra. Mrs. Paderewski was quietly delirious over the possibility that such a wonderful family might someday come to own the estate property that she and her late husband had taken such pains to develop so meticulously.

  The broker could not envision a way in which he could lose on this property. If Larry decided to continue looking, there would still be an opportunity to pick up the listing on the property. On the other hand, if Larry made an offer, there was a solid chance an escrow on the sale would ultimately close and fairly soon at that, assuming both parties were properly motivated. Getting them to that point was the broker’s job.

  Mrs. Paderewski bid Larry good-bye, encouraging him at the same time to contact her if there was anything else he wanted to see on site. Larry agreed that he would be in touch with her and in the near future at that. The broker, feeling the odd man out for the moment, struggled to gain some vestige of control over the negotiations in order to make his efforts pay off handsomely. He had to admit to himself that he was not really worried that these two would ever go to the extent of excluding him from the negotiations, but he knew he was on thin ice without a written listing agreement that protected his commission. He decided not to push at the moment. Mrs. Paderewski pulled away from the parking lot, leaving Larry and the broker to continue their conversation privately.

  “You know,” Larry began, “I’m really taken by the place, but I have no clue what kind of value to attach to it, even if I thought I’d like to make an offer. It’s a little unusual for the seller not to be in charge of the opening of negotiations, but now that I’ve met the widow, I fully understand the dynamics. Are you aware of any appraisal data that is available,” he queried the broker.

  “I’m not aware of any recent appraisal work on that parcel,” he replied while scratching his chin. “There is a number from the county tax assessor, but it is little more than an indicator and not a very helpful one at that.”

  “Can we look it up?” Larry asked.

  “Certainly, but as I said, the assessor’s appraisal rarely signals true market value, if that is the figure you’re interested in seeing. These parcels are very unique in this region, and there is very little comparability outside of the mountain setting. What happens on any given sale does not, as it turns out, offer us much assistance in reaching a figure because the parcels differ so much from one to the other. Technically, market value is defined as the price a willing buyer would pay an equally motivated seller, with each party having full knowledge of all material factors in the deal.”

  “Should we order an appraisal?” Larry asked.

  “You certainly could do so. There are some reasons why you might not want to do so in this case, however. Since Mr. Paderewski passed, there will be a federal estate tax return filed, and as I understand it, there is an appraisal value included on the return. As you might imagine, the estate can save money on taxes by showing a modest appraisal, within reason, of course. If the estate sells the real estate for significantly more than is reported on the estate tax return, there are sometimes repercussions if the IRS audits the return and finds a great disparity between the appraised value compared to the much higher amount received at time of sale. We are not privy to the return, but we have some practical assurance that the estate will want to keep the numbers in line, you know, to avoid an extended tax audit and adjustments to the amount of tax payable when it’s all said and done,” and the broker paused for a breath.

  “So, how do I figure out what to pay, in a situation like this one?” Larry responded, asking a very cogent question.

  “Sure,” the broker responded attentively. “We know there are 160 acres for sale, which is an even quarter-section with improvements, meaning that the structure and outbuildings that were constructed have a present value in addition to the land. There is more than ample water to the property, which is accessed by pumps. And the amenities—the view, the climate, as two examples—are out of this world, which are enough to support a fair bonus in the price in my opinion.

  “So, if your land cost is four thousand dollars per acre for this choice property, and the home could not be replaced for less than a million and a half dollars less some reasonable estimated amount for depreciation, you could be looking at two and a half million dollars before estimating the unique amenities. This category is highly subjective. You already know you are drawn to this area, while others might prefer a view of the ocean by comparison. I would caution you that it’s impossible to gain a full understanding of the depth of beauty of such a property without living on it for all four seasons. I don’t know Mrs. Paderewski’s plans, but I’d be happy to run a lease with an option past her, if you wish,” the broker offered to Martorano.

  “You know,” Larry responded, “that’s just not my style. I’ve lived in the Valley all these years and have traveled in the Sierra during all the seasons. I have a pretty good idea already just what to expect. In fact, that’s why I’m looking up the south fork. I’ve already narrowed it down.

  “I must say that I was flabbergasted by the magic of that house, and the property, too. I had a solid idea of what I wanted if I built such a place from scratch, but honestly, what I saw today was better than any design I might have carried in my head. I think I’m old enough to know what I want, if and when I see it. And I’m not all that eager to go through heavy construction on
any property at this point, especially if I’m lucky enough to find what I think I want that’s already in place.”

  The two bade their good-byes, and Martorano departed.

  A few days passed before Larry heard anything from the broker. When the call came, the news was deeply satisfying. He had a listing on the property that included a 4 percent commission if the property was purchased by Martorano. The estate attorney was cooperative and supported his client’s wishes. The selling price was computed at 140 percent of the county-assessed value. An installment purchase was suggested as some help to the seller who already enjoyed a step up in basis when it would come to computing capital gains on the sale after escrow closed on the deal.

  Martorano’s broker worked out the details, papers were signed, and escrow closed without a hitch. Funds generated from the sale allowed the seller to relocate on a reasonable schedule. Mrs. Paderewski and Larry agreed, outside of escrow, that he would purchase any furniture and equipment that the seller decided to leave on the property.

  11

  Barnes the Caregiver

  April 2001

  Once escrow closed on Martorano’s new home in the foothills above Three Rivers, he settled into a pattern of puttering around the substantial household, caring for the grounds and seeing family as often as he could. His foothills “chalet” as he liked to refer to it was a natural magnet for family members and friends to congregate during holidays and over the very pleasant summer times in the region. His grandchildren were always welcome and looked forward to spending most of their free time in the mountains. While hardly any man-made improvements were found in the area, none was needed where nature’s attractions were so plentiful.

  Nestled on the eastern slope of the Sierra Nevada range, steeply angled to be the highest peak in the continental United States, Mount Whitney represented the ultimate in local mountaineering challenges—by reputation, at any rate. Ironically, the closest route from Three Rivers to the summit of Mount Whitney, but not reachable by automobile except on a route passing through neighboring counties, was by foot and measured over ninety miles up the High Sierra Trail accessed from Giant Forest in Sequoia National Park. Hiking permits were now required from the park service to make the trek to the top of Mount Whitney, simply to reduce weekend crowds and to attempt to control congestion on the trail. Most “climbers” entered from the east side and managed to hike in, make it to the top, and return to the parking lot in one, but more often, two days.

  Over his lifetime, Larry had never had the time to make the High Sierra Trail trek himself, which normally involved a week or so of hiking at major elevations. It had been done in less time, yet many wondrous marvels were missed when the clock was a concern. He was supportive of the hiking ventures by his grandchildren, and he often met the exhausted hikers at the far end of the trail near Lone Pine following their successful assaults to transport them back to Three Rivers. He always enjoyed the spirited dash to a nearby café and treated the spent hikers to green salads, juicy hamburgers, milkshakes, and lots of lemonade or iced tea.

  Local treks from Mineral King consumed less time, yet they were more challenging than the Whitney trek in many ways and included all kinds of destinations from two-day assaults of Saw Tooth Peak to much longer trips into the southern portion of the Sierra and the Kern River Canyon or north as far one’s imagination and energy could lead. Larry was grateful for accepting an invitation from a son-in-law to assault Saw Tooth Peak on a weekend jaunt in August one year. They had decided not to rope together, although they agreed afterward that the decision could have been a mistake (they had escaped misfortune nonetheless).

  Summertime in the high Sierra carries a promise of afternoon thunderstorms, and while the temperature is pleasant enough when the predictable storm hits, over the ensuing hour or two of heavy rainfall, the temperature drops considerably. The typical grand finale of such storms includes a load of gigantic hailstones best defended against from inside a portable tent that every hiker carries for such occasions. Once the precipitation ceases, the temperature gradually recovers, and within an hour or less all the ice has melted and campers are treated to a spectacular sunset while enjoying their evening meals.

  The difficult trek to the top of the triangular slab of the peak that is Saw Tooth usually kicks off after a wholesome breakfast and involves considerable scrambling up the last five hundred feet to gain the summit where climbers receive an awe-filled view of Mount Whitney from Saw Tooth.

  Larry counted himself very fortunate to have the memory of this trip embedded forever in his mind. He finally made it back to base camp and the Mineral King parking lot, although there was absolutely no elasticity remaining in any of the tendons of his lower extremities. Samaritans had generously taken his backpack from him over his feeble protests and carried it in addition to their own heavy gear to the bottom while he limped down the mountainside. Totally exhausted, he was struck by his complete lack of nimbleness, although in his younger years he was considered a decent athlete. To show his gratitude to the angels who helped him, Larry sponsored treats at the cafe near the parking lot, where he slowly regained the spent elasticity of his joints and ligaments. The thrill of participating on such a trip in his later years never faded from memory.

  Larry’s home was nestled in the middle of outdoor wonders too numerous to list fully. Needless to say, he was overjoyed with his decision to move to the foothills, and the change of scenery took him entirely away from the rigors of farming on the Valley floor.

  His son Bill had assumed complete command of the burgeoning family farming business. Bill followed his father’s footsteps by attending USC as an undergraduate and concluded his studies at the University of California, Davis campus, applying himself to specialized and advanced courses in agribusiness. Martorano could not have been more proud of Bill, who at an early age had shown interest in the farming business. The rest of the children had pursued other careers and were now well established. Larry could anticipate his golden years (including the occasional senior moments, of course) with confidence that his children were in good shape to face the challenges that surely lay ahead.

  Yet as the months became years and time ran ahead, Larry’s aging processes seemed to outpace the parallel passage of time. His stamina waned, his mental faculties began to fade, and his memory, usually sharp and accurate, failed him increasingly. The family grew wary that he might suffer an accident at his mountain retreat and many discussions went on without his knowledge about what should be done. Aging is hard enough for the individual involved, yet close family members and friends pay a heavy price as well. The Martoranos were a tightly knit group. While arguments arose infrequently, none was ever allowed to overcome the theme of mutual family love and trust.

  The four adult children and their spouses decided to hire a housekeeper who might eventually live on the premises to be available 24-7 as her schedule might permit. Larry needed infusion therapy every twenty-one days now and traveled to Visalia for treatments. If a person with nursing qualifications could be found, these frequent trips to the Valley floor could be eliminated as well.

  For over two years, arrangements were made with several different vocational nurses yet none ever lasted over a week or two on the job. Then Marti Barnes responded to a notice in the local Three Rivers weekly newspaper, made an appointment with the family members involved in interviewing applicants, and accepted the position on a trial basis, as was the routine for all her predecessors. Barnes was notably different in her attitude and made a very strong impression on the family.

  As time passed, she made substantial headway in bonding with her patient. Six years flew past her. Over the term of her employment, she added numerous other duties to her list of responsibilities and served as the unofficial head of the household. She was wholly beloved by all the family. Sainthood nomination was discussed in a light-hearted but deeply thankful manner by family members.

  As for Marti, many of her most treasured moments were filled wit
h conversations with “the boss.” While it was obvious that he had mellowed over time, his recounting of stories was highly entertaining if not somehow informative, too. He had shared with her an experience he had had with an earlier caregiver before he quit drinking. His bizarre recital of the episode proceeded as follows:

  ***

  “Where’s that martini, for Chrissake!” Larry glowered into his open magazine, pretending to be engrossed in his afternoon “reading” activities. Lucy, the current vocational nurse, a new hire, jerked reflexively and hastened to the liquor cabinet to fill yet another drink order for her charge. Larry seemed more out of sorts than usual, but Lucy in her short time on this new job, had not been treated to his good side—if one in fact existed. She never understood how anyone could seem to be so fussy over the formulation of a cocktail, especially cheap vodka and water, yet Martorano had the ritual perfected, or at least he thought so. Just enough, but not too much vodka, water, and olive brine completed the formulation to perfection, but only in the event the proportions were acceptable to Larry. If he, the absolute sole and irreversible judge, was not pleased with the final solution, the ceremony was repeated time and again until near perfection was achieved or until Larry tired of the charade and finally downed another drink. This process could consume an afternoon. Lucy had her own ideas about her patient’s motives that she equated with his sense of losing all form of control over his affairs compounded by a terrifying fear of running out of time, but not soon enough, ironically, as luck would have it. What would more time do for him anyway, in his frame of mind?