by Robin Gideon
“Your words can’t hurt me. Take the slut and go, if you want, and take the daughter, too. Just see that Faye’s at the office first thing on Monday morning because there’s going to be some changes made at my son’s company.”
* * * *
Agatha was the first to step into Faye’s office, followed by Francis Nichols and, lastly, Derwin. The barrister’s jaw was badly discolored and an egg-shaped protuberance marked the point of his jaw. The hollow look in his eyes suggested he’d spent a long night getting very little sleep. Derwin had two black eyes and his nose had the strangest cast to it, as though it had been put on his face as an afterthought and done without much care. Lacking his mother’s determination or the barrister’s legal background, he had a faintly rabbit-like way of looking around constantly as though wondering when next a fist would rearrange his facial features.
Agatha looked at Radburn and Dirk, snickered derisively to let them know she was unimpressed with them as men and certainly not intimidated by them as rivals. She gave Georges Mann a more thorough looking over, having an innate fear of bankers, especially ones she had insulted. Lastly, she looked at Sir Reginald Bartlett, one of the most expensive and capable barristers in London. After a full thirty seconds, her gaze went from the barrister to Radburn and Dirk.
“I suppose I can thank one of you two gentleman for this man standing in my son’s office,” she said.
As a team, Dirk and Radburn smiled and nodded.
Agatha turned to Francis Nichols and said a little louder than necessary, “Explain the law to them, then throw these trespassers out of Derwin’s office.”
Agatha had waited a long time for this moment, and though she was vastly overweight and not given to standing any longer than necessary, she wanted to be on her feet for this monumental occasion.
Without opening his battered mouth very much, Francis Nichols said, “Last night, Faye Smythe married Derwin Smythe. According to the laws of this country and the laws of God, Derwin, as Faye’s husband, now has control over her finances and possessions. Additionally, in accordance with the will of Michael Smythe, Faye’s first husband and Derwin’s older brother, upon their marriage, all finances and professional duties will be transferred to her new husband.”
“Yes, all of that’s true,” Sir Reginald Bartlett said. With a forefinger he smoothed his immaculately trimmed, gray mustache. “Upon the marriage of Derwin to Faye, he does, in point of fact, have full and complete control of Faye’s compensation from the London International Transport Company, as well as her bank accounts.”
Only steely nerves kept Agatha from either weeping with joy or laughing. She had known all along she would get the fortune of which Faye had custody, but she had never dreamed that in the end, her victory would be uncontested. She had never really believed in God, and yet it seemed divine intervention had in fact assured her success.
“However, rest assured that Mrs. Smythe’s marriage to that…” he said, nodding in Derwin’s direction, “…will be overturned in court.”
“That’ll take years,” Agatha said with quicksilver speed. “And you know it.”
Sir Reginald nodded again in acceptance of Agatha’s timeline. “True. And until that travesty of a marriage is overturned, Faye Smythe’s husband will have complete control over her income and all of her investments.”
This time, Agatha couldn’t keep the laughter to herself. It was all just too good to be true.
“I suppose this is as good a time as any for us to do a complete assessment of Mrs. Smythe’s finances.”
“Yes,” Agatha said, stepping in before Francis Nichols could. “This is a very good time.”
Sir Reginald turned to Faye and nodded. She got up out of her chair, crossed the room to a highly-polished, oblong oak table, and carefully opened two leather-bound ledgers, both of which had cloth markers to indicate the appropriate page.
“Behold, a complete listing of Mrs. Smythe’s assets, holdings, and a projection of future income,” Sir Reginald declared.
Agatha felt something then. A twinge. Just a little twinge in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t a good sign. Sir Reginald was too crafty—and too expensive—a barrister to be so cavalier about giving up custody of his client’s assets. When Agatha turned her attention to Faye, the woman was just sitting back down in her chair. She wasn’t ashen-faced, not horrified at all, which would be the normal reaction to losing a considerable personal fortune. And there was something aristocratic and smug about the way Dirk and Radburn looked at her that didn’t sit well with the old woman.
“Let’s take a look,” Agatha said, forcing away any such doubts as she took Francis Nichols by the elbow and ushered him over to the ledgers.
Twenty minutes passed before the facts completely registered in Agatha’s brain. Twenty minutes of screaming at Francis Nichols to do something. But there was nothing to be done.
“Your son’s will clearly states that Faye has the authority to sell company stock, provided she doesn’t sell it all,” Dirk said, standing with his hands in his pockets and a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Faye has sold all but one share of stock in the London International Transport Company to the firm of Luckman and Holtz, a company headquartered in Denmark. If Derwin wants to take control of that one share of stock, it’s his legal right to do so.”
“Where’s the money?” Agatha bellowed. “If she sold all that stock, she must have a fortune in gold in the bank!”
Georges Mann, half-sitting on Faye’s desk, cleared his throat. Once all eyes turned toward him, he said, “All of Faye’s assets have been transferred out of the Bank of Kensington to another bank. You can go through the courts, if you like, to find out where those funds were transferred. It’ll take you quite a while, though, as I intended the move to protect my client.”
“If she transferred the money out of your bank,” Agatha said venomously, “then she’s no longer your client. Where’s the goddamned money?”
Radburn folded his arms across his massive chest. “Go ahead and tell her, Georges. She can’t hurt Faye now.”
“Very well.” A brilliant glint of humor lighted the banker’s eyes. “All of Faye’s assets have been transferred to a bank in Switzerland.”
Agatha fell into a chair in Faye’s office, her body jiggling, her numerous chins wiggling in her fury.
Faye folded her hands together and placed them on the desktop. “Radburn and Dirk spotted a loophole in Michael’s will. Nothing says I have to keep the money in England, just as nothing says I can’t sell all but one share of stock. So now the company is owned almost exclusively by the Danish firm of Luckman and Holtz. Of course, Luckman and Holtz is a front company. Just a sham, really, but it is all very legal. They’ve named me president of this company, and are paying me a sum of one pound per month. So spend what little money you have left trying to track them down, if you want, but you’ll only learn that Luckman and Holtz is actually owned by another company out of Germany. And when you find out who owns that company, you’ll discover that it is actually owned by a company out of…Oh, I’ve forgotten.” She looked to Radburn for assistance.
“Norway. And that company is owned by another company, and so on, and so forth.” Radburn smiled. “You’ll never get to the end of the trail.”
“This isn’t legal!” Agatha shouted. She turned to Francis. “Tell them this isn’t legal.”
But Agatha’s barrister was looking at the ledgers and shaking his head slowly. “Derwin now controls exactly one share of stock in the London International Transport Company and has the right to access Faye’s money—except, there isn’t any.”
* * * *
“You’ve got to stop bringing over Christmas presents for Lisbet,” Faye said with mock severity, standing in her emerald-green, silk robe. “You’re spoiling her. It’ll take her a week just to open them.”
Radburn and Dirk, standing in the entryway to Faye’s new home, had fresh snow on their hats and coats, and a mountain of brightly wrapped gift
s in their arms.
“Little girls are meant to be spoiled,” Radburn replied, bending to kiss Faye lightly on the lips as he made his way over to the Christmas tree, which was already crowded with boxed presents. “And for your information, some of these are for you.”
Dirk kissed Faye on his way to the decorated evergreen. “I never dreamed that buying presents for a four year-old girl could be so entertaining. Is she in bed?”
“Her bedtime was two hours ago.” Faye watched, her heart filled with joy, as her men stacked the presents they had bought. “Let’s go to the library. I want to show you two something I think you’ll find interesting.”
The men turned toward Faye, faint smiles touching their too-kissable lips.
“Oh?” Dirk asked. “What might that be?”
“Me.” Faye walked down the hall toward the library. As she moved, she unknotted the sash of her robe. With the slightest shrug of her shoulders, the silk garment slithered down her arms and fell to the floor. Naked in the doorway, she turned to look over her shoulder at her men. “I’ll be waiting for you on the sofa.”
She didn’t have long to wait.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robin Gideon was born in the prairie of North Dakota and today lives in the Upper Midwest. Married with a daughter, she has published numerous novels and novellas with Siren. Robin also writes for Siren under the name Brandi Maxwell. She loves hearing from her readers and can be reached at [email protected].
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