"I appreciate your call," he said when they wrapped up. "You've given us an incredible amount of information and I'm sure it'll be a big help. I'll be in touch if we learn anything new. Are you available to come down and meet in person if necessary?"
Despite Nicole's protestations, Brian had insisted he must go to Oliver's funeral. There wouldn't be a lot of friends and family because there weren't many, and he would be there to honor his friend. He told the detective when he came to town he'd get back in touch.
The next ten days were like the calm in the eye of a hurricane, Brian would reflect later. Betty called to advise that Oliver's only relative - a niece who lived in upstate New York - came to town, met with his lawyers and left again. There would be no memorial service for the uncle she barely knew and hadn't seen in thirty years. Brian wished that there had been something so they could pay their final respects, but it wasn't his call.
Momentarily free from the turmoil, Brian at last could spend uninterrupted days at the gallery, catching up on work that had been waiting since he returned from Guatemala. He'd been so involved with Oliver that he hadn't sat at his own desk for a full workday in weeks. The circumstances were sad, but at the same time he was relieved that his life was getting back to normal.
Over the past couple of years, Nicole's solo law practice had grown steadily. After the near-fatal car crash, she had left the major Dallas law firm where she was a rising star and opened her own practice. She enjoyed the work, but as her caseload increased, she had to either slow things down or hire another attorney. Being a driven, type A personality like her husband, she hired a young man fresh out of SMU Law School to join her and share the work. The arrangement was working well and she was looking forward to having more personal time. Brian traveled the world in search of antiquities and she wanted to go with him. And now - for the first time since they'd known each other - she could see that happening.
Since the wedding and honeymoon, every minute had been filled with the anxiety and intrigue that surrounded Eve Frere, but now the newlyweds finally took a breather. He'd heard nothing from the girl and maybe Oliver had given her the cross before he jumped. Although he hadn't heard anything more from the detective, he presumed the police were dealing with Eve and Marcel. It was an interesting conundrum - she was a juvenile in both her appearance and her birth certificate. But, as he'd told the detective, she was really an octogenarian. No judge would believe that, of course, but the dead silence from down South made him cautiously optimistic that she was otherwise occupied. Brian couldn't have told her exactly where Oliver had hidden the cross anyway.
They had cocktails on their patio and a quiet dinner at home each evening. It was so normal that they finally allowed themselves to relax. Maybe their lives really were back on track. Tonight would be special - it was date night, a monthly tradition he had started recently. Date nights were surprise trips to special restaurants neither had tried, and they both enjoyed the experiences even though some venues worked better than others. All that mattered was that things were settling down for the first time since their marriage.
Brian left on a quick four-day trip to London. He hadn't been to the gallery there in weeks and there were things he needed to deal with in person. As soon as he arrived at the store, his manager Cory Spencer, asked him to call the Dallas store, where his executive assistant advised him she'd received a call from a law firm in New Orleans looking for Brian. "It's something about Mr. Toussaint's will," she added, giving him the number.
The call was brief. The attorney with whom he spoke told Brian that he was named in Oliver's will and asked if he could come to New Orleans soon. Surprised, he asked if this was something that could be dealt with by phone. The man explained that the will required his presence and he believed Mr. Sadler would be pleased he'd made the effort to come.
He agreed to a date because there was no choice. He had to go and Nicole would have to understand.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Brian waited until he returned to Dallas to tell Nicole he was going to New Orleans. Important news is best delivered in person, he rationalized, confident she'd agree to let him find out what Oliver had put in the will. Things didn't exactly go as planned; to characterize Nicole's reaction as angry would have been a huge understatement. A more accurate description might have been furious or outraged, he mused from his bed on the couch that night. She had gone to the bedroom, slammed the door and gotten into bed even though it was barely seven p.m. When he came through to use the bathroom and prepare for bed, she ignored him, but when he was finished, she said, "I've put covers on the couch. I think you'll be more comfortable there."
And that was that. The next morning and evening were frosty, but at least he was allowed back in their bed. She kept to her side and wisely he kept to his. The third morning she said, "I want you to listen to me. Don't say anything until I'm finished. I've never thought of you as selfish or insensitive and I'm trying not to think that now, but I'm having a really hard time figuring out why you want to deliberately defy me over something I consider so important. Maybe you're not afraid of the girl. If you're not, then you're crazy. Maybe you think you won't run into her. Maybe you're so reckless and daring you don't care. I think sometimes you can only see yourself as Brian Sadler, the dashing adventurer. What the hell are you thinking?"
Same song, second verse. She was right, of course, but this was different than going to another country. He kept quiet until she finally said with a hint of a smile, "Okay, asshole. I'm finished. You can talk now."
"There's been nothing from Eve since Oliver died. I called the cops and told them everything. They either have her in custody or they've questioned her and she's lying low. And it's possible Oliver gave her the cross before he died. If that happened, she wouldn't need me any longer."
"Call your detective friend and find out the latest on her."
He did and was told that these things take time. The policeman admitted that so far they had not tried to contact Eve or her brother, adding, "I have to convince an assistant D.A. there's a reasonable possibility of a case here. You have to admit the whole voodoo thing is a hard sell." Brian had to agree, and he wasn't even sure the detective believed him.
Despite that, he explained to Nicole, the fact was that Eve had dropped out of sight. "Why am I any safer here than in New Orleans? She could walk into Bijan and find me in a second."
Tired of arguing, she gave in at last. "If I say 'be careful,' does it mean anything at all to you?" she asked the night before he left. "Or are you already thinking I just need to shut up and let you go?"
Are you asking if I'm excited? Of course. Who wouldn't be? He promised to be careful. After all, he wouldn't even be away overnight.
He flew down and went directly to the attorney's office. The formalities - ordering up coffee, casual talk about the antiquities business and the like - took more time than the will did. The lawyer advised that pursuant to Oliver's instructions, his assistant, Betty Leblanc, would continue to operate the gallery and handle sales for an interim period. Oliver had cataloged and priced every piece in the store, so the only real decision for Betty would be when and by how much to discount certain items to facilitate a sale. She'd been there for years, the attorney advised, and Oliver had had no trepidation about leaving things in her hands for the short term.
Next the man read the relevant section of Oliver's will that pertained to Brian. It had been recently updated, he advised. The first paragraph was a testimonial about how much Oliver valued the friendship of them both, how kind they had always been to him and how proud he was every time he saw Brian appearing in one of his documentaries or on a cable news talk show. It was a touching sentiment.
The attorney began to read from the will. I, Oliver Toussaint, herein called "Transferor," hereby offer to sell one hundred percent of the stock (the “Stock”) of Galerie Toussaint LLC, a Louisiana corporation founded in 1848, to Bijan Rarities LLC or any other entity or person designated by Brian Sadler
as "Transferee." The terms of sale are stated below and shall include all assets and liabilities of the corporation, contingent or otherwise. It is Transferor's desire to minimize the state and federal tax consequences of this sale and all available means to accomplish that desire must be employed by the parties, their agents and representatives.
Should Transferee accept this offer, a payment of one million dollars ($1,000,000) shall be made on the date the Stock is transferred, and annually thereafter for a period of ten (10) years. Said payments shall be made to the Oliver Toussaint Endowment Fund for the Arts at Tulane University, New Orleans, Louisiana.
If Transferee does not accept this offer by the forty-fifth (45th) day after my will is read, this offer shall be considered null and void and the terms of Section 16(C)(ii) shall apply.
The lawyer concluded by saying, "Mr. Toussaint's instructions were that you be provided with any documentation you require to make an informed decision.” Brian sat silently, thinking that what Oliver had done was nothing short of amazing. The incredible thing was that it was the second time in Brian's life that an opportunity was literally dropped into his lap due to an unusual death. Darius Nazir, the founder of Bijan Rarities, had also died suddenly. He'd left his prestigious gallery on Fifth Avenue to his new partner, Brian, who previously had had no inkling that was his mentor's intention.
Brian had forty-five days to decide - not that long given the due diligence required for such a large transaction. Completely familiar with business documents after years as CEO, Brian knew exactly what he wanted to see. He asked for the gallery's corporate records and financial statements for the past ten years. He also requested a current list of assets and liabilities, the most important of which was an inventory of the thousands of antiques that belonged to the corporation. The lawyer advised that the gallery's books were audited each year by one of the nation's leading accounting firms and everything was current. The records would be FedExed in a couple of days.
"What if I decline Oliver's bequest?" he asked. "You mentioned a section of the will that would apply in case that happened. Are you at liberty to tell me what it says?" He was curious about the gallery's fate if he passed on the offer, but it wasn't any of his business and he half-expected the attorney to tell him just that.
The man flipped through the will, read for a moment and paraphrased. "The gallery would be shuttered and liquidated as expeditiously as possible. The proceeds would be distributed to the Tulane endowment fund. Mr. Toussaint had no direct heirs, as I believe you know. He was very generous in providing for his alma mater in his estate, with your involvement or without."
Generous indeed, Brian thought, and an intelligent way to do it too. Brian hadn't seen the financials, and it was possible that those might reflect massive debts, but he felt certain that the pieces on the showroom floor at this moment - the ones he and Nicole had glanced at that day - had a retail value of far more than ten million dollars. And that wasn't everything by any means. He knew there was a warehouse nearby that was overflowing with more antiques that wouldn't fit in the showroom. Another consideration was the intrinsic value of the gallery and its name. It had been a fixture on Royal Street for nearly two hundred years and had a client list any major auction house would covet. Those intangible assets added millions more, but only if the gallery continued to operate.
Oliver had set things up shrewdly. The donation to Tulane was potentially worth far more if Brian were involved. If Brian accepted the bequest, the gallery would continue to operate and Brian would capitalize on its sterling reputation worldwide. For all that he would pay Tulane a million dollars a year for ten years. Knowing what he did about this business, Brian was certain he'd never come out of pocket for a payment. If everything was as it should be, a million dollars could easily be paid from profits each year.
If he declined, the university would face a more difficult hurdle and would undoubtedly receive much less money. The gallery would be closed and its goodwill value would vanish. The assets would be liquidated quickly, which meant selling everything wholesale and not receiving the much higher retail values Brian's store could command. Would the university be just as well off if Brian turned down the bequest? They'd still get a lot of money, but probably not ten million, he thought. Assuming Oliver's liabilities turned out to be far lower than his assets, then Brian couldn't possibly reject this opportunity. Just as when he started in this business and took over Bijan Rarities years ago, this one was also almost too good to be true.
"There's one last item of business," the attorney said as the meeting concluded. "Two weeks ago Mr. Toussaint came to see me and left an envelope to be placed in his file. He instructed that it be given to you at the time his will was read." He handed it across the desk.
Brian opened it and a small brown envelope slid out into his hand. On that envelope was a name - National Bank of the South - and inside was a small golden key - the key to a safe deposit box.
He knew how entry to safe deposit boxes worked. Merely showing up at the bank with a key wasn't enough. If your name wasn't on the list of authorized persons, you would be denied access.
"How do I get into this box?" he asked.
The lawyer had no idea. "Why don't you stop by the bank?" he suggested. "It's only a couple of blocks from here." He looked up the address and gave Brian directions.
Brian left the office and walked to the bank, reflecting on what had just happened and how unexpectedly one's life could change. He'd admired Oliver from the moment they met and the older man had obviously taken a liking to Brian as well. Brian reflected on the many good times they'd had, most recently at his and Nicole's wedding and then on their New Orleans honeymoon. It was hard to accept he was gone, especially under such tragic and unexplainable circumstances, and it was bittersweet to think that Oliver had bequeathed his family's proudest possession - Galerie Toussaint - to him.
Walking to the bank, he found himself almost giddy with anticipation; he'd always loved New Orleans and had even considered buying a townhouse in the French Quarter a few years back. Now that could be a distinct possibility for him and Nicole - having their own getaway in the Big Easy, where he could stay when he was working and they could relax and play on long weekends.
If this happens. If things work out. This wasn't a done deal. He forced himself to stop daydreaming. He had to consider the tax consequences and review the records along with his financial advisors and attorney. As great an opportunity as this might be, it ultimately had to be a prudent business decision.
He glanced at his watch - he had nearly four hours until his flight. Anxious to tell her the news, he tried Nicole's phone, but she didn't answer. She was frequently in depositions and outside meetings, so he gave it no thought. He'd rather tell her in person anyway. It would be fun to see the look on her face.
In the cavernous bank lobby, he was directed to a vice president's desk. He presented the key and his driver's license and the man looked at his monitor a moment and said, "Everything's in order, Mr. Sadler. Mr. Toussaint brought us a written authorization adding you to the account just a week ago."
Another little surprise from Oliver. What's next? he thought.
The box held only one thing - a thick manila envelope with Brian's name on it. He put it in his satchel and left the bank, crossing Canal Street into the Quarter and heading to Oliver's shop. The same middle-aged, pleasant woman he and Nicole had seen when they were last here welcomed him in.
"We haven't been officially introduced," she said. "I'm Betty Leblanc. I've been with Mr. Toussaint for over thirty years. I'm surprised to see you. I didn't know you were coming!"
He advised her that he was in town for a meeting with Oliver's attorney regarding his will.
They talked for a few minutes about Oliver and his untimely death. Betty's affection for her longtime employer was unmistakable and Brian told her Oliver had often spoken about her competence and how much he relied upon her for the front-of-house tasks. Of all people, Brian knew what a
huge help a competent assistant could be. The help she gave Oliver allowed him freedom to work on client development and major acquisitions.
"It's none of my business," she stammered nervously, wringing her hands, "but was there any discussion in Mr. Toussaint's will about the future of the gallery? This old place has pretty much been my life, you know. The lawyer asked me to stay here and run it, but they called it short term. That worries me, to be frank. I'm not as young as I used to be ..." She giggled and shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
Understanding her concern and sympathizing with her situation, he explained what the will directed.
She breathed a huge sigh of relief. "I'd be pleased to stay on ..." she began, stopping as she realized she was out of line. "I'm so sorry. That was rude of me. I have no right to think you'd even need me or if you even want to buy this place. Everything has just taken such a toll ..." She began to cry softly.
Her feelings were no surprise. Of course she hoped he would take over the gallery and not let its almost two-hundred-year legacy end. Doing so meant she would likely keep her job. It would be good for him too; her years of background and knowledge would be invaluable. If the university got everything, then the legacy of Galerie Toussaint would end and she would be looking for a job. Betty was counting on him for her own future as well as the store's.
"There's a lot of information about the business that my lawyers and accountants have to go over before I can make a decision," he said, "but if everything works out, I'd be a fool not to jump at an opportunity like this. And you'd be one of the biggest assets of all. It would take me years to learn half of what you already know about this place, so don't give it a second thought. If I'm in, you're in." She exhaled a giant sigh of relief and he said, "Oliver was quite a man, wasn't he? He was a mentor to me, you know."
The Black Cross (Brian Sadler Archaeological Thrillers Book 6) Page 17
