by Marti Green
I decided to surprise Ben with a home-cooked meal tonight. I grabbed the house key he’d left me and headed over to a market I’d passed on the drive in. As soon as I walked in, the man at the cash register called out to me. “Mrs. Gordon, I heard about your father. I’m so sorry.” I quickly ran through the list of names Ben had given me of people Charly came in contact with. There was a “Joe” in this market. I hoped that was this man. “Thanks, Joe. I appreciate it.” He nodded back, so I’d passed my first test. Tomorrow, when I went into the gallery, it would get harder.
I picked up the items I needed, then headed back to the townhouse. When Ben walked in at 7:15 p.m., he called out, “What smells so good?”
“Coq au vin,” I answered.
He walked into the kitchen and looked around. “You’ve made dinner?”
“Yep,” I answered with a smile.
“Smells delicious, but going forward, check with me first. Once the prenup is canceled, I expect to be going over to my girlfriend’s after work most nights.”
“No problem. I just couldn’t let this gorgeous kitchen go to waste.”
Ben smirked. “Well, that’s one way you’re not like your sister. She rarely stepped foot in the kitchen. We bought takeout every night.”
I shook my head. How ridiculous it seemed to spend a fortune on a professional-quality kitchen and never use it. “Dinner’s ready. You hungry?”
“Famished,” Ben answered.
I’d already set the table. I brought a salad out first, mesclun lettuce with chickpeas and dried cranberries, and my own balsamic vinaigrette dressing. I picked up the bottle of cabernet on the table. “Wine?”
Ben nodded, and I filled his wineglass, then poured mine.
Ben held up his glass. “A toast. To our future wealth.” I thought it was pretty crass but clicked his glass, anyway. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do when we split?” he asked.
“I always thought if I had money, I’d study painting in Paris. There’s a school there, the Paris College of Art, where I could get a US-accredited BA.”
“Sounds like a good plan. You should apply. Soon you’ll have enough money to do anything you want.” He took a few bites of the salad. “This is delicious.”
“Wait till you taste the main meal.”
When we finished our salads, I brought the coq au vin out to the table, along with a bowl of fettuccine and a loaf of warm French bread. Ben helped himself, and after eating several spoonfuls, said, “I can’t believe you made this yourself. You should be a chef.”
“I’ve always enjoyed cooking, but it’s a hobby. Painting’s my passion.”
We chatted easily throughout dinner, finishing the bottle of wine just before I brought out dessert—tiramisu.
When we finished, Ben sat back in his chair and, with a wicked smile on his face, said, “I think I’m going to like being married to this twin.”
Today would be the real test. I was going into the gallery. It would be Charly’s first time since her father had died. Sandy had worked closely with Charly, and if I could fool her, I could fool anyone. I’d been briefed on her—what she did at the gallery as well as her personal life. She always arrived early and opened up the store. Later, Phil Jacoby would arrive. He was the gallery’s art handler and worked only part-time, unless a show was getting ready to open. I wasn’t worried about him figuring out the truth.
I dressed in Charly’s clothes, which fit me perfectly, and got there just before 10:00 a.m. As soon as I entered, Sandy came up to me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. “How are you doing? You know, you could have stayed out longer. I can run things here.”
I gave her a quick hug back and thanked her. She looked me over. “You look better already. Less gaunt.”
“It was stressful,” I said, a catch in my voice, “leading up to the end. Now that it’s over, it’s almost a relief. He was suffering so much.” I managed to squeeze a few tears from my eyes.
“I took the long weekend to just veg out. I laid in bed for three days and watched old movies. TCM had a marathon of Hugh Grant movies. I saw every one.”
“Well, you deserved that rest.”
It was clear that Sandy had no reservations about me. I was Charly Gordon.
CHAPTER 27
Ben felt like a six-ton elephant had been plunked down on his chest for months and now had finally lumbered away. He could breathe again. The finish line was in sight, and he was sprinting toward it.
It had been disconcerting yesterday to watch Mallory get out of the taxi and walk up the steps to his townhouse. He’d known identical twins who had subtle differences, especially once they became adults, that enabled people to tell them apart, but Mallory truly was an exact replica of her sister.
As he walked past Rick’s corner office this morning, he stopped in his tracks. Sitting behind Rick’s desk was Ted Manning. Someone from their maintenance staff had removed Rick’s wall hangings and was in the middle of replacing them with ones that had been in Manning’s office.
Ben stopped in the doorway. “What the hell?”
Manning looked up from the computer. “I’m sorry. This is probably disturbing to you. I waited until after the funeral, but we have to move on now.”
“Don’t you think you should have talked it over with me first? I might have had different plans for this space.”
“With all due respect, Ben, you’re not an owner of the firm. Your wife is. And she understands and is agreeable to me taking over the running of it.”
“With all due respect, Ted,” he practically spit out his name, “Charly is in no position now to be making those decisions. She’s still grieving.”
“The market doesn’t stop because she’s in mourning. And right now, she’s the one who owns this firm. And I’m the only one with the expertise to keep it going. So, you’re just going to have to deal with me running it. Unless, of course, you’d like to take your talents somewhere else.”
“Fuck off, Ted. This isn’t finished.”
Ben fumed as he finished the walk to his office. That corner space belonged to him, not Manning. He snapped at his assistant to bring him coffee, then tried to calm himself. Manning was right. Ben didn’t know enough to run the business. He needed to keep Manning happy. The corner office wasn’t that important. In a few weeks, Ben would make it clear who the boss was. Let Manning think he’s in control for now, he thought. Mallory will soon set him straight.
It had taken Ben three days to get together the cash needed for both Clark and Mullin, but he now had it tucked safely away in his briefcase. He hadn’t wanted to make a large withdrawal, one that would be reported to the IRS, so he’d needed to move some accounts around and then withdraw just under $10,000 from each. He left work and headed over to Mail Connections. It wasn’t just mailboxes—the place shipped letters and packages all over the world. The mailboxes were in the back, far from the counter where the staff worked and free from prying eyes. Ben withdrew an envelope containing $95,000 and placed it in Box 2119. He locked up the box, pocketed the key, then headed over to the same bar in Brooklyn where he’d first reconnected with Jeff Mullin.
A half hour later, he walked into the bar and spotted Mullin at a booth near the back. He slid in opposite him.
“You got something for me?”
Ben nodded, then took the second envelope with $35,000 inside out of his briefcase and handed it over to his old friend. Mullin grabbed it and stuffed it inside his pants pocket. “This calls for a celebration, don’t ya think?” Mullin said. He called over the waitress and ordered two beers.
“I did good for you, right?”
“You did,” Ben said.
It was too bad about Mullin. They’d been friends once, and it made Ben sad to see his life destroyed. Maybe this money would help him get it together. Yes, Ben thought, he’d done something positive for his friend. Given him a chance at a fresh start. And, if he didn’t take it, if he used it for drugs, then came back to Ben begging for more
, he would stop him—permanently.
It had taken longer than Ben had hoped for Rick to finally kick the bucket, but things had gone smoothly ever since. Not one person gave any sign they suspected Mallory wasn’t Charly. Whether it was Sandy, her assistant; the doormen and concierges at Rick’s apartment, where Mallory had returned to start going through Rick’s papers; or the artists she dealt with, they all believed she was Charly. He had to admit, it was a perfect plan. You couldn’t suspect the husband of wrongdoing if no wrong had been done. And he had to pat himself on the back for the way he’d manipulated Mallory into thinking Charly had rejected her. She was putty in his hands after that.
CHAPTER 28
A week after I arrived in Manhattan, Ben told me he’d made an appointment for us with two lawyers. The first was this morning with Josh Kantor, Rick’s estate attorney. I’d gotten used to dressing in Charly’s clothes. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I didn’t see Mallory Holcolm any longer. I saw my sister, and it gave me the chills. When I was ready, we headed downtown to the office of Kantor, Bello, and Weissman. Josh had attended Rick’s funeral and had already given his condolences to Charly.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
I’d worried a bit about meeting him. He’d known Charly since her mother had died. After the first few minutes of chitchat, I relaxed. He’d readily accepted I was the woman he’d known for sixteen years.
“What do I need to do to get started on settling my father’s estate?” I asked him now.
“I’ll handle all of that for you. Of course, you know you’re already on the deed of your father’s condo, so that passes to you automatically, and there’s no tax due until you sell it. The house out in the Hamptons, though, he bought while your mother was still alive. It’s probably valued at about ten million. Rick had just over fifty million in cash. He’s earmarked thirty million of that for various charitable bequests. His stocks and bonds, right now, are valued at one point two billion. The good news is that you don’t pay tax on that until the stock is sold, and then it’s with a stepped-up basis.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Well, as you know, the reason your father’s hedge fund is so successful is because he had a nose for picking winners. So, for instance, he has Google stock that he purchased at the initial public offering for eighty-five dollars a share. Each share has become two, because the stock split, and is worth almost sixteen hundred dollars. If you sell it a year from now, you only pay tax on the amount over sixteen hundred dollars, not eighty-five. That’s what a stepped-up basis means. It’s as if you bought the stock on the day your father died, and so you only pay tax on profits after that.
“Now, we get to Jensen Capital. Your father knew the end was near and asked me to have a valuation done of the business. It comes in at one point four billion.”
I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, Ben had told me Rick was worth $2 billion, but I guess I’d always thought he was exaggerating. The number had seemed too staggering to be real.
“Your father has given ten percent of the business to his associate, Ted Manning, in gratitude for his service. The rest of his partnership share, sixty percent, goes to you.”
Ben quickly chimed in. “What about the other thirty percent?”
“You already own thirty percent as a limited partner,” Kantor said as he looked at me. “Your father gave you that after your mother died, when he set up the business as an FLP, a family limited partnership. As a limited partner, you don’t have voting rights or the right to sell, and so the gift tax he had to pay at the time was based on a discounted value. And, of course, the business was worth much less back then, so the gift tax was considerably less than would be owed now for that thirty percent.”
“What does this all mean?” Ben asked. “What’s the bottom line?”
I stared at Ben. This was supposed to be my inheritance. Didn’t he realize how inappropriately eager he sounded?
“Well, the federal inheritance tax rate is forty percent, and New York state inheritance tax is another sixteen percent.”
I could see Ben doing a quick calculation in his head, and then his eyes bugged out.
“You mean taxes will be almost five hundred million?” he asked.
I wished I could will Ben to quiet his reaction. Half a billion still left more than $2 billion—more money than either of us could spend in a lifetime, I figured.
“The good news is that Rick prepared for that kind of hit almost ten years ago. Jensen Capital was really taking off, and he didn’t want you,” he nodded in my direction, “stuck with a huge tax bill. He created an irrevocable life insurance trust—an ILIT—and named me as the trustee. I then purchased life insurance in the amount of two hundred fifty million dollars as trustee of the ILIT. Now, I submit a claim on the insurance, and when it’s paid, it’s not considered part of your father’s trust, and it’s not taxable. That money will then be used to pay half of the estate tax that’s due.”
“That’s brilliant,” I said. I looked over at Ben. He still had a sour look on his face. What a greedy bastard, I thought.
I thanked Kantor and stood up to leave, but Ben stopped at the doorway to ask one more question. “How long will all of this take?”
“I’ll have to get a new tax ID for the trust, and file a tax return for it, but you can get access to the cash immediately. Changing the ownership of the stocks and bonds will take a little longer. Figure about two months to wrap everything up.”
Ben squeezed my hand as we left the office. “You did good, kid.”
I suppose I had.
The next morning, we headed to Steve Goldfarb’s midtown office on Park Avenue. He was the attorney who’d drawn up the prenuptial agreements Ben and Charly had signed before they were married. He worked in a midsize firm, specializing in matrimonial and family law. We were ushered into his office as soon as we arrived.
“I heard about your father, Charly. My deepest condolences,” he said, a somber look on his face.
“Thank you.”
“So, how can I help you today?”
“You may remember, the only reason I agreed to a prenuptial agreement was to satisfy my father. He was so insistent. Now that he’s gone, I want to revoke it.”
Goldfarb cleared his throat, then began tapping his fingers on the desk. “You know, your father was looking out for your welfare. I advise everyone who has substantial assets to have a prenuptial agreement.”
I took Ben’s hand in mine. “I love Ben very much. I’ve shared my life with him for the past six years. Now, I want to share my wealth.” I looked over at Ben and smiled, then turned back to Goldfarb. “This is my Valentine’s Day gift to Ben.” I could see Goldfarb becoming more agitated as I spoke. A sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead, and he was rubbing the back of his neck.
“If I remember correctly, your prenup was very generous to Ben. If you divorced, he would get a million dollars for each year of marriage. Unless the divorce was the result of an affair.”
I smiled. “But I’m worth so much more than that. Especially once Dad’s estate is settled. I trust Ben completely, and I want to do this to show my trust.” All this time, Ben sat quietly next to me, his back straight in the chair.
Goldfarb slowly shook his head. “I strongly advise against it. But if you insist, I’ll draw up a revocation. I’ll have my assistant call you when it’s ready.”
“I’d like you to do it now. We can wait.”
“I have another appointment soon. I promise, I’ll have it in a day or two.”
I remained in my seat. “I suspect you can have a paralegal prepare it in less than a half hour. How about we go get a cup of coffee and then return in an hour?”
The attorney sighed deeply, then nodded. “One hour. I’ll see you then.”
An hour later, we were back. Once again, we were brought into Goldfarb’s office right away. A young woman was already seated by his desk, and Goldfarb instructed his assis
tant to remain. “Charlotte, Ben, this is Amy. She’s prepared the revocation.” He handed copies to Ben and me to read over, and when we finished, offered us pens. We signed each of the three copies, then Amy, Goldfarb, and his assistant signed as witnesses.
We left the office, and before heading our separate ways, Ben hugged me. “We did it,” he whispered in my ear. “We’re both going to be filthy rich. We can have the lives we want.”
I pulled away, then smiled weakly. “But look at the cost,” I said, then turned and walked away. I had performed as promised. My job was done.
CHAPTER 29
The next day, Ben got to the gym early and decided to grab a latte at the café while he waited for Graham. After it was handed to him, he glanced around and saw that every table was taken. Sitting alone at one was a stunning brunette, still clothed in her spandex tights, with a sports bra covering her ample breasts. He walked over. “Mind if I sit here?”
She smiled and looked even more beautiful. “Not at all. I’ve seen you around. I guess we work out at the same time.”
She’d noticed me! He felt his heart begin to race. Charly had been pretty, but this woman was in another league altogether. Model pretty. Maybe even an actress. He surreptitiously glanced at her left hand. No rings. He’d wanted to be free of Charly so that he could marry Lisa. Now he began to think he shouldn’t rush into that. He’d often marveled at men, wealthy but otherwise unappealing, who’d attracted women who should have been out of their reach. Soon he would be that man. With $1 billion, he could have any woman he wanted. He’d keep stringing Lisa along until the money was in his bank account. Then he’d hold out for someone like the woman sitting opposite him.
