Exit Strategies

by Catherine Todd

  She looked at the figures I’d written down. “Depending on the cost, that can probably take you through two or three years. After that, you’ll need to supplement the Social Security.” She thought. “You could refinance the house—”

  “I’ve done that already.”

  “Or take out a loan—”

  “Ouch.”

  “Or you could…”

  “Yes?” I prompted her.

  “You could sell the house.”

  “What?” I screeched. “It’s all I’ve got.”

  Isabel closed her eyes. “Try to stay calm. Think about it; if you sold the house, you could pay the capital gains, invest the proceeds in the market, and still get a pretty good return. Meanwhile, you could get a nice condo somewhere on your salary.”

  “Leave La Jolla?” I gasped.

  She laughed. “Is that so shocking? There are other nice places. Besides, do you really like this house?” She sounded dubious.

  I looked around. “Actually, not all that much,” I admitted. “But what about Allie?”

  “Allie will be in college by the time it comes up,” she said. “But if she isn’t, the two of you can live with me while she finishes high school.”

  “College,” I said, stricken. I wondered how I was going to pay for that too if Carole refused to loosen the purse strings on the income from the trust. Or worse, if there wasn’t any money left.

  “We’ll get to that. Stay flexible; that’s the key.”

  “The key to what?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  I rubbed my temple. I was starting to get a headache from the wine or the emotion or both. The phone rang. I was going to let it go, but Isabel said, “Answer it. It might be good news, and we could use some.”

  It wasn’t.

  “Mrs. Weston?”

  It was Carole’s accountant. All warmth had left her voice.

  “I didn’t expect you to call so soon,” I told her.

  “Yes, well, I do have information, but it may not be what you require.”

  I put my hand over the receiver. “She’s backpedaling,” I said to Isabel.

  Isabel waved me on with a gesture.

  “Yes?” I said into the phone.

  “As you know,” she said formally, “the trust assets have been used to buy annuities outside the United States—”

  “I didn’t know that,” I said.

  “It’s on your accounting statement,” she said in a disapproving tone.

  I felt like the Silly Little Woman. “I didn’t realize,” I told her.

  “Many people don’t,” she said, relenting a little. “In any case, I’m afraid some of these investments seem to have…”

  “Yes?” I encouraged, although I didn’t feel encouraged myself.

  “Well, in layman’s terms, they seem to have gone belly-up.”

  “Christ.” My head was throbbing. “Were these prudent investments?”

  “Apparently.”

  I wondered if she was hedging. I wished I hadn’t had so much to drink. “Apparently?”

  Her voice turned frosty. “There’s appropriate documentation for the loss. We’ve also made inquiries of the agent who sold these annuities, but I’m afraid it’s impossible to find out any more.”

  “Impossible?”

  “Impossible,” she said firmly. “The secrecy laws of the Cayman Islands make further disclosure impossible.”

  “You’re kidding! The Cayman Islands? Why would somebody buy investments there?” Although, even in my semi-inebriated state, I knew the answer to that already.

  “I couldn’t speculate,” she said.

  “And there’s really no way to find out anything more?” I asked her.

  “A full accounting will cost you five thousand dollars,” she said crisply. “If lawyers are involved, it will cost a great deal more than that. But very likely you’ll be wasting your time and money trying to wring something out of the offshores. They don’t give out the kind of information you’re looking for.” She sighed. “I’ll send you the account statement in today’s mail. Along with your bill.”

  “Now can we get to Carole?” I inquired when I had told Isabel about the conversation. “Christ. The Cayman Islands! She’s playing some kind of investment games with the trust.”

  Isabel nodded and topped off my glass. “I’ve come up with something—why didn’t we think of this before?”

  “A hit man? I’ve thought of that already.”

  Isabel laughed. “Too obvious. There aren’t any drive-bys on Mount Soledad. You could follow her around Jonathan’s and try to inject her cheese with Listeria—”

  “Too unreliable. She’s too fit. She’d probably kill the bacteria before it killed her.”

  “Well, then,” said Isabel, “I’d say it’s time for a little hands-on juris doctoring, wouldn’t you?”

  “You mean—”

  “I mean, what’s the good of six years of legal education if you can’t use it against a nitwit like Carole?”

  I smiled. “Unfortunately, the trust wasn’t drafted by the nitwit. The way it’s set up, if the trust is attacked, the trustee can simply close the checkbook. And offshore investments are completely out of my league. I don’t have the expertise to take on something like that, much as I’d like to.”

  “Then I guess you’ll just have to talk to Mr. Perfect Partner or somebody else at your law firm about finding some way to get rid of her before she squanders all the assets. Sue her skinny ass, dammit!” She hit the coffee table with her fist. The wine bottle, empty, tipped over onto the rug. “Sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I’m sort of warming to the idea of whopping her ass in court. It’s just that I’m a little vague on the details of how I’m going to do it.”

  “So what?” demanded Isabel.

  “So what?” I agreed. “That’s what the partners are for, isn’t it? To provide the details.”

  “We’ll provide the big picture,” Isabel said.

  “The big picture,” I said, “is that Carole is screwing my kids, and I’m not going to let her get away with it!”

  “Hurrah!” cried Isabel. “That’s that, then. The trust is history, as soon as you figure out what to do about it. Let’s open another bottle to celebrate.”

  “I haven’t finished what’s in my glass yet,” I said.

  “Okay, then drink up.” She consulted her list. “Next.”

  “There isn’t any next,” I told her. “We’ve made attack plans for everything.”

  “Not everything,” said Isabel.

  I knew that tone. “Oh, Isabel, give it up,” I said.

  She picked up my wineglass and offered it to me. I drained it without protest. “Never,” she said. “Look, I know this guy whose brother’s in town and needs a date for some party he’s going to. Let me give him your phone number, please.”

  “Isabel…”

  “What if I promise he won’t drool on you or slaver with lust? It’s just a dinner. As a matter of fact, I’ll probably be there too.”

  I laughed. “No one’s spoken to me with lust since an Amway salesman tried to sell me on some toilet paper,” I told her.

  “All the more reason,” she persisted. “Just the phone number. Please,” she said again. “You could use the diversion.”

  I started to refuse, but then I figured, what the hell? I mean, what was so perfect about my life that I didn’t want to change it? It’s not as if an evening away from my simmering domestic crises would be unwelcome. Besides, how bad could it be if Isabel was going to be there too?

  “Okay,” I told her, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Great,” she said. “You won’t regret it.”

  Now why did she have to go and say something like that?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Armed with my “to-do” lists, I started my assault on my particular mound of problems.

  At first I was fortunate.

  “I’m glad yo
u asked me,” said Mark. “I have a really good place to recommend for your mother.”

  “You do?” I could not believe my good luck. It couldn’t be this easy.

  “Sure,” he said. “I know a number of people there. It’s very well run and not too expensive. The residents seem to like it quite a bit.” He gave me the name and some other information. “Of course you’ll want to check it out for yourself.” He hesitated, as if he wondered if he might be coming across as too pushy. “If you like, I could make an appointment for you with the director.”

  If I liked? “Oh, Mark, I can’t tell you how grateful I am,” I said.

  “Then don’t,” he said shortly, sounding, I thought, a little irritated.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Did I…?”

  “No, no, it’s just a bad day. Don’t pay any attention. I’m glad I could help you. Let me know how it works out.”

  Lauren looked at me in disbelief. “That’s the most barbaric trust arrangement I’ve ever heard of.”

  I liked that word barbaric. I felt she’d cut to the essence of things right off the bat.

  “But I gather that was the point,” she added. “Really, really vindictive. Of course he had to know how difficult this would be for everyone.”

  I drew in a breath. I knew then that the real reason I’d never consulted anybody at the firm about the trust was the unexpressed question What awful thing had I done to my husband to make him dislike me that much? “He’s laughing himself silly somewhere right this minute,” I said.

  She sighed. “I don’t have that much experience with trust and estates or tax law, but I can tell you it’s not that uncommon for people to try to control things from beyond the grave. Usually it backfires.” She looked at the papers I had given her. “Too bad La Rue and Associates—an extremely reputable firm by the way”—she looked up meaningfully to make sure I took the point—“drafted it as a family pot trust instead of distributing out each child’s share when he comes of age. The way it is here, your kids won’t get their hands on the principal till they’re middle-aged.”

  “If there’s any left,” I said. “Anyway, I imagine Richard wanted to be sure Carole and Andrew were provided for before any of the principal gets reduced.” I tried not to sound bitter. “Look, their ultimate inheritance is not what I’m concerned about here. Right now their educations are at risk. Isn’t there anything I can do to stop Carole from making lunatic investments and squandering the assets?”

  “I don’t want to advise you on this, Becky. It’s too important, and I’m not really an expert. Let me run it by the tax guys and see what they say. I can tell you that my experience, limited as it is, is that the accountant is right. The fees—and they can be big for something like this—will be billed to the trust. It’s not unheard of for people to run through a substantial amount of what they’re fighting over. You lose even if you win. It’s usually better to reach some kind of accommodation if you can.”

  “Fat chance.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Well, I’d have to agree that some genial accord is less likely when the trustee loathes you,” she said. “But it’s not unheard of.”

  “I don’t think I’ll count on it,” I said gloomily.

  “Count on what?” asked Ryan James, inserting himself into the conversation. He was always lurking in doorways hoping to hear—what? Something he could use to assess his chances of making partner probably. As the magic number approached—six years out, or seven, or eight, depending on the firm—all associates got more furtive and restless, and Ryan was the worst of all at RTA.

  We both looked at him.

  “What?” he said. “I’m just asking.”

  “It’s nothing to do with you,” Lauren told him.

  Which naturally convinced him we’d been plotting his ruination. He looked crestfallen.

  “I was asking Lauren about offshore investments,” I said, taking pity on him, but not so much pity I was eager to tell him about the trust.

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Passé,” he said. “Put your money into tech stocks. Never mind the market corrections. That’s the future.”

  “Right,” Lauren said dryly. “Let somebody like Jason Krill lead you to the promised land.”

  “Passé how?” I asked him. “You mean dangerous? Risky? What?” I was clutching at straws asking financial advice of Ryan James, but I figured that if even he knew that Carole’s investments would have been imprudent at the outset, it might give me some ammunition to use against her.

  Behind him Lauren was shaking her head at me, but it was too late to turn off the spigot.

  “I wouldn’t say that. I mean, foreign mutual funds and securities have been favored investments for a long time. But the Internet—that’s the place to be—”

  “But no one’s making any money,” Lauren protested.

  He rolled his eyes at our cluelessness. “That’s not what it’s about, ladies. Didn’t you read The New New Thing? Anyway, if you’ve got some money to invest…”

  Ryan continued in this fashion at some length, but my mind—doubtless an old old thing in this context—drifted away. I didn’t have any money to invest. I was just worried about how I was going to keep my kids from getting ripped off.

  Sometime later the paean came to an abrupt end, startling me out of my daydreams. “Anyway, if you want to know about investments, you might want to ask Taylor.”

  Lauren said nothing. “Why Taylor?” I asked.

  Ryan looked cagey. “Well, he has to be getting money from somewhere. The guy drives a very expensive car and lives in a mansion and he supports at least two high-maintenance ex-wives. He’s not doing it on his salary, I can promise you that. And I know for a fact that he’s taken a certain associate in this firm out to a number of very pricey dinners.” He snickered like some hormonally supercharged twelve-year-old making obscene phone calls.

  “Ryan—” Lauren began.

  Ryan shrugged, unrepentant. “I know you’re going to tell me to mind my own business, Lauren, but it is my business, sort of. Anyway, I’m not insinuating that he’s anything but a smart investor.”

  “Good,” Lauren said.

  “Do you think he’d know anything about offshore investments?” I persisted, despite Lauren’s disapproval.

  “He might. It stands to reason. He’s a tax expert, isn’t he? Besides, I hear things.”

  “No shit,” Lauren said. She gave him such a reproachful look that he began to edge away.

  “I’m out of here,” he said finally.

  “See you,” she said.

  “There goes a waste of a very expensive education,” she added when he had gone. “Not a lick of common sense to show for it.”

  I winced at the reminder. What was I going to do if I couldn’t prise the trust income out of Carole?

  Lauren looked at me, reading my thoughts. “What will you do if you don’t get the money?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s David’s future, for God’s sake. I want him to have what he’s worked so hard for.”

  “I know what you mean,” she said. “It’s so tough to finance a private education. My gardener’s daughter is at Stanford Law School this year, but she’s going to have to take a leave of absence to work full-time. She’s taken the biggest loan they’ll give her, and even though she’ll probably be fifty-five by the time she can pay it back, she still can’t get by. Do you know what tuition costs at that place? I’ve offered to help, but she says she needs to do it on her own. Her parents are from Vietnam and have just about killed themselves to get her where she is. She says she just doesn’t want to feel any more indebted than she is already.”

  “That’s silly,” I said. “She should accept the help that’s offered.”

  “Do you think so?” she said. “Some people think having to be grateful can be…oppressive.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was still talking about her gardener’s daughter, but I didn’t want to pursue it. There were some things you couldn’t ask. Like
whether Taylor was really taking Melissa out, as Ryan had suggested. “I hope it works out for this girl,” I said.

  “She’s not a girl. She’s thirty-two,” she said. “She supported her two younger brothers through college before she went to law school.”

  “Poor kid,” I said. I knew what Lauren meant too: everybody has it tough.

  A couple of hours later, Lauren called my office. “Taylor wants to see you,” she said.

  “Taylor?” I asked her. “About the trust?”

  “So I would assume,” she said. “I was going to run it by one of the senior tax associates, but Taylor heard me asking and said to send you in as soon as you’re free.”

  “Ummm, I hope you kept the lurid details to a minimum,” I said. The understatement of the year.

  She laughed. “Just the merest bit of luridity. I’m sure he’s heard worse. Good luck.”

  Taylor’s office looked like someplace you might feel comfortable dropping off your old couch, the one with the springs protruding through the cushions, so I knew it was back to business as usual. He was on the phone when I got there, his chair turned away from the door. “I tell you I can’t do it anymore,” he was saying into the phone. “You’ll have to use someone else.” Pause. “Just for the time being.” He swung around and saw me standing in the doorway. He started.

  “Sorry,” I mouthed.

  “Listen, I’ll have to get back to you later,” he said into the receiver. “Someone’s here now.” He coughed. “Right. So am I. Seven o’clock.”

  He hung up and smiled at me in his new business-getter to business-getter fashion; I was no longer confused with the secretarial staff. “Hi,” he said. “Come on in.”

  “You wanted to see me?” I asked.

  He nodded, still smiling. “Please close the door and take a seat.”

  I sat, remembering to pull down my skirt and cross my legs at the ankles, as if my mother were watching.

  “Lauren told me you’re having some difficulties with a trust set up for the benefit of your children,” he said. “I’m glad you’ve felt comfortable bringing such a matter to the firm.”