Blind Trust (Blind Justice Book 2)

by Adam Zorzi

  Gregg laughed and held her tight. LouLou was already plotting. “I'll have to look online for photos of each kind. Without knowing what a barn owl looks like, I'm leaning toward the one that sings.”

  Just before starting to touch LouLou's erogenous spots, Greg murmured, “Musicians who mate for life.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  “Shouldn't we be whispering?” LouLou asked when the conversation turned from catching up to the purpose of the meeting at Quincy's law firm in New York.

  “My office is soundproof,” Quincy said.

  “You're joking,” LouLou said before she saw the look on her friend's face. “I can't believe it. I mean, I knew the firm was esteemed old money, but this takes privacy to a whole new level.”

  “It's essential. Confidentiality is our highest priority aside from expert advice.”

  LouLou had no response other than to nod. Quincy continued.

  “I believe everything has been done as you requested. I'll give you an overview and we can make any changes as needed.”

  LouLou nodded again and sat straighter in the beige chair. Everything in the law firm was beige. Carpet, walls, upholstery. Blonde maple for desks and doors. Completely bland. She was surprised Quincy wasn't wearing a beige suit.

  “You're the beneficiary of a blind trust that will dissolve when the assets are distributed to a newly created blind trust. The trustee of the new trust will distribute the assets as you instructed. I've spoken to the development officers at both SchizoLife and Juilliard that you selected to receive disbursements. They prefer to use their donor documents, but this is a straightforward transfer of assets. They're each getting a nice sum. They'll accept bank transfers and whatever else we request.

  “That's my recommendation for structure. You were notified beyond the expiration date to refuse the trust. You could challenge that and case law supports you, but doing so creates problems you don't want. If you refused the trust, the trustee would be forced to identify, notify, and distribute trust assets to your closest relatives—your parents—which you specifically said you didn't want.”

  “Correct.” The last thing LouLou wanted was to involve her parents in anything to do with Bella Davis.

  “My tax colleagues assure me that distributing the assets to a blind trust is preferable to distributing them to you personally. All transfers will be electronic. I have the documents to open an account for the trust at the bank we find most suitable for our clients. Once the bank account is funded, the amounts will be distributed to the bank accounts of SchizoLife and Juilliard, respectively. Upon confirmation of receipt of those funds, the bank account will be closed. The trust will be dissolved as well. Does that work?”

  Everyone really had grown up except her. Here was Quincy, a partner at one of the most prestigious firms in the country, guiding her through a complex process and making it sound ordinary. Routine. It probably was for Quincy.

  LouLou stopped herself from thinking about that. Quincy didn't live with schizophrenia. Their career goals had never matched. Quincy was one of the brightest members of her high school class and was destined to do what she wanted with excellence. Harvard. Harvard Law. Prestigious firm.

  “Quincy, I don't know anything about finance.”

  “That's why I exist. You don't have to know when you have me.” When Quincy smiled, she looked like the girl LouLou remembered from the sophomore volleyball team who could always be counted on at the right moment.

  “What's a blind trust?”

  “It means the beneficiary, in this case you, has nothing to do with trust administration. A trustee completely controls the trust with no input from the beneficiary. The trust established by Bella Davis was blind to you. You didn't know about it, didn't receive information about what assets it held, and didn't have any say in how those assets were invested. You were in the dark—or blind—to the trust.

  “The successor trust I create to transfer the assets will also be blind. You'll appoint a trustee to manage the trust based on the instructions in the trust documents. You'll never have anything to do with it.”

  “Wow. What a great concept.”

  “Dates back to Roman emperors who wanted to keep ownership of their assets, usually real estate, secret. Who do you want to appoint as trustee?”

  “You. Wouldn't that be best?”

  “You can choose anyone who will act dutifully to carry out the terms of the trust. I can do it, but I'm obligated to inform you that the firm will take all fees to which its entitled as trustee. The administration fees won't be waived.”

  “Of course,” LouLou agreed. If the fees were being paid from Bella's money, she didn't care how much they were. She also didn't expect Quincy and her firm to do her any favors. She was a very little fish in terms of their client list. She was lucky Quincy was handling this at all.

  Quincy made a note on her tablet. “Then my name will appear on both the trust document and bank account. Acting as trustee, I'll handle all administration for the trust. You don't have to do anything.”

  “I won't get bank statements?”

  “No, everything will come to me.”

  “What about your bill? You told me about your fees.”

  “The trust will pay it. Taxes, too, in the unlikely event there are any.”

  “So, I don't have to do anything ever? I'm done? Completely out of the loop?”

  “Correct. That's the beauty of a blind trust.”

  “Quincy, could I have some more water, please. I need a moment to process this.”

  “Of course.” Quincy walked to the bar in her office, poured water from a crystal pitcher over ice in a crystal glass, and placed it on a coaster. After she removed LouLou's original glass and returned it to the bar, she sat in the matching beige chair next to LouLou.

  “Before you process, I admit I'd never heard of SchizoLife and did some research. It's a fine, well-managed charitable organization with the highest rating. LouLou, I know you have schizophrenia, but I've never thought about what it must be like to live with it on a daily basis, particularly the strict routine you follow and the number and quantity of medications. This organization funds medication, provides housing with a strict schedule for women, and offers all kinds of services to women who live independently. It's amazing.”

  LouLou patted her friend's hand. “Quincy, we're privileged. I see women in hospitals because they couldn't afford medication or maintain the routine because of other obligations. They are heroic, but they fail and most of them die or commit horrible crimes. SchizoLife offers exactly what they need. Exactly what I would need if I didn't have the parents I do. I like my life. I may have taken on too much with three big tours, including two international ones, but I won't do that again. I'm just as happy playing clubs around Richmond and Charlottesville. Of course, I did get that Chanel endorsement, which will be great fun and a chance to spend time with Mom in Paris.”

  “And the Juilliard instrument fund?”

  “Same idea. Brilliance and privilege aren't always matched. Musicians have had patrons ever since musicians existed. Orchestras always have endowments so their members play the best available instruments. Students are different. I think it must be hard to be talented enough to be at Juilliard and not have a great instrument when others do. The quality of the instrument really changes the sounds that can be drawn from it. I thought those two beneficiaries made sense for me given that I'm a musician and schizophrenic.

  Quincy squeezed LouLou's hand before releasing it. “You're kind and thoughtful, LouLou. The donations are perfect. Now, I'll shut up and let you process.”

  LouLou clutched the iced glass and sat quietly, reviewing what Quincy had told her. LouLou trusted her friend. According to her, Quincy had extricated LouLou from any dealings with Bella's money. It was over. Bella Davis couldn't interfere in her life again.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  April

  LouLou twirled in front of the antique mir
ror in the suite she shared with her mother in the Hotel Grand Intercontinental just off the Avenue de l'Opera in Paris. She wore a midnight blue dress with a bateau neckline and a bare back that dipped just below her waist. The artistic director of her photo shoot profusely praised the design and colors of the phoenix tattoo on her back. He couldn't stop talking about it and finally took shots of LouLou wearing a white bikini bottom poised to dive into a pool that featured her gloriously vivid tattoo enhanced with make-up. He'd admired her new owl tattoo, but that was something she shared with Gregg. She didn't want it photographed. Still, she'd created a buzz within the House of Chanel.

  Karl Lagerfeld himself had selected the dress she now wore as a gift—a rarity for anyone other than the most celebrated actresses and beauties in the world.

  “Maman,” LouLou lapsed into French, “I've never worn such an exquisite dress. I can't believe it. And Monsieur Lagerfeld selected it himself. I'm not famous. I'm a DJ who modeled something fun and will provide music for their next show.”

  “LouLou, you have style. That's what they love. That dress is like an award. You deserve it.”

  LouLou hugged her mother. “I'm so happy you came.” She took another twirl in the mirror. “You weren't bored, were you? Tell me the truth.”

  “Bored? Don't be silly. I saw old friends. They took me to the opera while you were out clubbing until all hours. You and I had dinners in wonderful places. I still had time to have my hair cut by someone who knows what he's doing and shop. It's been a trip I'll never forget.” She hugged her daughter close.

  “Oh, but what are we going to do about packing?” LouLou eyed the suite. It was a mess of tissue paper, shopping bags, and boxes. Lingerie was strewn over chairs and the settee. Perfume samples in delicate miniature bottles lined the armoire shelf. Colorful macaroons were on a tray with champagne nestled in a crystal bucket of ice.

  “We'll throw everything in at the last minute and sort it out at home. Let's have some champagne before dinner.”

  The house phone rang The sous-concierge announced Leonore's arrival. “She's two hours early,” LouLou moaned. “Help me out of this dress.”

  “No, darling. Leonore will want to see it.”

  “Of course.” LouLou answered the door before Leonore had a chance to knock.

  “What's wrong?” LouLou asked. She pulled Leonore in quickly. “You look like you've just been robbed. Were you mugged? What is it?”

  “Nothing like that. I'm fine.”

  Leonore perched on the edge of a gilt chair facing LouLou's mother and held LouLou's hand. LouLou and her mother exchanged glances as Leonore took time to collect herself.

  “I have tragic news.” She stopped before continuing. “I'm sorry. L'ambassadeur est mort.”

  LouLou's mother cried out, “Non, c'est n'est pas vrai.”

  “I'm sorry, it's most definitely true.”

  LouLou's mother sank deeper into her chair and started crying.

  “I don't believe it. What happened?” LouLou said.

  LouLou slipped out of her couture dress and pulled out a silk robe. The dress that had been the most important topic of the day was cast aside. It had lost its importance.

  Leonore took LouLou's hand. “Your father is dead. The American Embassy will send someone over immediately, but I wanted to tell you. There aren't many details. He was killed in his dressing room before he went to bed for the night.”

  “No, this can't be true.” LouLou's mother shook her head repeatedly. Leonore rose to sit next to her. “The police recreated his movements. He went to dinner and a performance at the Kennedy Center with a small group of friends. Were those his plans?”

  LouLou's mother nodded.

  “After the performance, he dropped Justice Bergen off at her house, then he went home and had a drink in his study while selecting a book to take upstairs. The book was on his nightstand with his glasses. He went into his dressing room of the master suite, where he was shot point blank with a pistol.”

  “A pistol? My husband was shot with a gun?” Her mother said it in such a way that she would have believed her husband had more likely been killed by an alien invasion than a common gun.

  “No, that's impossible.” She tried to turn away from Leonore. “We don't keep guns in the house.” She looked to LouLou for confirmation. “What little we know about them we learned from the FBI when he joined the diplomatic corps. There had been a rash of kidnappings at the time, and there was a popular theory that we should know how to shoot. My hand shook so much just holding one I never learned how to use it.”

  “Perhaps it wasn't a gun from the house,” Leonore said kindly. “That's all I know. The Embassy people will know more.” She put her arm around LouLou's mother, who had yet to shed a tear. LouLou knew it was because she didn't believe it to be true.

  LouLou herself stood frozen. She was terrified to move. This was the most shocking news she'd received in her life, and she thought she might break. She feared if she moved her shoulders, her legs, even a finger, they might break off like ice. Maybe she could speak without moving her jaw. She tried.

  She called Leonore's name, looked at her directly, and spoke in French so as to eliminate any error. “Check my phone for a contact titled FrDoc and call her. Say I'm a patient of Dr. Vilak. It's urgent. I have meds in my bag, but I'm too upset to use them without making a mistake. Also, please call the concierge and ask them to send up the hotel physician until she arrives.”

  “Of course.” Leonore made quick calls. “The hotel physician will be right up. Madame Maillocheau will be here within twenty minutes.”

  LouLou remained standing. She was aware of people from the American Embassy entering the room to speak to her mother. A representative of the president of France offered the president's condolences and the use of any governmental services, including a private plane, to LouLou and her mother. Security agents entered. They had little information to add.

  “Where is my husband now?”

  “Mrs. Fleming, the coroner is overseeing things at the moment. The ambassador has been removed from the house.”

  “Mademoiselle Fleming?” A red-haired woman dressed in a black suit and stilettos entered the room. “Je suis Madame Mailllocheau, le psychiatre.”

  She quickly surmised that the frozen LouLou was her patient and guided her into the bedroom, where their conversation was conducted in French. The doctor read LouLou's medical alert bracelet and immediately understood. “You're fearful you might have a psychotic episode brought on by shock.”

  LouLou nodded.

  “You're alert and not delusional. That's good. Still, you've had a terrible shock. We'll not let that blossom into something larger.

  “Sit, please.” She took LouLou's vital signs. She asked what medications LouLou had taken that day and when. “I'll give you a booster as well as something to relax you. Please get into bed while I prepare the medications.”

  LouLou did as she was told. The doctor tucked an extra blanket up to her neck. A hotel aide or nurse or assistant opened a large medical bag and took out portable equipment to start an IV to keep LouLou hydrated. She was given oxygen through a mask.

  “Breathe normally. Don't gulp.”

  LouLou was wild-eyed. “Hospital? Do I have to go to the hospital?”

  “No. You have extra medication. You're warm. You have fluids and oxygen. Just rest.”

  LouLou felt fluids flowing through her body and the meds rushing to calm her brain. She forced herself to do a meditative exercise of mentally repeating one word like a mantra—Ice. Gradually, LouLou relaxed and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-NINE

  LouLou's family home, which was on a quiet residential street in Northwest Washington, DC, was overrun with investigators and technicians. When she and her mother arrived, the person in charge corralled the crime scene staff to specific areas. LouLou's bedroom was one of seven and a distance from her father's dressing room in her parents' master suite. It was strictly
off-limits.

  Her mother was distressed that she couldn't enter her bedroom and lie among everything that was familiar to her life with her husband. She temporarily moved to a guest room next to LouLou. Family arrived. LouLou's Uncle Collin was waiting for his sister when she walked in the door and collapsed in his arms. Tante Deirdre, her father's sister, arrived from Montreal along with her husband late that evening.

  LouLou and her mother had spent the night in Paris before returning to Washington the following day. LouLou's psychiatrist insisted she needed twenty-four hours before she could safely travel. Leonore had spent the night with LouLou in her bedroom. Her mother couldn't sleep and paced the sitting room all night.

  Although Leonore offered to accompany them, only LouLou and her mother flew to Washington in a government aircraft with security officers. LouLou was vaguely aware of security. She had no idea or interest in which government's plane or what division's security officers were used. She continued to find comfort in thinking of herself as frozen. If she was frozen and didn't move, she couldn't get into trouble. Her mind calmed at the thought of cold water. Ice.

  Once home, LouLou and her mother were required to sit in the rear living room overlooking the pool for a briefing. Tux, her dad's dog, sat on the floor next to LouLou. He seemed bereft without her dad.

  LouLou held her mother's hand as the lead investigator stood before them. He'd introduced himself, but LouLou couldn't remember his name or even what agency he represented. There'd been a time before Sick when she remembered everyone she met and the purpose of every United States agency and some foreign ones. Before Sick. Before fifteen years of hard psych drugs had messed with her mind.