The List

by Robert Whitlow

  “Yes, Mr. Thomas Layne.”

  “Mr. Layne is in the lounge waiting for you.”

  Everyone in the restaurant wore a coat and tie, and the air conditioner hummed at maximum capacity. Renny shivered, but not from the cold. Taking a breath, he entered the wood-paneled lounge. Layne saw him and, scotch in hand, stood up to greet him. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “No, I still have an afternoon of paper shuffling to endure at the firm. I’d hate to miss a comma or apostrophe.”

  “Well, let’s have a seat. They have a table waiting for us.”

  Layne led the way to a table for two. As soon as they sat down, a waiter appeared with another scotch and took Renny’s order of water with a twist of lemon.

  “How are you doing?” Layne asked in a fatherly tone as he set his glass on the table. “Things going well for you and the beautiful Ms. Johnston?”

  “Very well,” Renny said. “I hope we’re going to get married.”

  “A whirlwind romance.”

  “Yes, it has been.”

  “No date yet?”

  “Just serious discussions, but I’m sure it won’t be long. ”

  “I see.”

  Renny continued, wanting to complete his presentation. “And I also see our marriage solving the questions raised about Jo in Georgetown. I’ve been keeping an eye on her as Mr. LaRochette asked. And although I’m seeing her for personal reasons, I think it will help us all if she agrees to marry me. Then there would be no reason to be concerned that she would compromise the secrecy of the List. It would be against my interest, and therefore her interest.”

  “Good. I hope it all works out for you. But I didn’t ask you to lunch to talk about Ms. Johnston.”

  “You didn’t? But you asked me about her in the parking lot at church.”

  “Just a casual remark. Frankly, I’m not a bit worried about her telling anyone about the List. There’s nothing she could do to interfere.” The waiter arrived, and Layne stopped to order a seafood bisque and crabmeat étouffée.

  Renny, intent on delivering his monologue, hadn’t looked at the menu. “Uh, the same, please. I’m confused. What did you want to talk about?” he asked.

  “Something far more important. But first, I must ask if you are willing to keep our conversation confidential. Confidential from everyone.”

  “I don’t know,” Renny said uncertainly.

  “There’s nothing sinister involved. But to have any chance of success, my proposal must not be discussed with anyone else.”

  “Including Jo?”

  “Yes, although she’s not my primary concern. I emphasize everyone to include all the others on the List.”

  “And it’s nothing illegal?” Renny felt like a schoolboy asking if it was OK to take only one piece of bubble gum without permission from the grocery store.

  “Don’t be silly. It’s really just an issue of corporate protocol. Do I have your agreement?”

  Renny conducted a three-second internal debate, decided corporate protocol was safe, and said yes.

  “Good. First, I know you talked with Gus Eicholtz in Georgetown about his dissatisfaction with Desmond’s domination of the List.” Layne held up his hand to keep Renny from interrupting. “Don’t worry. I’ve talked with Gus myself, and we have devised a plan to break Desmond’s grip on our money. Here’s how. There is going to be a meeting of the List this Saturday in Georgetown. You haven’t received notification because you don’t have a post office box in Charlotte yet. A courier service will probably deliver a notice to you this afternoon or in the morning. The purpose of the meeting is to set the amount of distribution to members. I’ve talked with Robert Roget, who is a member of the investment committee, and I believe Desmond is going to recommend five to ten million apiece, a ridiculous amount.”

  Still, an amount, Renny thought.

  “Here’s the plan. Now that Bart Maxwell is gone without an heir and Ms. Johnston was excluded on primogeniture, there are eight voting members. Before we give rubber-stamp approval to Desmond’s distribution plan, I want to call a vote replacing Desmond as president of the corporation.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “None are needed, but if Desmond wants to get ugly, I think there is a good chance he has embezzled funds from the corpus of the List.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “You’re a lawyer. The circumstantial evidence is strong. Think about it. Did you contact the Swiss bank to gain access to the account?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you receive authorization to withdraw funds?”

  “No.”

  “Whose name was on the account as legal representative of the List?”

  “Desmond LaRochette.”

  “Who has possession of a power of attorney from your father authorizing access to the account?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do I have to tell you?”

  Renny shook his head.

  “What would prevent Desmond from accessing the account as representative of the List and as holder of a power of attorney from your father?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Nothing. And I believe the LaRochettes have made a practice of pirating money using different powers of attorney for generations.”

  “Then do we really know how much remains in the corpus? Mr. Eicholtz said there was at least two billion.”

  “There is at least that much, but the LaRochette fortune—made with the help of our personal money—is probably much more.”

  “But can you document all this?”

  “I don’t really have to. I’m just mentioning it to convince you that we need to act, and act now. The removal of Desmond can be accomplished by a simple corporate resolution based upon a majority vote.”

  “Who would be the new president?”

  “C’est moi,” Layne said with a self-satisfied smile. “And my first act would be to make a motion for distribution of a substantially, and I mean substantially, greater amount of money to every member.”

  “How much greater?”

  “One hundred million dollars apiece.”

  Renny gasped, started to speak, then said, “Whew.” Finding his tongue, he said, “One hundred million would go into our individual accounts?”

  “That’s right. And we would authorize everyone to withdraw the full amount for his personal use as soon as possible.”

  “Do you have the votes?”

  “Gus is in Singapore and will not attend.” Layne pulled an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket. “He has given me proxy to vote on his behalf. Do you want to read it?”

  “No, that’s all right. Who else is committed?”

  “Weiss hates LaRochette. He thinks Desmond is an effeminate wimp and would vote with us just to watch Desmond turn red in the face.”

  “Who else?”

  “I have one more stop to make after I leave Charlotte. I’m going to talk with Michael Flournoy. Desmond’s father once insulted Flournoy’s father, and they got in a big fight after a meeting in Georgetown. The elder LaRochette pulled a derringer out of his hat and shot Michael’s father in the kneecap. He never walked without pain again. I think we can count on Michael’s vote.”

  “I see.”

  “So you’re in.”

  Renny was convinced. “Yes. One question more. What if LaRochette doesn’t agree with the vote and pulls a derringer out of his hat?”

  “Desmond doesn’t have his father’s spunk. But don’t worry, I’ve got that covered. There is, however, one other thing I need you to do.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to make the motion nominating me as president of the corporation. I obviously can’t do it myself. You don’t need to go into all the embezzlement suspicions—just make a motion. Weiss has already agreed to second it.”

  “I’m not sure I want to do that.”

  “If you want to share in the spoils, you must enter into the fray.”

  Renny shrugged. �
�OK. Let me know when to make the motion.”

  “Good. Here comes our overdue bisque.”

  Layne spent the rest of lunch talking about a stable of racehorses he kept on a farm in Maryland. One had been nominated for the Preakness two years before but came up lame a week before the race. Layne paid for lunch with a hundred-dollar bill, telling the waiter to keep the balance.

  “I look forward to a most interesting and profitable weekend. I’ll call after I talk with Flournoy to verify that we are set to proceed.”

  “Thanks for lunch,” Renny said.

  As he drove back to the office, Renny wondered how he could endure the rest of the afternoon. Shuffling loan documents was not a job for multimillionaires-to-be. He toyed with the idea of walking into Heywood’s office and quitting but decided against it. Instead, he spent the afternoon enjoying a fantasy in which he counted crisp hundred-dollar bills until they spilled out the door of his office.

  Shortly before five that afternoon, a high school student who worked as a “runner” for the firm knocked on his door and delivered a FedEx letter. It was just as Layne had told him.

  Dear Mr. Jacobson,

  We have scheduled a meeting of the List for this Saturday at the Rice Planter’s Inn, Georgetown, S.C. The primary purpose of the meeting is to discuss a distribution to the members. The meeting will begin with dinner at 7:00 P.M. Also enclosed is a Power of Attorney, which you need to sign and deliver at that time.

  Respectfully,

  Desmond LaRochette

  Renny slipped the letter into his briefcase. He wanted to go home early, but duty kept him at his desk until he finished the paperwork for a loan closing scheduled the next afternoon. Then, grabbing his briefcase, he headed for the parking garage.

  At home there were three messages on his answering machine. The first was from Morris Hogan. “Renny. Hulk here. That was a good-looking woman with you the other night. I haven’t been able to get her off my mind and wondered if you could give me her phone number in Michigan. I tried to get you for lunch today, but you were out. Give me a call tonight or in the morning. See ya.”

  The second was from Gus Eicholtz. “Renny, there have been further developments about the matter we discussed in Georgetown. I am going out of the country for a few days but will try to reach you as soon as I can.”

  The third was from Jo. “I’ve been asleep all day and go to work at six this evening. If you get this message in time, please give me a call. If not, I’ll call you sometime tomorrow. I had nice dreams about you. Bye.”

  It was almost six, too late to call. Renny logged on to his computer and sent Jo an e-mail.

  Got your phone message. Hope you are rested. Met with Layne today and will be going to Georgetown on Saturday. Can’t give details, but it looks promising. Am very interested in nice dreams! Please forward details.

  LOL,

  Renny

  P.S. From now on, LOL means “lots of love.”

  After eating a sandwich, Renny picked up a book to read, but too agitated by the day’s events to concentrate, he decided to rent a movie. At the video store he rejected Arnold Schwarzenegger and chose Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in Sleepless in Seattle. Sitting in his living room, he watched as love’s attraction pulled Hanks and Ryan inexorably across the broad expanse of the North American continent toward their rendezvous on top of the Empire State Building. He could relate to the dynamic attraction of love—only in real life it began at a barbecue restaurant in Moncks Corner, South Carolina.

  22

  For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil.

  Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the

  faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.

  1 TIMOTHY 6:10, NIV

  Renny and Morris met for lunch at Yogi’s the next day. It was a sad occasion; the eatery was closing its doors at the end of the week. No more prison atmosphere, no more peanut shells on the floor, no more two o’clock indigestion from too many chili cheese fries covered in chopped onions.

  “What are we going to do?” Morris moaned as they slid into their booth.

  “We could always go to the Café Royale,” Renny said, referring to a lunch spot with delicate wrought-iron tables, skinny chairs designed with a fashion model’s derrière in mind, and a menu of French-sounding entrées with no cholesterol.

  “I don’t understand how you can joke at a time like this.” Morris refused to be comforted. “I’ve heard there’s a good place to eat in Rockingham.”

  “That’s an hour away.”

  “So what. If we don’t eat, we’ll die.”

  “If you die, I’ll have your funeral catered by the aforementioned café,” Renny said.

  “Over my dead body,” Morris responded.

  “Exactly.”

  They ordered all their favorite foods, knowing they couldn’t eat everything but wanting one last sample. It was an all-American smorgasbord.

  As soon as he had eaten enough to blunt his initial appetite, Morris asked, “What’s the deal with Jo from Michigan?”

  “She’s special.”

  Morris waited “And? Come on. Out with it.”

  “You remember the Duke cap you gave me?”

  “Yeah. What’s that got to do with Jo from Michigan?”

  “She wore it when we drove to the mountains on Saturday.”

  “I knew it!” Morris exclaimed. “She has a lot of class. You’ve got to give me her address so I can send her a Duke sweatshirt. You know, the one with the big Blue Devil on the front.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Renny said. “She doesn’t like the devil.”

  “Huh?”

  “Trust me. Save your money.”

  Morris chewed another mouthful of hamburger. “Are you going to see her again?”

  “Yes. Are you sitting down?”

  “Of course, I’m sitting down. You can see me; we’re not on the telephone.”

  “Oh, yeah. Well, she’s the one, Morris. I want to marry her.”

  Morris almost lost his grip on his hamburger. “Whoa, as in diamond ring and white dress?”

  “That’s right. She hasn’t said yes yet, but I asked her at the Clairmont the other night.”

  Morris took a drink of Coke. “I hear you, but I need more data.”

  “What kind of data?”

  “Everything. How? When? Explain.”

  “Well, it’s different.”

  “OK,” Morris said. “But what does ‘different’ mean? I know what ‘not different’ is with all the girls I date. I don’t want to marry ‘not different.’”

  “It’s beyond physical attraction, although that’s at a level I’ve never felt. It’s a lot about communication.”

  Morris shook his head in dismay. “Just like the women’s magazines say?”

  Renny laughed. “Yeah, maybe it is, but when it happens, you don’t think about magazines. You want to talk about anything and everything. It’s like you and me—only better.”

  Morris choked and spit a tiny piece of onion onto the table. “Come on. I want the straight answer on this.”

  Renny chuckled. “OK, let’s work through this one level at a time. There’s the physical attraction. You know about that.”

  “Sure. Every day.”

  “There’s the desire to talk and experience things together. You know about that.”

  “Yeah, I’ve had that some. Remember Kathy Sue London? We talked about everything and rode horses on the weekends.”

  “But then there’s the spiritual side.”

  “You’ve lost me. Is she a New Ager?”

  “No, Jo is a born-again Christian. A month ago I would have considered her a good-looking religious fanatic and steered clear of her. Now, one of the main reasons I want to be with her is because of her faith.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Yes. No kidding. I have had the most incredible month of my life. She has helped me see that Christianity is not an activity; it’s an encounter with Go
d. It’s real.”

  Morris swallowed, then said, “You’ve gone to church off and on since you were a kid.”

  “So what. It was just a social thing. This is real. And”—he paused— “it’s real to me. I can already see that the spiritual side of my relationship with Jo is the hinge that opens everything else. It affects the physical, emotional, communication—everything. I know this sounds like junior high, but the first time I held her hand I thought I would come out of my skin. When I kissed her the other night, I went to galaxies I never knew existed. And, Morris, it was right—it was clean—it was the way things are supposed to be.”

  “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  “Even in the dating game, I’m seeing that God’s way is the way. I don’t know much, but there are depths of love, emotion, and relationship that are untouchable apart from the involvement of God in our lives. Knowing Jesus is not cold and sterile. Something very intense has been going on inside me—more intense and alive than anything else I’ve ever experienced.”

  “I feel the intensity in what you’re saying now. But will this last?”

  “That’s a good question. It’s lasted with Jo for years, and I know people like my landlady and the woman who helped raise me who have been believing this stuff longer than you or I have been alive.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes.

  “You’ve rocked my boat today,” Morris said finally. “I’m not opposed to what you say, but I’ve never heard it explained like this in the churches I went to as a kid.”

  Renny nodded. “Same here. You’re my best friend. I want you to know what’s going on. You can watch and see what you think.”

  “OK. It all sounds different coming from you.”

  After eating more than the legal limit, they left a big tip and said goodbye to their definition of lunchtime culinary excellence. At the front door, Morris said, “I meant to ask you about the Swiss bank account situation. Did you call the guy I mentioned in Switzerland?”

  “No, but I think I have the problem worked out. I should know in a week or so.”

  “Good. Thanks for lunch, Renny.”

  Jo called midafternoon. “Got your e-mail. Sorry I can’t remember a lot of details from my dreams, but I know they were good.”