The List

by Robert Whitlow

  “I call for the vote,” Weiss said.

  Regaining his feet and his composure, Smithfield said, “All in favor of the election of Mr. Thomas Layne please signify by raising your right hand.”

  Renny raised his hand and looked around the table.

  No one else moved a muscle.

  Renny put his hand down and shook his head. “Maybe I didn’t understand. Didn’t you ask who supported the election of Mr. Layne?” “Yes, I did,” Smithfield responded. “Apparently you’re the only one.”

  “What!” Renny looked at Layne who stared at him impassively. Then at Weiss who was unsuccessfully trying not to smirk. “You!” he shouted, pointing to Weiss. “You seconded the motion.”

  “Just because I seconded the motion does not mean that I supported it. All it did was bring the matter to a vote. Parliamentary procedure, you know. I’m satisfied with Desmond’s leadership.”

  His voice now trembling, Renny turned toward Layne. “But you told me—”

  “I told you what you wanted to hear.”

  “Eicholtz’s proxy?”

  “Did you ever see a proxy?”

  “Why, you son of a—”

  “Hold on, Renny,” LaRochette cut him off.

  Renny scanned the impassive faces around the table. “What are you trying to do to me?” he asked, slumping down in his chair.

  LaRochette answered, “This was a test, Renny. A loyalty test. A fidelity test. A necessary test.”

  “Test?” Renny asked numbly.

  “That’s right. You see, the foundation of this group is unity, an unshakable commitment to one another and our common vision and purpose. Remember that I spoke to you about these matters the other night. It was my way of trying to warn you against divisiveness, but you weren’t listening.”

  Layne continued, “We knew you and Gus Eicholtz talked after the last meeting about your mutual dissatisfaction with our structure. Gus should have known better. You are young and impressionable. We decided it best to make an impression that will last.”

  “So, you lied to me,” Renny said, regaining some heat.

  “Don’t get self-righteous,” Layne said. “You wanted a plan to disrupt this group. We gave you the rope; you hung yourself.”

  “But not beyond recovery,” LaRochette said with a conciliatory smile. “There will be consequences, but you will have opportunity to achieve full reinstatement.”

  “What consequences?”

  “Let me explain in the form of a motion.” LaRochette addressed the table as a whole, “I move that we authorize a distribution from the corpus of the List to our individual accounts in the amount of $50 million.”

  “I second,” Roget said quickly.

  “All in favor, please raise your hand.”

  Everyone, including a much meeker Renny, signaled agreement.

  LaRochette, his eyes fixed on Renny, continued, “As to consequences. I move that the distribution to the Eicholtz and Jacobson families be delayed until such time as they demonstrate conduct consistent with the founding principles of the List.”

  Renny clenched his napkin. “No, that’s not fair. I’ll—”

  “I second,” Weiss said, interrupting.

  “Don’t go any farther, Renny,” a surprisingly sober Flournoy interjected. Turning to LaRochette, he said, “I suggest we amend the motion to delay distribution only one or two years.”

  LaRochette waited for anyone else to comment. “I would agree to modify the motion so long as Mr. Jacobson signs the customary power of attorney and understands there will be no distribution of any kind during a two-year probationary period.”

  “What about Gus?” Flournoy asked.

  “We’ll need to address that directly with him,” LaRochette said.

  “You mean you will block withdrawal of monies already in my father’s account?” Renny asked, oblivious to the comment about Eicholtz.

  “Correct, for the probationary period,” LaRochette answered. “Two years is not a long time.”

  “How much is in my personal account? I don’t even know.”

  LaRochette deferred to Roget who opened a small, leather-bound notebook. “All of our individual accounts have a balance slightly over $16 million.”

  Renny felt all the energy draining from his body. He was beaten, whipped. Not only had he lost the right to a current distribution but also the ability to access the millions already in his father’s account.

  “This isn’t right,” he said.

  “Do you agree with the probationary period or not?” Weiss asked in a surly voice.

  For the third time he wanted to punch Weiss. But Renny was the one unconscious on the canvas with the referee counting to ten. “OK,” he mumbled.

  “Pardon?” LaRochette asked.

  “I agree.”

  “Good boy,” Flournoy said. “You won’t regret it. A little humble pie is good for all of us.”

  Renny had eaten all the humble pie he could stomach. “May I be excused?” he asked like a small boy who couldn’t sit still at the table.

  “Does anyone have anything of importance to bring before us?” LaRochette asked.

  No one spoke.

  “We need to discuss the offshore banking issue, Renny. You know more about that than anyone else, and you’re welcome to stay.”

  “You have the information, and my recommendation is the same as yours,” Renny responded. “I have nothing to add to our discussion of last night. If you need me, I’ll be in room 6.”

  “As you wish,” LaRochette said in his best fatherly tone. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

  “Sure.”

  Renny slipped out of the room. Closing the door, he heard someone say something he couldn’t hear distinctly, but he easily identified Weiss’s raucous laugh in response. Renny didn’t care; he was past the point of embarrassment and shame.

  As he passed the desk, the old clerk stopped him. “Sir, here’s an envelope for you mistakenly delivered to another room.” Renny took it and trudged up the stairs.

  He unlocked the door of his room but didn’t turn on the lights. If life was a grand stage, Renny had just finished a scene in which Josiah Fletchall Jacobson was cast as the unknowing fool. Sitting in a chair at the small writing desk, he put his head in his hands and tried to will himself to cry, but no tears came. He couldn’t even succeed in getting upset. He was empty. In a state of shock, his body numb and his mind incapable of emotion, he sat unmoving for several minutes. This must be what the bottom of the barrel looks like. Then, slipping to his knees, he put his face in the seat of the chair. “God, I’m sorry for what I’ve thought and done. Show me the way, because I need help.”

  For the first time in days, he looked to heaven, stilling his thoughts, plans, and dreams. He waited, and in the darkness, in the emptiness, a tiny flame flickered to life deep in Renny’s spirit. It was not strong; he was barely aware of it. But it caused him to lift his face and say, “Thank you.” He didn’t know what he was thankful for. He just said thank you, and a measure of the heaviness of his heart rolled away. He stayed on his knees, not counting the minutes. Then, getting up and changing clothes, he went outside to the boardwalk along the harbor. Like a captain on a ship’s deck, he paced the half-mile length of the boardwalk several times until the stress and tension of the day gave way to fatigue. Thankfully, no one from the List was in sight when he slipped up the stairs to his room.

  The envelope was on the bed where he’d dropped it. The outside was blank. Opening it, he took out a single sheet of paper. It was a memo from Roget to LaRochette, an informal asset summary for the List. At the top was the balance on deposit in the corpus accounts in Switzerland. Eicholtz had been wrong. The balance was not $2.5 billion; it was over $3 billion. But there was more. The sheet also contained the Swiss account numbers and balances of all the individual members. Roget and LaRochette each had $32,000,000 beside their names. There was a $0 and an asterisk beside Johnston and Maxwell with a notation at the bottom of
the page—“Transferred to R&L via power of attorney, August 28.” Everyone else’s balance was $16,000,000. At the bottom of the sheet were three additional names with phone numbers: Gerhardt Hesselman, Banc Suisse 011-246-4576; François Meron, Banc Geneve 012-873-0967; Carlos Parmero, Medellín 198-87-926.

  Renny folded the sheet, put it back in the envelope, and went downstairs to the front desk. A young boy, not more than seventeen, had taken over for the old desk clerk. The young man was reading a sports magazine.

  “Do you have a copy machine? I need to make one copy,” Renny asked.

  “There’s one in the office. I can do it for you.”

  “I’d rather handle it myself if it’s OK,” Renny said as casually as he could.

  “Sure.” The clerk opened a door to a small room behind the counter. It contained a couple of filing cabinets, a small wooden desk, a fax machine, and a desktop copier. He flipped on the copier, and they waited for it to warm up.

  “Where are you from?” he asked Renny.

  “Charleston originally. Now Charlotte.” Renny glanced toward the door.

  “Charlotte’s a booming town. I’d like to move there once I get out of high school.”

  “There’s plenty of work. That’s for sure.” Renny heard footsteps and voices on the stairs and positioned himself behind the door.

  Someone rang the bell on the desk, and the clerk left Renny in the office. As the boy went past, Renny pushed the door two-thirds shut.

  “Good evening. We were looking for Mr. Jacobson. He’s in room 6. Have you seen him?” It was Roget and someone else.

  “No sir. I don’t know any of the guests. This is only my third day on the job. I’m sorry.”

  “We checked his room and he wasn’t in. We’re going out for a few minutes. Mr. Jacobson is about five-foot-eight, middle twenties with brown hair. If he comes in, don’t say anything. Just make a note of it and let me know when I get back. I’m in room 14. Here’s a hundred for your trouble.” “Wow, thanks. I’ll be right here.”

  The copier blinked ready, and Renny made a copy of the sheet as soon as the footsteps faded from the front desk.

  The clerk rejoined him. Renny tried to look taller and hoped the clerk wouldn’t connect him with Roget’s description.

  “Thanks for the copy.” Renny put the original back in the envelope and the copy in his back pocket. “A Mr. LaRochette is staying here. This envelope needs to be delivered to his room before morning. I don’t want you to disturb him, so just slide it under his door around 3:00 A.M. Can you handle that?”

  “Sure.”

  “Here’s a fifty for the copy and your delivery service.”

  “Thanks. I’ll check his room number and take it up at three.”

  “Good. Call me if you come to Charlotte. I’ll see if I can help you get a job.” Before the clerk could say anything else, Renny was up the stairs and out of sight.

  The young man slipped the fifty next to the hundred already in his pocket. On second thought, maybe he should stay in Georgetown. The tips were great.

  26

  In those days was Hezekiah sick unto death.

  2 KINGS 20:1, KJV

  As soon as he was in his room, Renny packed his bag. He was not going to talk to Roget; he was leaving. He didn’t want to make any decisions; he didn’t want to see or talk to the members of the List. He had no plan. He couldn’t have given a rational explanation for his sense of urgency—he just wanted to get away. He agreed with Flournoy: Two years was not a long time to wait for millions of dollars, but he wanted to leave Georgetown, and he wanted to leave now. Suitcase in hand, he went quietly down the hall, opened the window to the fire escape, climbed out, and shut the window behind him. In less than a minute he was in his car, backing out of the parking lot, and heading home.

  It was almost four in the morning when he cut off his lights and pulled into Mrs. Stokes’s driveway. He heard Brandy bark once at the sound of the car.

  He didn’t wake up until noon the next day. It took him a couple of seconds to remember the previous day’s events; then, as the details returned, he rolled over in bed and moaned. After he made a cup of coffee, he picked up the cordless phone and called Jo. Her mother answered.

  “Mrs. Edwards. It’s Renny. May I speak to Jo?”

  “She’s in the hospital, Renny.”

  “What time will she be home?”

  “She’s not working; she’s a patient. They are running tests this morning.” Renny could hear the strain in Mrs. Edwards’s voice.

  Renny sat down on the couch. “What’s wrong?”

  “They don’t know for sure. She started feeling ill Friday night, and by yesterday morning she was so weak she couldn’t get out of bed. We took her to the ER, and her blood studies were abnormal. It could be serious.”

  “How serious?”

  “Cancer, leukemia, possibly some other type of blood disorder. We just don’t know yet.”

  Renny stood up. “Can I come and see her?”

  “Of course. She wants to see you. I was going to call you later today, but she told me you wouldn’t be home until this evening.”

  “I came back early. I’ll get a ticket and be there as soon as I can. What’s the name of the hospital?”

  “Sparrow in Lansing. The same one where she works. She’s in room 3426, but that could change. Just check at the patient information desk.”

  “OK.”

  “I’m leaving for the hospital in a few minutes. I’ll let her know you’re coming.”

  “Thanks.”

  Renny called the airline directly. He could catch a flight to Detroit in an hour and a half with a connection to Lansing that would arrive just after 8:00 P.M. He took the dirty clothes out of his suitcase and, not knowing how long he would stay, packed several clean shirts and a couple of pairs of pants. Mrs. Stokes was driving in from church when he walked down the stairs. Renny set his bag beside his car and opened her door when she came to a stop.

  “You’re early,” she said. “How was your time at the coast?”

  “Not good, so I came back early. I’m glad I did because I just found out that Jo is in the hospital. Her mother said they are running tests this morning. It could be serious, and I’m flying up to Michigan to be with her.”

  “Oh no.”

  “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Can you take care of things here?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll call you when I know something.”

  “Please do. Day or night. Do you want me to check the messages on your answering machine upstairs?”

  “Yes. I’ll call the office in the morning.”

  Mrs. Stokes grabbed Renny’s hand and held it tight for a moment. “I’ll be praying.”

  Renny put his bag in the car and pulled out of the driveway.

  In the kitchen, Mrs. Stokes felt a crushing weight against her chest. Quickly sitting down at the kitchen table, she asked, “Father, what is this?” There was no answer, but she sensed it was the burden of the Lord in response to the pressure that was on Jo, a burden as heavy as any she’d felt in her life. Not bothering to change from her Sunday clothes or fix anything to eat, she went into her prayer closet and closed the door.

  Several hours later in Lansing the leasing representative at the rental car agency gave Renny directions to the hospital. When he got there, he discovered that they had moved Jo to another room, number 5864. Renny got off the elevator on the fifth floor; he faced double doors emblazoned with a sign that read:

  STOP—THIS AREA IS OFF-LIMITS TO VISITORS.

  NO ONE BEYOND THIS POINT WITHOUT

  PROPER AUTHORIZATION.

  FOR ASSISTANCE PLEASE PRESS BUZZER.

  Renny pushed the button and waited. A moment later a heavyset nurse wearing blue surgical scrubs, mask, and gloves opened the door a few inches. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m trying to locate a patient—Jo Johnston.”

  “She’s on this floor but she cannot see visitors other than
immediate family.”

  “I came all the way from Charlotte—”

  “I’m sorry, but my orders provide no exceptions. Only the doctor could approve a visitor. He’s with the patient and her mother right now.”

  “Can you tell them I’m here?”

  “Yes. As soon as Dr. Levy is finished, I’ll let them know. Your name?”

  “Renny Jacobson.”

  The door clicked shut and Renny slumped down in a chair located in a small waiting area in front of the elevators. A television mounted overhead was playing a mindless sitcom. Renny tried to cut it off, but the controls had been disabled.

  Thirty minutes passed. Renny fidgeted impatiently. When the doors opened, a woman with Jo’s dark hair and blue eyes came out wearing a mask and gloves. Renny could see she had been crying. “Mrs. Edwards?” he asked, getting up.

  “Renny?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hello, Renny. I’m glad you’re here, but you can’t see Jo. Not yet. We just had a long session with her doctor, and she’s exhausted.”

  “What’s wrong? Why the mask and gloves?”

  Mrs. Edwards took off the mask and sat down. “It’s protection against infection—not to protect us, but to protect Jo. She has a condition known as aplastic anemia. The doctors suspected it after the initial blood tests, and a bone marrow biopsy late this afternoon confirmed it.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Dr. Levy, a hematologist, told us it’s a rare but extremely serious blood disorder that results from the failure of the bone marrow to produce blood cells. Healthy bone marrow produces platelets, red cells, and white cells, and the part of Jo’s bone marrow that does this isn’t working.”

  “So she has no white cells to fight infection?”

  “Or red cells or platelets. They can give her transfusions of red cells and platelets but not white cells. That’s the reason for all the precautions. It’s a reverse quarantine, protecting her from us.”

  “What caused this? She felt fine when she was with me a few days ago.”

  “They suspect certain chemicals can trigger a reaction in the bone marrow, but Dr. Levy said in half the cases there is no known cause.”