Life Support

by Robert Whitlow

  Rena squirmed in her seat. “What are we supposed to do?”

  “Other than visit him, not much. It’s a wait and see situation.”

  The doctor rubbed his eyes. “Any more questions?”

  Rena couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t sound homicidal. Jeffrey spoke.

  “Are all the doctors in agreement about waiting?”

  Dr. Berman rubbed his eyes. “The majority opinion is to maintain the status quo. Dr. Kolb and I requested a consultation with a neurologist who works a lot with seriously brain-injured patients. Dr. Draughton is less optimistic about the patient’s recovery.”

  “What did he suggest?” Rena asked quickly.

  “To stop the ventilator if that’s what the family wants to do. If your husband can’t breathe on his own, he would die.”

  Rena caught her breath.

  “Would my father have to be involved in that decision?” Jeffrey asked.

  “Yes. The chart indicates that Mr. Richardson has a power of attorney.”

  “I do, too!” Rena blurted out. “And I’m his wife.”

  The doctor rubbed his chin. “I realize there are legal issues that may have to be sorted out. If everyone involved can sit down and talk—”

  “That’s not an option,” Rena interrupted.

  Dr. Berman’s face became grim. “Then I don’t have anything else to tell you at this time. We will continue to monitor your husband closely and let you know if anything changes for better or worse.”

  “How could we reach Dr. Draughton?” Jeffrey asked.

  “He is with Horizon Neurology here in Greenville, but he also sees patients in Spartanburg and Anderson.”

  After the doctor left, Rena and Jeffrey stayed in the consultation room. Rena wanted Jeffrey to make the first move.

  “What do you think we should do now?” she asked.

  “Contact Dr. Draughton.”

  “What would you ask him?”

  Jeffrey paused. “The longer this goes on without any change, the more I’m convinced it’s cruel to keep Baxter alive with machines and tubes. If Dr. Draughton is the expert in treatment of serious head injuries, I’d like to know why he wants to unplug the ventilator. If he gives me a good reason, it’s time for me to talk to my father.”

  “I think so, too,” Rena said with satisfaction. “We have no business trying to play God with Baxter’s life. In my heart, I know he wants to be set free.”

  “But there are other factors that affect what my father is willing to do,” Jeffrey added. “After our lunch, I talked with Rafe Grange in Charleston. Did you try to call him?”

  “Yes. He never did any work for Baxter.”

  “Too bad. Rafe told me a power of attorney is only valid as long as a person is alive. It’s automatically revoked at death. After that, it’s worthless. That means it may be harder to convince my father to let Baxter go than I thought.”

  Rena suddenly realized the implication of Jeffrey’s words and her eyes grew wide with indignation. “That’s sick! Your father would try to keep Baxter alive just so he could use the power of attorney to steal money from our checking account!”

  “There is much more to it than that. Let’s go someplace else and talk. This waiting room is depressing, and I’d like a drink.”

  It was almost dusk when they left the hospital. Rena drove them to an upscale bar not far from the hospital. The after work crowd was leaving the pub, and it was too early for the evening rush. The hostess led them to a small, round table for two in a dimly lit corner.

  “What do you want?” Jeffrey asked Rena. “I’m ordering a martini.”

  Rena avoided hard liquor. It made her giddy. “Just a glass of wine.”

  After a cocktail waitress took their order, Jeffrey leaned forward.

  “Do you believe that I want to help you?”

  Rena inspected her brother-in-law’s face, but she couldn’t discern his intentions.

  “I don’t know, but I’m here to listen.”

  “After you hear what I have to say, I think you’ll be ready to trust me. First, you need to know that my father can use the power of attorney to transfer all Baxter’s property out of his name. That includes his interest in businesses, stocks, savings accounts, and everything else.”

  Rena sputtered, “If he does that—”

  Jeffrey interrupted. “Did Baxter have the deed to the Santee house changed so that it is in both your names?”

  “Uh, no,” Rena said. “I’d bugged him about it, but he hadn’t done anything about it. Can your father take away the house?”

  “Yes, and I’d bet he’s getting ready to throw you out in the street.”

  Rena felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. She’d risked everything at the waterfall only to have her future snatched away from her by a stupid piece of paper. The waitress brought their drinks. Rena didn’t touch hers. The anger she’d felt moments before fought with a rising hopelessness.

  “This isn’t right!” she said in frustration. “What am I going to do?”

  “Exactly what I tell you,” Jeffrey responded confidently. “Did Baxter talk about how my father has structured our business holdings?”

  “Not much. All I know is that you develop property and make golf balls.”

  Jeffrey nodded. “My grandfather was one of the largest landowners in our corner of South Carolina. Most of the property was worthless until people started coming to the coast for vacations after World War II. Property values soared; however, instead of selling to others, he and my father began developing the property themselves. They also started manufacturing golf equipment. Everything was routine until my grandfather died about ten years ago, and my father brought in some new investors. A lot of what happens now is beyond the fringes of legality.”

  Rena’s eyes narrowed. Ezra was mean and domineering, but she couldn’t see him as a criminal.

  “No way. There is too much money to be made as a regular businessman.”

  “Not compared to other avenues.”

  Rena was unconvinced. “Tell me exactly what you’re talking about.”

  Jeffrey nodded. “Okay. Did you know that most of the golf balls and golf clubs we sell are manufactured overseas?”

  “No, I thought they were made at the factory on the south side of Santee.”

  “Only 40 percent. Most of them come from islands in the Caribbean.”

  “Is it cheaper to make them there?”

  “No, it’s more expensive. Some of the balls sell for $10,000 a dozen. A set of custom woods and irons can top $100,000.”

  Rena sat up in surprise. “How could twelve golf balls be worth that much money? I’d be afraid to play with them.”

  “It makes sense only if it’s a way to pass dirty money through a legitimate business so that it comes out clean on the other side. That’s why they call it money laundering. A special group of very wealthy people have invested in Richardson Golf Equipment. They order golf equipment at outrageous prices, pay the bill, and stand at the door to receive profits from their purchase in the form of stock dividends from the company. They also funnel money into land development along the Grand Strand. My father is the local contact and visible partner. We get a cut of everything.”

  Rena shook her head. “I’m not following you.”

  “It’s simple. We help people who don’t want the government to know how they’ve made a lot of money make everything look like normal business revenue.”

  Rena suddenly thought of Baxter lying in intensive care. He’d never dropped a hint of the things Jeffrey was talking about.

  “But Baxter never—”

  “He didn’t know,” Jeffrey interrupted. “All he cared about was getting paid so he could play golf and buy wine. He never looked at any of the records or asked questions. He signed everything my father put under his nose.”

  Rena knew Jeffrey was right. Baxter hated financial details. He rarely wrote anything in his checkbook except the amount of the check. Fortunately,
the supply of deposits had been unlimited, and no checks ever bounced.

  “Why are you telling me this?” she asked. “If it’s true, your father could go to jail. Maybe you, too.”

  Jeffrey didn’t appear worried and ignored her question. “Even though Baxter didn’t know what was going on, he owns 25 percent of everything. He has interests in offshore companies, investment trusts, limited partnerships. We recently started a huge construction project in Costa Rica. My concern is that my father may transfer Baxter’s interest in the companies into his name. If he does, there is no way I can accomplish some of the goals I’ve been working toward for more than five years. I know he has taken a few thousand dollars from your checking account but that is nothing compared to the value of the businesses I’m telling you about.”

  Rena raised her wineglass to her lips. “I could go to the police. They would stop him.”

  Jeffrey snorted. “What would that get you beside nothing?”

  Rena didn’t immediately answer. Jeffrey looked into her eyes.

  “And some of the people who buy expensive golf balls might become very upset with you.”

  Rena froze with the glass to her lips and tasted a new fear. Things had gone awry with Baxter at the waterfall, but she had always considered herself the predator. She had had no idea that large, dangerous beasts lurked in the shadows of the Richardson family. She spoke slowly.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

  “Nothing fancy. You have to attack my father’s use of the durable power of attorney. Without it, he can’t gut Baxter’s holdings. If you file suit, he’ll back off because of concern that everything I’m telling you will come to light.”

  Rena suddenly saw danger from another direction.

  “Who will protect me from your father?” she asked.

  Jeffrey smiled. “I will. If you help me, I have close friends who will care a great deal about what happens to you. They will watch out for you better than a guardian angel.”

  “If I sue your father, will the lawyer in Charleston represent me?”

  “He’s not part of this deal, but I think it will work better if you use someone in Santee. I think you should hire the woman attorney who came to the hospital.”

  Rena raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Alexia Lindale? I thought I couldn’t trust her because she works for the firm that represents your father.”

  “Not any more,” Jeffrey said nonchalantly. “She was fired this morning because of you. I think she’ll be more than willing to take the case.”

  “How did I get her fired?”

  “By talking to her. She thought Leggitt & Freeman ought to withdraw from representing either you or my father because of a conflict of interest. Ralph Leggitt disagreed and terminated her.”

  Jeffrey’s words mirrored what Alexia had told her. Rena looked at her brother-in-law with renewed confidence in his credibility, but she still had questions.

  “How do you know about Alexia Lindale?”

  Once again Jeffrey ignored her question. “With the ammunition I give you, Lindale can get the job done. She’s a fighter.”

  “How will I pay her? I’m broke.”

  “Open a new bank account. I’ll fund it with all you need until this is straightened out.”

  “All I need could be a lot.”

  Jeffrey shrugged. “Not a problem. I won’t even make you show me receipts.”

  “Will your name be on the account?”

  “Of course not. Everything between us will be secret, and except for paying your legal fees, I don’t care how you spend your money. I’ll give you cash. I have almost twenty thousand dollars in a briefcase in the car. Be sure to make separate deposits under ten thousand so the bank doesn’t have to report it to the government.”

  Rena’s head was spinning. “What about Baxter? Everything you’re talking about assumes he isn’t around to protest.”

  “If Baxter wakes up, he won’t be happy with my father for the way he’s treated you and will be very willing to let me guide his decisions. His 25 percent plus my 30 percent will equal control. If he dies, then I have a new business partner.”

  “Who?”

  Jeffrey grinned. “Do I have to get down on one knee to make a business proposal to you? If Baxter doesn’t make it, you and I will be our own majority.”

  24

  And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness.

  2 CORINTHIANS 3:18

  Alexia awoke in the morning and threw off her bed covers before realizing that she didn’t have any place to go. She’d been so exhausted from jet lag and the emotional upheavals of the previous day’s events that she’d gone to sleep at 7 P.M. and slept almost twelve hours. Falling back into bed, she pulled up the covers and closed her eyes. Two more hours of sleep would be nice, but it was no use. Consciousness had cracked open the door to reality, and her mind was churning in motion. The emotional shock of her termination had begun to subside, and she needed to consider seriously what to do. She propped up two pillows and sat so she could look out the picture window at the foot of her bed. The early morning sun was in full glory over the silhouette of the barrier island.

  First on her list, she had to start making contact with her clients. The names and phone numbers printed out by Gwen were in her briefcase. Whether Alexia was going to continue to practice law in Santee or not, her clients had to be notified. The window of time to decide her future was small. Client loyalty is limited to immediate service, and the curve of gratitude can quickly spike and precipitously fall.

  Walking downstairs, she let Misha and Boris outside and started a pot of coffee. It was still early enough that she could catch Gwen at home before she left for the office. Alexia dialed the number.

  “Ms. Lindale’s office,” the familiar voice answered. “How may I help you?”

  “When did you get caller ID?” Alexia asked.

  “After I got tired of answering the phone when the only men calling wanted to sell me vinyl siding for my house. How are you doing this morning?”

  “I don’t know. It’s going to take a while to get a handle on everything. I talked to my mother, and she told me it would work out for the best. I’m sure she’s right, but it’s hard to see right now. Did anything else happen at the office?”

  “No one quit in protest, although I gave it serious consideration.”

  “Don’t do it. It wouldn’t prove anything.”

  “The jury is still out. I was so mad that I didn’t trust myself to speak to Leonard all afternoon. All he heard from me were grunts. One grunt was yes; two grunts was no. I’m not sure he figured it out.”

  “And Mr. Leggitt?”

  “I didn’t see him at all. I think he may have left the office right after you did and didn’t come back the rest of the day. Maybe he choked to death on a chicken bone. What’s your plan for today?”

  “I’m going to start calling the clients this morning and give them my cell phone number. If anyone calls, you can give it to them.”

  “Okay. Did Rena Richardson reach you?”

  “No.”

  “I picked up a message from her at the receptionist’s desk. Do you want the number?”

  Alexia hesitated. She couldn’t blame Rena for what happened, but many of Alexia’s worst problems were connected with the Richardson family. Although she was no longer an employee of Leggitt & Freeman, it could be argued that the conflict of interest still existed because she had access to Ezra’s records during the course of her employment. The same rationale applied to Ralph Leggitt as to Rena if the lawyer who ultimately represented Rena raised the issue. It would continue to be a quagmire.

  “Give me the number, but I’m not sure if I want to try to untangle that knot.”

  Alexia wrote down the number.

  “I dreamed about the French cowboy last night,” Gwen said. “We were riding horses together bareback on a sandy beach. When will the pictures be ready? I’d lik
e to see if he looks the same as the man in the dream.”

  Alexia chuckled. “As you know, I was sidetracked yesterday, but I’ll let you see them as soon as I can pick them up. I didn’t know you knew how to ride bareback.”

  “Only in my dreams. I weighed about thirty pounds less, too.”

  “If you threw away the stash of candy in the bottom drawer of your desk, your dreams could come true.”

  “Stop meddling. Do you want me to do any spying for you at the office?”

  “No, that’s the kind of trouble neither of us needs. Take messages from the clients, and let them know I’ll be in touch with them as soon as possible.”

  “Okay. If you decide to open your own office and hire a secretary, I’ll send you a résumé.”

  Alexia put the phone on the kitchen counter and took another sip of coffee. She thought about Gwen’s final comment. Working with another law firm would be the path of least resistance. Alexia could step into an established practice that would provide a guaranteed salary, health insurance, clerical support, and the thousand other things that enabled an attorney to focus on client problems without being distracted by mundane administrative matters. With six years’ experience, she wouldn’t be starting over, but in some ways it would be three steps backward, and with a large firm there would always be the possibility of the type of problems that caused the blowup with Leggitt & Freeman.

  It was quiet in the house, and Alexia realized she’d forgotten about Misha and Boris. She went to the back door. The cat was curled up on top of the deck railing where the morning sun reached around the corner of the house. Alexia couldn’t see Boris, but he was thrashing around in the bushes near the edge of the marsh. Alexia stepped onto the deck. The wood was cool and slightly damp under her bare feet. She looked toward the tree line that ran along the coastal highway. Beyond the highway was the road to Santee.

  It wasn’t an obvious time for making a decision, but Alexia suddenly realized what she wanted to do. Her conclusion wasn’t the result of tightly woven analytical reasoning or the bottom line of a flow chart of options, but it felt right.

  She would stay in Santee and open her own law office.