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Email feedback can be sent to trager2275@gmail.com. © 2015 by Eric Trager.
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CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
"Well, then, Dix, how did he die? We always thought he was killed by a gunman somewhere east of town and no one ever solved the case..." Eric said
"Yes, that's right, but that's not how he died. Your great-grandfather died in 1957 of natural causes. In Argentina."
"What?"
"That's right. See, Ginny's father in law, and my great grandfather knew that your great grandfather was stealing from them and that he put out a contract on them. But they didn't have your great grandfather killed. Nope. They had him kidnapped."
"Kidnapped?"
"Yes, that's right... Kidnapped. They held him where no one would ever think or dare to look for him. In a cave on the Parker property north of town where the Stonehenge* ruin is."
"Well, OK, but you said Argentina..."
"Yeah... Well, see, they were never gonna kill him. First of all, they weren't murderers, and second, they couldn't take the chance. So, what they did was they packed him off to Argentina with his share of the money, minus what he stole, minus a little bit more for their trouble and they, shall we say, made him an offer he couldn't refuse. The agreement was that he disappeared, he'd be declared dead by the County Sheriff, and he could never come back. He was never to be seen or heard from again. They set him up with a false identity and an export business selling canned meats to England and he did well, expanded the business made a lot of money. He wired money back to Janesville every month which Ginny's father in law, and my great grandfather took and paid out to make it look like they were supporting your great grandmother and her kids. No one never found out about it..."
"OK, I guess I see," Eric said, "but how does that all hang together?"
"Well, like I said, your great grandfather made a lot of money in Argentina, and then after World War II he made even more money because by that time he knew everyone there was to know in Buenos Aires. He used his contacts to help resettle Nazis that fled Germany near and right after the end of the war. Anyway, he kept his end of the deal and died a rich man."
"Alright, Tim..." Tory said, sullenly. "So, what happened to his money if he was so rich..."
"Good question. Now, here's where what I know is not a hundred percent."
"Figures. Comes to money and you don't know." Tory said.
"Look, Little Triages, shut your fuckin' pie hole," Tim growled. "I'm telling you what I know and if it's not good enough, then I don't give a fuck," Tim said with a glare that told Tory to knock it off.
Eric, Brett, Sean and Andy glared at Tory as well. Ginny innocently sipped her Mojito.
"Alright then. First of all, there was no money. Your great grandfather's money was his money, but the real wealth was in the gold that the Germans paid to be smuggled out of Germany. See, after the war there were only two currencies that had any value in international money and that was the U.S. Dollar and the British Pound. The only other thing was gold. The Germans didn't have access to dollars or pounds, so they hadda pay in gold. Now, as far as your great grandfather's Argentinian money went, as far as I know most of it somehow mysteriously ended up in your great grandmother's bank account, but I don't know for sure..."
"It did," Ginny interjected, lighting a cigar.
"OK," Tim continued, "the gold..."
"Yeah, the gold," Tory said.
"The gold was shipped back to the United States. It ended up in the vaults of the Chicago Merchandise Mart. Well, guess who bought that building in 1946? And who still owned it in 1957?"
"Who?" Sean asked, breaking out of his spellbindedness at Tim's story.
"Joseph P. Kennedy. Know who he was? He was the father of President John F. Kennedy. He was a buddy of J. Edgar Hoover, the head of the FBI. Back in the day, he was the biggest bootlegger of them all. Left the Midwest alone though. Wasn't interested. That's how come our families got in. Anyway, Kennedy had his family in Boston and he lived for years in Los Angeles when he was having an affair with an actress. Gloria Swanson. He did whatever the fuck he wanted to do for his whole life. I dunno, I mighta got some of that outta whack, but from what I was told, all those things happened..."
"What about the gold?" Eric asked.
"Yeah, the gold..." Tim said, "the gold was imported to Kennedy because he could get it into the country without the feds finding out. He took what I'm told is a ten percent cut, and the rest of the gold ended up being split between your great grandmother, and my great grandfather. Apparently, Ginny's father in law wanted no part of it as he was a Jew."
"So, what happened to it all?"
"Well, my family invested their part of it, which was the smaller share. And from what I understand your grandfather, after he inherited his share, lost most of it. He was not a good businessman. I guess when he retired there was some of it, not a lot though, left over for your dad and that your dad, no matter whatever else he might be, is a good businessman and made a fortune out if it. And THAT is why we are here today... Or part of it anyway..."
"What's the rest of it?" Andy asked. "I mean, me and Sean-o and John are kinda in the dark here..."
"Doesn't matter," Ginny cut in, blowing a smoke ring with her cigar.
"Huh?" Sean said, surprisedly.
"Doesn't matter..." Ginny repeated accompanied by another smoke ring. "What matters, Eric and Tory is that your dad is a POS, pardon my French. You're here so these guys can offer you a chance at the life you should have had, or something at least close to it... So, I suggest you listen. Your grandfather and your dad are two of the guys that tried to run me off when my husband died. As you can see, they were unsuccessful. You two got shit on for whatever reason I don't know, and I can't see why it would matter. These guys are trying to do you a favor, got me? Continue, Tim..."
"Right," Tim said, "I think I got to the end of what I wanna say, so Wymo's got the rest. Wymo?"
"Yeah, guys, well, that's the deal. Eric," Sean said. "We want you to finish school and to stay around Janesville here. We want you in business and on the City Council when I'm done. Tory, how does somewhere overseas sound to you?"
"Really?" Tory said. "Depends where, but I never planned on staying around this town..."
"How does London sound?"
Tory sat, speechless.
"You don't like that idea?" Sean asked earnestly. "I mean, we can find something else..."
"Sean," Tory said, "London was always my dream. Why... I mean... OK, why are you guys being so nice?"
"Because you got a raw deal," Sean answered. "And because no matter what you might think I am not an asshole. Eric, send me your tuition schedule for next semester. We'll talk about how to finance so it'll work best for everyone. Tory, just stop givin' me shit all the time, will ya? I'm over it..."
Tory Trager just looked at the ground, his lips quivering almost imperceptibly. Almost.
He looked up for a nanosecond in Ginny's direction. Ginny motioned to Tory with her cigar that he should follow her off from the group for a minute.
One at a suitable distance, Ginny turned to Tory. "Look, Victor... I'm gonna call you Victor because it's a more suitable name for a man, which is what you almost are. These guys are gonna be your new friends and I suggest you make the most of it."
"What do they want out of it?" Tory asked.
"Loyalty. That is the start and the end of it, Victor. Loyalty. Look, you don't really know me but I'm gonna tell you the same thing I told Sean and Andy when they moved to town, and that is that there isn't a fucking thing that happens in this town that I don't know about if I don't wanna know about."
"OK, but what's that got to do with me?"
"Victor, I knew that someday I was gonna hafta hand on. Nobody lives forever, not even me. So, in a nutshell, I picked these other guys. Oh, I didn't pick you or your brother, but as you've probably figured out, I've had my run-ins with your father over the years. And I suspect he's been behind a few other recent things, too, but that's not for me to prove anymore. The reason I called you over here away from the others was to tell you to get your head out of your ass and to play ball. It's the right decision..."
"And if I don't?"
"If ya don't, then ya don't," Ginny shrugged. "Then ya take yer chances, boy... Life might turn out OK for you, and then again it might not. That's the chance you take. It's your decision, Victor. The price is your loyalty, and trust me, that's the same price your dad would have asked you to pay. There's a big difference, though. Those guys over there are decent people. You no doubt have your own opinion of your father."
"Fine, then. I'm in!" Tory said, a tad exasperated.
"Here's a piece of advice from an old lady who's been around the block a few more times than you have. Do whatcha like, but like whatcha do. Those guys are your friends, Victor, if you'd just let them be. Now, stop being such a little cunt. It's not a good look for you... And like I said, whatever ya end up doing, it's your pick."
"OK, I get it..." Tory said, pawing the ground with one foot. "I guess we better go back now..."
"Chin up, Victor," Ginny said.
"I guess so..."
Back at the table, Tory asked to say something. "I decided that I'm in. I decided I'll stop being a cunt... It's not a good look for me."
Sean smiled at Tory and gave him a wink.
Brett told Tory he'd done the smart thing.
John simply asked Tory what had taken him so long.
Two days later, Sean arrived early for an evening meeting in the Founders Room in the basement of the Janesville Country Club. Unbeknownst to Sean, Ginny waited in the wings in a secret box room off the main room that was for all intents and purposes invisible but was fitted with a listening device. She would only intervene if it became necessary.
Presently, a distinguished looking man entered the room. "I'm Tom Trager," the man said extending his hand which Sean shook. "I suppose I've been asked here for a reason, Councilor?"
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Trager. Yes, I have asked you here for a reason. Please, let's have a seat. Care for a drink?" Sean said, motioning Trager to take a seat in one of the old leather chairs.
"I'll have a Scotch. Neat." Trager replied.
"I'll make it two, then..." Sean said even though he couldn't stand the stuff.
"Thank you," Tom Trager replied. "I don't mean to be rude, but I'd like to know why I was asked here tonight."
Sean sensed that here he had a mature version of Tory. Straight-to-the-point, yet impatient, but mature in the sense that he lacked Tory's bitchiness.
"Of course, and I apologize for not getting to the point. I have some paperwork here that I felt you might find interesting," Sean said handing Trager a loose-leaf binder. "Take your time..."
Sean watched Trager take the binder and skim through it seemingly without emotion or expression, but it did not go unnoticed by Sean a slight clenching of Ton Trager's jaw.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Trager, I should have offered you something to smoke if you'd like," Sean said maintaining an unaffected attitude.
There was no response. Trager continued thumbing through the binder. Several minutes passed. Trager continued thumbing through the binder with his mostly poker face. Presently, he closed the binder and looked up. Sean, for his part merely sat impassively.
"I'll just cut to the chase here, Councilor. What the hell do you want..."
"Nothing for myself, I can assure you," Sean replied.
"Then what! Let's not beat around the bush here."
"What I intend that you do, is to do what you should have done years ago when you divorced your wife and ditched your kids. What the law required you to do. Look, you say you want us to put our cards on the table? Fine, let's do that. You seem like a smart man. You and I both know that what I just handed you here is an iron-clad basis for your ex-wife to reopen your divorce case and file an additional lawsuit against you for fraud. We both know that."
"So, what's it gonna be then, Wyman?"
"Well, you just looked at the figures, so why don't you tell me? Let's suppose this goes back to Court. Let's even suppose there aren't any additional penalties. What's in that binder was what you were worth on the day your divorce decree was granted. What's half of that come to?"
"You're shitting me. Do you know who you're about to tangle with?"
"Sure I do. A fraudster. And the guy who had one of his stooges show up at a public debate to try to sink my City Council candidacy. And for all I know the guy who's funding a bunch of other shit around here. A cheat who dumped his wife and screwed his kids. And while we're on the subject of screwing, do you know a guy by the name of Brad Fletcher?"
At that, Trager's face went pale.
"Of course you know Brad. You paid him to let you fuck him. And so did Bill Kennedy. I've got more dirt on you than Carter's got little liver pills, so let's get real, OK? And there's more where that came from in case you wanna know. I had you investigated by dudes who used to work for the FBI and the Defense Intelligence Agency. These guys crawled so far up your ass they've seen your tonsils and you didn't even know it. I've got two more binders just like that one with more shit in it and they're telling me that's only their preliminary results. So, what'll it be? We gonna play ball here, or what... You tell me."
"Name your price, Wyman."
"Twenty-five million dollars deposited into your wife's bank account within fourteen days. And an additional amount to cover any tax liability she may have."
"If you have the information you have, then you know that amount is impossible for me to do in that amount of time."
"Give me a figure. And don't fuck with me. After all you said we should cut to the chase."
"Eight million. Flat."
"Get real."
"Name your bottom line then."
"Fifteen million and an agreement to pay whatever tax liability accrues on that with the agreement that your ex-wife won't reopen the divorce case due to this matter."
"Does my ex-wife, or the boys know about Fletcher?"
"They do not. And if you play ball they won't. Brad doesn't even know that I know, but I promise you one thing: if you so much as harm a hair on Brad's head you'll end up on the bottom of a lake somewhere wearing a pair of cement shoes. You will not see or speak to Brad ever again. I've placed Brad under my protection. And that goes for any of your, ahem, associates, too. Am I being clear?"
"Brad's safe. I can do twelve million. You've seen all of my records. You know that's all I can do. And I'll bite on the tax liability. Do we have a deal?"
"No, not yet we don't. We have what we talked about. We have nothing in writing."
"You want it in writing?"
"In case you don't want to end up in, say, Argentina, then yeah we're gonna do this in writing. I know where you live. I'll be there at 9:00 tonight. And don't think you're gonna pull any bullshit because I won't be coming alone. Understand?"
"Kennedy was right. You're a clever little fucker."
"Look, Mr. Trager, you should be thanking me. I let you save face. And I let you keep most of what you have. I could have ruined you. You owe me now. A lot. And I suggest you keep that in mind. I hear Florida's nice this time of year. You might want to consider relocating. We can talk about what a fair offer on your business dealings here in town might be, and your home. But, don't forget, I let you off the hook. There won't be a next time."
"Kennedy said you were clever. He didn't say you had balls."
"It appears Kennedy was interested in someone else's balls... He's dead now anyway, God rest his soul. I was taught that if one cannot speak well of the dead, then one should say nothing. So that is what I am going to say. And while we're on that subject, I'd ask you why you gave your sons shit for being gay when it appears to me that you are yourself, butcher wanna know something? I couldn't give two shits. As far as you personally are concerned, you mean nothing to me." The last part Sean said so coldly that it sent a shiver up Tom Trager's spine.
"I take it we're done here?" Trager asked.
"Not quite." Sean said. "Hand over your phone."
Trager hesitated for a minute.
"I didn't say next Tuesday, I said hand over your fucking phone. I meant now."
Trager did as he was asked. As Sean suspected, it was set to record. Sean erased the recording, and then did a factory reset on the phone. Handing it back, Sean merely said, "Go to the phone company office. They'll get your contacts back for you. I'll see you at 9:00 tonight. I'll have the papers with me, and a Notary. The paperwork will not be negotiable. Good day, Mr. Trager."
With that, Sean stood up, pivoted and left without shaking Tom Trager's hand. Once in the Equinox he phoned George Dickson letting him know that it was a go at twelve million with the provision for tax liability and to send over the paperwork.
Ginny was already at the bar enjoying a Scotch and a cigar before Trager got up to the main level of the clubhouse. She smiled a knowing smile to herself content that she had made the right choice. And she chortled just a little in knowing that Tom Trager just had his ass handed to him.
George laughed. "Sean, I gotta tell ya, I knew you were special the first time I met you. Seems like a million years ago... Listen, you should be proud of yourself. The Tragers have been pains in our asses for generations. You were the only one who was ever able to pin anything on Tom. You thought Bill Kennedy was an ass? He was chump change compared to Tom Trager. You maybe coulda got a little more out of him, but it wouldn't have been worth your time, or mine..."
"I maybe got a little bit lucky this time, but all I did was to stand up for two of my friends, well three if you count Brad..."
"I see... I'd say that's accurate, Sean. You did well."
"I guess so. Anyway, I'm taking one of Ditmar's guys over there with me, and Andy. I'll leave Braden outside just to watch. Ditmar's guy will go in with me on the pretext of being there as a Notary, which he is. I don't totally trust Trager."
"I wouldn't trust him, either. Anyway, I'll send the paperwork over right now."
"Thanks, George..."
"You bet."
That evening, Sean, Andy, Mark Braden and one of Charlie Ditmar's guys drove over to Tom Trager's home north of town in a forest- and bluff-secluded area on the Rock River. Given the remoteness of the location, Sean was glad he'd brought some muscle along, and he was glad they'd rented a four-wheel-drive Chevrolet Suburban in case a quick getaway turned out to be in order.
Although Sean didn't carry a firearm in with him – the Ditmar guy did – Andy stayed in the Suburban with a semi-automatic Ruger 10/22 fitted with a night vision scope in case it was needed. In fact, Sean, Andy and John had spent many hours of practice with Joe Wyman on a number of different weapons in order to gain proficiency and safety. Not yet old enough to carry on their own, they were nonetheless old enough to practice marksmanship.
Andy noted that Braden was stationed in front of the entrance to the house as planned. Just then, and before he could hear it, Andy saw the headlights of a vehicle making its way up the tree-covered driveway. He picked up his night vision binoculars in order to better see, and to figure out how many people he was dealing with.
The car he could make out was a late model Audi A8 with only the driver inside. Andy located the 10/22 and flipped the safety off. Otherwise, he laid low so as not to tip off the arrival to his presence. The Audi parked, and a middle-aged man exited the vehicle with a briefcase in his hand and made toward the door. Andy signaled Braden through his earpiece to stand away from the door, off to the side of the house in order not to be noticed. Andy exited the Suburban without the 10/22 but carrying a Glock 9-millimeter.
"Halt!" Andy said. The man with the briefcase, startled, appeared frightened. "Who are you and why are you here?" Andy demanded.
Regaining his composure, the gentleman responded that he could very well ask Andy the same thing.
"Who I am is of no account," Andy responded. "Mr. Trager is inside attending to some business and should like not to be disturbed. You may wait in your car."
"Young man, I am fully aware of what is going on. I'm Ed Steele, Tom Trager's Attorney. I understand Tom is about to execute some paperwork and I am merely here to review it before he signs."
"Show me some ID," Andy said.
Ed Steele produced his driver's license, and Andy motioned him to go in. After Steele was out of earshot, Andy flipped his mouth piece down and radioed to the Ditmar guy that Trager's Attorney was on his way in. Andy signaled Braden to stand down and remain hidden.
Once inside the house, Ed Steele spotted Sean, gave him a nod of recognition, saying, "I see you brought some muscle with you outside there. Probably not a bad idea. Anyway, I'm here to read over the agreement you have before it's signed."
"Any questions you have, Attorney Steele, you can direct to George Dickson. He drafted it to reflect what Mr. Trager and I agreed on," Sean said. "You're certainly free to read it, but as I explained to Mr. Trager earlier today, the terms are not negotiable. There is nothing in the document beyond what we talked about. Have at it."
"Have you read it over, Tom?" Steele asked.
"I took a look at it, yeah..." Trager answered.
"Does it appear to be in order?"
"I dunno, you tell me, Ed. I'm gonna get your bill anyway..."
Steele took the document, read it, and only asked Trager if the dollar amounts and time frame reflected the earlier verbal agreement. Trager nodded that they did.
"Well, then, Tom, might as well sign it..."
"I just have one question first," Sean said. "For Attorney Steele."
"Go ahead, Sean," Steele said.
"Now, you were Mr. Trager's divorce Attorney, no?"
"I was."
"OK, then how could it have been that you wouldn't have been aware of his true financial position at the time of the divorce? It would be a pretty serious matter if you were aware of it..."
"Sean, I didn't do the accounting. That was done by an outside accountant. I only received the information that they supplied. The same as the Court did, and the same as Mrs. Trager's Attorney did. No one questioned it at the time."
"I see..." Sean said. "That seems odd that you, as Mr. Trager's Attorney, would not have known that he was several tens of millions of dollars light. I mean, you would have had to have had some idea of his worth."
"Sean, I only took care of occasional business deals and contracts. I was never his tax Attorney, or financial advisor, or anything else. It wasn't for me to question. And I remind you again that no one else questioned it, either."
"I'm not convinced," Sean said even though he believed Ed Steele, "but let's move on. Are you ready to sign now, Mr. Trager?"
"I'll fuckin' sign it."
"I have it here in quadruplicate," Sean said. "You will retain one original, and I will take the other three. One for me, one for George Dickson and one for Mrs. Trager. Attorney Steele, you should know that I have retained George Dickson on Mrs. Trager's behalf in this matter. Like I said before, any questions and you call George."
"You don't miss a trick," Steele said, shaking his head.
"I got lucky. But as the old saying goes, I'd rather be lucky than good any day," Sean said. "And let's all get real here: Mr. Trager's getting off easy and we all know it. He's not the injured party here."
"The kid's right," Steele said to Trager. "It's fraud, Tom. And I may need an Attorney better than I am to advise me on how I may need to protect myself. God forbid that the case is ever reopened."
"If Mr. Trager honors this agreement to the letter, then there's no reason it should be reopened," Sean said.
"I don't like the part about having to leave town," Trager said.
"I really don't give a shit," Sean replied. "And, as you saw in the agreement, I agree to purchase your home here for cash, and any other business interests you have here in town that you don't feel able to manage absentee. I agreed to pay fair market value, and I will. And I also agree to say nothing about it. My name won't appear on anything. It will only look like you decided to retire, that's all, Mr. Trager. When I make a promise, I keep it."
"Go ahead and sign, Tom. Then you sign, Sean."
At that moment, the Ditmar guy produced his Notary stamp, set it on the table and handed Tom Trager a pen.
A few minutes later when the Wyman party left the property, Ed Steele remained. He tore into Tom Trager.
"Tom, this is the last time I'll act as your Attorney in any capacity. I had no idea that your financial disclosures in the divorce were fraudulent. It's a good thing for you that it happened a few years ago and that no one else questioned it at the time. I've represented some assholes over the years, God knows Bill Kennedy was no day at the beach, but he was only unsavory. He never put my license in danger. You have. And knowing what I know, as an officer of the Court I should by rights go to the Court with what I know. I was never here this evening, Tom. You got that? I was never fucking here! And don't try to get cute with me, or I will go to the Court. You got that?"
Tom Trager didn't move a muscle or make any expression. Ed Steele got up and left without saying good bye.
In the Suburban, Sean and Andy had the back seat. Sean grasped Andy's hand and squeezed it three times, their secret code for `I love you.' Andy squeezed back. Sean counted his blessings. The boy who used to be the petty pot dealer, who came with him when Sean left all that he knew, who stood by him through thick and thin, the boy who almost twice died and had that happened it would have broken Sean's heart, perhaps beyond repair, was sitting next to him. He was well. He'd grown into a tall, well-muscled man. His lover and his partner. His husband. Sean felt, uncharacteristically, a lump in his throat.
For his part, Andy once again felt pride in his mate. The steady, unflappable teen he'd known for most of his life moved through life now as a self-assured man. Every now and then, Andy might file away in his brain some of Sean's tactics, and the word `gangsterish' returned to Andy, but Sean remained the level-headed, unflappable deliverer of his promises. Add to that Sean was the lover Andy always dreamed he would be. Andy was, at last, for a long period and for the start of his adult life loved and protected. That's what he'd always wanted. What he'd longed for since the death of his father.
Another decision was made that evening. Ginny made it.
She decided to retire. On her way home, she telephoned George Dickson asking him to be at her home in her office when she got there.
Once she arrived, she poured a Scotch for herself and George and began.
"George, you probably don't know this, but I listened in on the meeting Sean had tonight with Tom Trager."
"I didn't know for sure, but I had a feeling that's where you might be since you weren't home..."
"Right, well anyway, George, I've decided it's time for me to slow down. I'm going to mostly retire."
"And what pray tell does `mostly retire' mean in the case of Ginny Miller?"
"It means I want a new set of corporate documents drawn up. I want it to reflect the board of directors made up of Tim, Brett, Sean, Andy, John, Kathleen and myself. I want Tim to be the Chairman of the Board, and I want Sean to be the CEO. I think Andy should be the Treasurer and Brett should be the Secretary. Leave John and Kathleen out of executive positions for now. They're still minors. The other four can handle it."
"There doesn't appear to be any role for you in that, am I right?"
"I hadn't got to that yet, George... I'm gonna stay on. My position shall be Chairman Emeritus. I want the documents written in such a way that I have the right to see all corporate documents, to consult with all officers and to advise them at my pleasure. I shall also retain veto power over any decisions the board takes. I will also expect weekly meetings with the CEO and periodic meetings with any of the others as I see fit. How soon can we get Kevin up here, so he can get up to speed on the finances?"
"As far as I know, he's accepted an offer on his condo in Chicago and given his notice at BMO Harris. Sean bought that foreclosed house on Columbus Circle and it's just waiting for Kevin to get here so Andy can have it refurbished."
"I thought Kevin was going to live at the Monterey?"
"He might, but Sean doesn't own it yet."
"He never will..."
"What?"
"George, the corporation will own it. This will be a teachable moment. What we'll do is set up another offshore corporation that will be the owner of record. That corporation will be a subsidiary of another offshore corporation that is at this time wholly owned by me as will the new corporation just as soon as the documents are in place. The Monterey will be owned by the new corporation. See, I don't want any money or transactions directly traceable back to Sean. He's on the City Council, and for a lot of folks that might not pass the smell test if it ever came out. This way, it works. I already have a British businessman who will be the name on the paperwork. Ownership will be in reality by the corporation here. And Andy will be in charge of the construction, in concert with some people I've already talked to here in town and elsewhere about `a large project.' No one I've talked to knows the exact building yet."
"Probably best to keep this one totally out of town, Ginny..."
"I'd thought about that, but we probably will need a local general contractor. I can have them hire whoever I want for certain things. Besides, one thing Sean and Andy don't know is that the entire building is going to need to be gutted and rebuilt from the inside out, so we need a company with steel frame construction experience, and I know just the guy. His family is a friend of Al's family from way back. They're out of Portland, Oregon. They will be the architects."
"Is the project going to make money in the end?"
"By itself it might and it might not, but there will be, shall we say, accoutrements which should make some money. In order to do it right, we're going to have to purchase just about that entire city block and that's where the money will come back. But, the Monterey could turn a profit, yes..."
"Fine, then. We'll chalk it all up to a learning experience. And when it's done, Sean will be a hero. After all, it was his idea... He came up with it on his own..."
"Yes, he did. I've also got Andy working on something with the School Board."
"What's that?"
"Well, for one thing I can tell you that once the Board gets the new audit they've ordered there will be huge changes. The amount of money they pissed away over the years is monumental, but that's not it. What we're going to do is to see to it that all the schools remain open and are not consolidated. We're going to maintain neighborhood schools in this town... Andy will be a hero, and he can say if it weren't for him looking at the books that never would have happened and that other people would be getting fat on the taxpayer's dime while their kids had to take buses to school and couldn't walk to the neighborhood school where all their friends go. It's a simple plan, but that's the kind of thing people remember."
"You have it all planned out, Ginny..."
"I'm aware of that. See, George, I'm setting these guys up for success."
"It would appear so... Alright, well I guess if that is all I better get back home and put the documents together. It's gonna take me a day, or two..."
"That's fine, George, and I haven't forgotten about the others either. I've got plans for all of them..."
"That I do not doubt," George laughed. "That I do not doubt at all."
Sean was coasting in school these days. The end of his Senior year was coming right down the barrel. While he maintained his grades as well as in the past, he was busy with things he'd be needing after that. Both Sean and Andy completed their course requirements to sit for the Real Estate exam. Both passed and were issued Salesman's licenses with the record reflecting that Ginny was their managing Broker. A year hence they could get Brokers licenses on their own as by that time with any luck the first units at the Monterey should be ready for sale.
Ginny explained to Sean a few days later that he would not be purchasing the old hotel and the reasons for that. At the same time, Sean told Ginny of an idea that he and Andy came up with to greatly expand the money-making ability of the business with hardly any work. What he intended to do was to look at states such as Colorado that had already legalized marijuana, and then to purchase distribution rights from suppliers to those states to have the sole right to distribute in all of the remaining states if, as and when they legalized marijuana. They would be the master distributor in all fifty states if and when it came to that.
Ginny was astonished and given her husband's family's past connection with bootlegging she was a little ashamed that she hadn't thought of it herself.
She warned Sean that he'd be contending with black marketeers, smugglers and outlaws anyway as it was an almost impossible trade to control. Sean wasn't worried. Time was on his side, he opined, in order to figure out ways to deal with that sort of thing.
Ginny merely nodded, knowing that Sean was no shrinking violet and had it in him to do what it took.
Andy proved he was no shrinking violet as well when it came to his Uncle Dean.
After the foreclosure suit was filed against Dean's home, his Attorney tried a couple of times to have the suit dismissed on technicalities that weren't there. As a result, the suit went forward. Dean made no attempt to pay Andy the money he owed. Andy's only instruction to George Dickson was simply to keep him abreast of what developed, or what did not.
George Dickson called one evening letting Andy know that he had some paperwork from the Harris County Court in Texas that required their attention and that Andy should come to the Dickson home after school.
At the Dickson home, George escorted Andy to his office.
"Andy, here's the paperwork I got from the Harris County Court. You read it over and then we'll go over it."
Andy read through the documents which were few. There was a copy of the note and mortgage which Andy was familiar with, as well as a judgment in Andy's favor in the amount of $559,265 which the accounting gave as including principal, interest, court costs and Attorney's fees. It notified Andy that a Sheriff's Sale would be taking place ten days hence in front of the property at 10:00 a.m. and only requesting to know whether he intended to be present as a bidder.
"Well, yeah," Andy said. "I mean, I'd like to be there. I should... I guess my Uncle Dean is still living in the house?"
"He is," George replied.
"So, what happens then?" Andy asked.
"Well, there will be an auction conducted by the Harris County Sheriff. That is unless your Uncle shows up and pays the entire amount due. He won't. I'd bet a grand on it. Anyway, the auction will begin. Anyone who shows up with a $5,000 bank check can register to bid. The winning bidder will then have fourteen days to pay the balance. If they don't, they lose their $5,000 and it goes to the next highest bidder. And so on. That is unless you buy it... Whoever is the highest bidder will have to evict your Uncle. The sale is as-is and as-occupied. In Texas, eviction's a simple matter that would take only a few days. Sheriff shows up and gives him about ten seconds to clear the door. The new owner has a locksmith change the locks and that's it."
"How would I buy the place? I mean, even if I wanted to..."
"You'd need to be the highest bidder. Here's what I recommend, Andrew. You show up. Make a first bid. Bid exactly what's owed. Other bidders won't know you're the mortgage holder. Wait and see what happens. Besides, we both know Ginny has apprised you that the market value of the home was in the neighborhood of around $700,000 a year ago. It's probably a bit more than that now, but it should get bids of more than what you owe. See, anyone who would bid probably knows the house and knows they can get it cheaper at auction than if it were eventually listed with a Broker. Anyway, you'll get more than what your owed."
"Well, if I own it then who cares? I can just sell it, right?"
"That's right, Andrew, but just because the mortgage was foreclosed doesn't mean that you own it at that moment. You would have to get the Sheriff's Deed and that doesn't happen until after the auction. The Court has to verify that the injured party which is you in this case got a fair chance to get the most money the market will bear at sale. Even if you win at the value of what's owed, and you sell it through a Broker and in the unlikely event that you ended up with a slight book-value loss, well, I wouldn't sweat it too much. A gain is money in your pocket, and a loss in this instance is a tax deduction. You're OK no matter which way it goes and end up with a lot of cash you didn't have either way."
"I just don't wanna see my mom cheated. I know she's not here anymore, but he let us live almost like paupers. My mom was so sick about it. She never mentioned she lent money when we didn't have any... Maybe she wasn't the best mom, but she was my mom and I miss her. You don't know how it feels, George..."
"I lost my mom at a young age, too, Andrew. Just about as young as you. Peg and I were married, and we were expecting Kevin. Peg was about two weeks before her due date. My mom was on her way back to town from a shopping trip in Chicago down on Michigan Avenue. She was by herself. Car full of new clothes. She always bought the new styles. Anyway, that was back in the day when all the toll booths were manual. She came into the Marengo toll plaza, was handing the toll taker her money and a semi-truck blasted right through. Flattened her car. She didn't have a chance. They said she died instantly. Killed the toll-taker, too... Wasn't even much of a body to put in the casket..."
"I'm sorry, George. I didn't know. Maybe that's why Tim never mentioned any Grandparents..."
"Well, my dad moved to Florida after my mom died. He died about three years ago, before you guys moved to town. Peg's mom and dad are still around, but like my dad they moved to Florida, so we don't see them much anymore. That was their choice, really. They never did care much for visitors..."
"I feel like a complete douche bag right now," Andy said.
"Nah, you're fine, Andrew. It's all the circle of life. None of us can escape it, either where we get on or where we get off..."
"I know that, too. Sometimes I kinda worry about that..."
"You'll be fine. Anyway, you need to make your flight reservations for Houston. Here's the card for my old buddy who's an Attorney down there. He'll accompany you to the Sheriff's Sale if you want him to."
"OK, well, I wish I didn't have to go, but..."
"It's best that you do."
"Should Sean-o come with me?"
"He doesn't have to, but if he did I don't see any harm in it..."
"OK, I'll be ready..."
At home that evening, Sean told Andy that he couldn't go to Houston because that would be during the time when the City Council would be debating and voting on the legislation to create the ability to take underused downtown properties by eminent domain and if he missed it then that, and everything he campaigned on would be down the toilet. It would make him look like a fool.
Andy said he understood, kissing Sean on the cheek.
Joe then said he would accompany Andy down to Houston, and that he would arrange the flight and hotel. He told Andy to go get a Cashier's Check in his name for the $5,000 sometime in the next few days.
"What if my Uncle's there?" Andy asked.
"If he's there, he's there. You should not look at him or speak to him. If he tries to talk to you, tell him to leave you alone and that he had his chance. If he doesn't go at that point, I'll have the Sheriff get rid of him."
"Sounds good... I really don't want a house in Houston, though..."
"You won't. Either you buy it and sell it or let someone else out bid you. You only have to bid once. Even if someone bids a dollar more than you, you just let them win the auction."
TEN DAYS LATER
Andy and Joe left their hotel room for the auction. Arriving about twenty minutes early, they noticed a man sitting at a card table with a sign that read "AUCTION – REGISTER HERE."
Andy duly registered, showing his ID. He walked to the fence that surrounded the property to get a good look at it. It appeared to be a fine home, a sprawling ranch with a large, lush yard. He spied a car in the driveway, a newer BMW 7-series which made him angry. His Uncle was driving around in a probably $100,000-plus German car while he stiffed his mother out of money she was owed and made no attempt to make it right even though he was under the gun of foreclosure. Andy seethed.
Andy also spied two other cars in the driveway. A late-model Volkswagen Jetta GLI and a Mini that appeared to be well equipped. Odd cars, Andy thought, since his Uncle lived there alone as far as he knew.
Just then, Andy saw two men leave the home through the side door, walking in the direction of the driveway. They appeared to be little older than Andy, he guessed maybe twenty-one at the most. Both cars started, the driveway gate glided open and they exited the property.
Andy was standing on the curb, ready to make his way across the street back to where all the other bidders stood, when the Mini pulled up, stopped, and the driver's window rolled down.
Inside the car was a young man, again appearing to Andy to be just a little older than himself.
"Hey..." the guy said to Andy. "Name's Billy Dean. What're all these people fixin' ta do?" he said, making a sweeping motion with his hand toward the crowd.
"Nice to meet you, Billy Dean, I'm Andy," Andy said extending his hand. "Well as far as I can reckon it," Andy went on, successfully stifling a laugh, "these here people are fixin' ta bid on that there house you just came out of. Sheriff's sellin' it. Least that's what I heard..."
"Yeah, I figured. Mr. DeBoer, he said somethin' like that. Think he's fixin' ta move ta Mexico anyhow..."
Andy paused. `Mexico?' he thought.
Billy Dean then eyed Andy. "Mind if I ask ya somethin'?"
"Nope, go ahead..." Andy said.
"You into guys?"
Initially taken aback, Andy thought for a second, then replied, "Sure. Whadya got in mind?"
"You wanna maybe hook up later?"
"OK," Andy said. "I'm at the Airport Marriott. Wanna meet me there later?"
"Yeah. I can tell by lookin' you got a nice, fat cock..."
"Open your car door!" Andy commanded. Billy Dean complied. Andy stepped behind the car door, surreptitiously unzipped his cargo shorts and flopped his dick out. He stroked it lasciviously a few times until it became semi-hard and a drip of pre-cum appeared at the piss slit."
"Wanna touch it?" Andy asked.
"Fuuuuuuck," Billy Dean gasped, reaching out his hand.
Andy put his cock away as fast as he'd taken it out.
"Not so fast there, Billy Dean... Meet me in the lobby. Airport Marriott. 9:00 tonight. Be on time" Andy then turned, winked at Billy Dean and walked away.
END CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
*Stonehenge was a large Lannon Stone Tudor/Craftsman-style home north of Janesville on the Rock River built by the Parker family in the 1920's, used only until probably the 1950's at the latest. It was left to fall into ruin for reasons unknown to the author. To the best of the author's knowledge it has been since demolished. There are caves here and there along the river bluffs in this area, mainly on the opposite side of the river. Lannon Stone is Dolomite which is a type of Limestone. If one wishes to see what it looks like used as a building material, one should google "lannon stone home" and then select the "images" tab.