The List (21 page)

“I passed Gus Eicholtz on the steps. He said he wanted to talk a minute before he leaves town, so I'm going to meet him in the private dining room as soon as you're on your way.”

“I liked him and Bart Maxwell the best. Are you going to ask him some of your questions?”

“I might, but I'll listen to him first. One thing I've learned since all this started is that you can't plan what will happen when the List is involved,” Renny said.

“I'm going to contact Dr. Davidson at the hospital in a day or so and try to find out the results of the autopsy.”

“I would like to know that myself.”

“I'll call you one way or the other.”

Renny opened the truck door for Jo, and she climbed into the cab of the big vehicle.

“When you decide to sell your father's truck, I can get you top dollar for it in western North Carolina. There are men who would sell their wife, children, and maybe their favorite hunting dog for a truck like this one.”

“I may take you up on that.”

Renny didn't want to let go of the door. He stood with his head down, rearranging the crushed seashells of the parking lot with the toe of his shoe.

“Well, bye,” he said.

“Thanks for all your help. We'll see each other soon.”

Renny shut the door and watched as Jo backed out of the parking space and drove slowly toward the highway. She waved as she rounded the corner of the inn and passed from sight.

The door of the dining room was ajar, and Renny pushed it open. Eicholtz was examining an old oil painting on the opposite wall. It was a picture of the inn.

Eicholtz shook Renny's hand. “This is probably what this place looked like when our forefathers first met here. It hasn't changed much.”

Renny joined the big man in front of the picture. Sure enough, except for the electric service wires, a fresher coat of paint, and removal of the hitching posts for horses and buggies, the inn was much the same as it had been in 1863.

“The inn hasn't changed much, and neither has the List,” Eicholtz said. “But something makes me think change is coming.” The big man sat down in a dining room chair and motioned to Renny to take a seat.

“What do you mean?” Renny asked.

“Bart dying in the meeting, the appearance of Ms. Johnston; I feel like we need to check the bolts on the wheels of this wagon.”

Renny waited.

Eicholtz shifted in his chair and leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees. “Renny, the List has been run almost like the private property of the LaRochette family. We discuss issues as if we're equals, but the LaRochettes have always controlled everything.”

“Mr. LaRochette didn't dominate the discussion,” Renny said slowly, not wanting to commit to an opinion until he saw more clearly the direction Eicholtz was steering the conversation.

“We may talk, but almost everyone looks to Desmond when it's time to make a decision. You were a neophyte, so your vote in favor of admitting Ms. Johnston will probably be overlooked. I can't say the same for myself or Bart Maxwell. Of course, now Bart's dead.” Eicholtz stopped, and Renny had the distinct impression the older man was internally debating what else to say.

Eicholtz took a deep breath and continued, “Did you try to access some of your family's money once you learned about the List?”

Renny nodded.

“It was frozen, wasn't it? You couldn't even find out an account balance without List approval, correct?”

“Yes. And I intended to raise that in the meeting last night but never had the chance.” Renny's palms started to sweat a little.

“That's not unusual. If you had brought it up, you would have been told joint control is standard operating procedure. It ensures that nothing will be lost from the List corpus, the common fund of money from which distributions to each family are made. To get the right to access the money in your account, you have to sign a durable power of attorney that allows the List to reclaim the money from your family's account in case you died childless or became mentally incompetent. Otherwise, because no one knows about the List before his father's death, the money would grow moss in those old Swiss banks. People have questioned the practice in the past, but it was always refuted by the example of Alexander Hammond. Because he died childless, his family's portion of a distribution from the List corpus could have been lost when there was no one to claim it. It was not a large amount when he died in the 1870s, but through use of the durable power of attorney the monies were recovered and placed back in the corpus.”

“That means the Johnston and Maxwell money—”

“Will revert back to the List. And unlike the 1870s, we are not talking about a paltry sum. Both Taylor Johnston and Bart Maxwell signed the papers necessary for the List to recoup their funds if they died childless, or as it turns out in Taylor's case, without a son.”

“But a power of attorney is ineffective once the person who signed it is dead.”

Eicholtz shrugged. “Who tells the foreign bank the person has died?”

“But, but, that's fraud.”

“Self-preservation, my boy, self-preservation. It's the bedrock motivation of the List.”

Renny tried a different tack. “What would prevent someone from withdrawing all their money before their death and transferring it to another account?”

“Remember, all withdrawals have to be the result of joint activity by the individual and the List. Everybody plays by the rules because he either doesn't care or is afraid to rock the boat.”

“If someone tried to jump ship, the List might refuse to authorize a distribution or withdrawal?”

“Potentially, although as far as I know it has never happened. There have not been as many withdrawals as you might think. All of the families weathered Reconstruction with modest help from the List. After that, I think the ruling LaRochette decided to see how large the money tree could grow. With the advent of the income tax in the U.S. after World War I, everyone saw the List as a way to accumulate tax-free wealth, safe from the federal government's greedy clutches.

“I talked about the control issue with your father before he died. He and I were getting old and cranky enough to think about attempting to change the process. I also mentioned it to Bart after last year's meeting, and he was interested in reforming the procedures.”

“What about Jo's father?”

“I never contacted him, but your father and I discussed talking to him.”

Renny decided to pop the question burning in his mind since listening to the tape from his father. “How much money is in the corpus of the List?”

With a sigh, Eicholtz said, “Of course you want to know. Normally that is not discussed until the new member signs the durable power of attorney. That will be the next step for you in the overall process. It's like the proverbial carrot on the stick; they keep something out there to lead you down the designated path. However, as my first act of independence and rebellion…”

Eicholtz picked up a cocktail napkin and pulled out his pen. He put a dollar sign on the napkin followed by a twenty-five and eight zeros.

“Two and half billion dollars!” Renny was staggered. “How?”

“Compound interest. We've profited on wars, revolutions, and depressions for almost 150 years. That's another one of LaRochette's strong cards, an uncanny ability to hit an occasional home run in the investment market. Roget is treasurer in name only. He does what Desmond tells him to do.”

“Is there an investment committee?”

“Yes, but I've never been on it, another fact that concerns me.”

“Only LaRochette knows everything that's going on?”

“And whomever he brings into his circle.”

“Which is?”

“I don't know for sure. For years I didn't care so long as I received a distribution.”

“Understandable.” Renny hesitated. “So what would be a typical distribution amount?”

“That has varied. Remember that the List was set up to accumulate money to survive hard times, and there is a kind of paranoia that keeps the vast majority of the funds in the corpus account. Did you notice no one responded in a positive way to my comment last night that we ought to accept the charming Ms. Johnston because there was enough money for everyone?”

Renny remembered Jo's comment on the beach, “He who loves money never has money enough.”

Eicholtz continued, “To answer your question, last year we discussed a substantial distribution, but Desmond tabled any motions until this year. I would hope for a distribution of at least twenty-five million each, with a right to withdraw as much as we wanted from our individual accounts.”

“I could use an extra twenty-five million,” Renny said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I would ask you to think about the other parts of our conversation as well.”

After hearing the amounts of money involved, Renny was already having trouble remembering what Eicholtz had said before writing the astronomical figure on the napkin.

“What do you want me to think about?” he said, a little distantly.

“I've lost you, boy, haven't I?” Eicholtz said with resignation. “Maybe I shouldn't have told you about the pot of gold. Oh, well, we'll reconvene this meeting after you have time to come down to earth. Remember, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is an elusive prize. As far as I know, no one has actually found it. Do you want to continue this conversation later?”

“Sure. I need to learn all I can.” Renny brought his focus back to the room. “I don't have a post office box in Charlotte yet. Here's my card.”

The big man heaved himself out of the chair and patted Renny on the shoulder. “I like you, Renny. I also like Ms. Johnston. She was like a fresh breeze that hasn't blown through this room in many moons. Let me give you some fatherly advice. A girl like her is worth pursuing. Contrary to popular opinion, all women are not alike.”

Renny rose to his feet. “You're right. I've never met anyone quite like her.”

As Renny followed Eicholtz out into the hall, the door to the kitchen closed slowly with a creak.

11

Who knows what prayers offered in faith by those who have gone before us are yet unanswered.

I
AIN
M
URRAY

W
ithin fifteen minutes, Renny was on the road to Charleston. Driving south along the coastal highway, he occasionally caught a glimpse of the ocean, but even when it was out of sight, he knew the water was just past the trees or on the other side of a line of sand dunes. In the air was the faint but pungent smell of salt water. Renny loved the Low Country.

It took an hour to reach the outskirts of Charleston. Renny put his mind in neutral, not thinking about anything but the sights of the roadway. For the first thirty minutes he read each billboard as it flashed by the windshield.

When he crossed into Charleston County, he pulled into the parking lot of a fishing tackle and bait store where there was a pay phone with a tattered Charleston phone book hanging by a steel cable. Thumbing through the white pages, he found the listings for Flowers. Mama A's husband, Clarence, had died over ten years before and she used her initials, A. D., for Agnes Darlene, in her phone book listing. He wrote the number on a slip of paper and called from his car phone.

A familiar voice crackled on the other end of the line. “Hello.”

“Mama A, this is Renny.”

“Why hello, Renny. Where are you?”

“I'm on Highway 17 coming into Charleston. I wondered if I could come by and see you.”

“Of course. I decided not to go to church today, so I guess I was just here a-waitin' for you to call.”

Renny had forgotten it was Sunday morning. Normally, Mama A would leave the house at nine and not return until midafternoon. Meetings at her church were not run on a tight schedule, and she often ate lunch with someone after the church service was over.