The List (45 page)

Weiss pounded Renny on the back. “How have you been?”

“Fine. And you?”

“Couldn't be better.” The morose Weiss of the previous meeting had apparently not come to this one.

“What's the reason?” Renny asked.

“My wife is pregnant, and we just found out it is a boy!”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I have four daughters, and I never thought we would get it right.”

“You have four daughters?”

“Right, but for obvious reasons I've been hanging on for a son. My wife has given me fits about enduring another pregnancy, but it looks like my persistence has paid off.”

“Reminds me of rural China,” Renny said.

“What in the devil are you talking about?” Weiss asked.

“You know. In some areas unwanted baby girls are taken outside the city and tossed into empty silos to die. Only boys are considered worth keeping.”

Weiss glared. “What are you trying to say, Jacobson?”

“Your attitude toward your daughters, Weiss. It stinks.”

Before Weiss could respond, Flournoy yelled across the room, “Jerrod! I understand you have good news. Come over here and fill us in.”

Renny let him go and poured another glass of water. He ate a few more hors d'oeuvre and cooled off by the time Smithfield joined him at the end of the table. “Desmond tells me you and Ms. Johnston may walk the aisle.”

“Yes, I hope so.”

“As historian, I can tell you such a step would be a first,” the old man said studiously. “There has been very little intermarriage among the member families, never in which both parties knew about the List. It's somewhat surprising considering the relatively small number of aristocratic Southern families.”

“Any reason?”

Smithfield furrowed his brow. “None that I can guess except to protect confidentiality. Most members have limited contact with one another outside these meetings. You know how it is; people get together, and before you can blink, the upstairs maid is talking to the butler and the butler is talking to the cook.”

Smithfield was unquestionably a nineteenth-century anachronism.

The headwaiter rang a little silver bell, and everyone took his assigned seat at the table. A few glanced awkwardly at the empty seats reserved for the Eicholtz, Maxwell, and Johnston families. Weiss didn't look in Renny's direction. Including the seat reserved for the Hammond family, there were four vacant places.

LaRochette broke the silence. “I know we all feel regret at the additional empty spaces at our table this evening. Of course, Gus Eicholtz is out of the country and could not attend. However”—he looked at Renny and raised his left eyebrow—“can I share your good news about Ms. Johnston?”

Caught off guard, Renny couldn't think of a reason to say no. “Sure.”

“Renny and Jo Johnston are engaged to be married. So, in a sense, the Johnston seat will still have a voice at the table.”

Before Renny could sputter a correction, Flournoy lifted his glass in the air. “A toast, a toast. To Mr. and Mrs. Renny, er—what is your given name, young Jacobson?”

LaRochette stepped in, “Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Fletchall Jacobson. Long life, prosperity, and many sons.”

“Hear, hear.” Everyone but Weiss joined in with exuberance.

Soup and salad were followed by roasted leg of lamb rubbed in mustard, seasoned with garlic and accompanied by crisp green beans with almonds and fresh mint jelly. The dinner wine perfectly matched the meal, and dessert was a lemon crepe so light it dissolved as soon as it touched the tongue.

While he ate, Renny tried to maintain occasional eye contact with Layne but had the uneasy impression the older man was avoiding his gaze. As soon as the staff of the inn cleared the table and disappeared into the kitchen, LaRochette stood, tapped his glass, and conversation around the table died down.

“Gentlemen, I am pleased to call to order the 248th meeting of The Covenant List of South Carolina, Limited. I would ask Mr. Smithfield to review the minutes of the last meeting.”

Smithfield rose and coughed. “As all of you know, the last meeting was abruptly adjourned following the tragic death of Bart Maxwell. The only business conducted involved our rejection of the claims of Miss Johnston based upon the requirements of our founding documents. Our offer of compensation to her in the amount of $1 million was refused. Is that still her position, Renny?”

“Yes, I'd say so. She was only interested in learning about her father and has no further interest in this group.”

“Except for yourself, of course,” Smithfield added with unintentional humor that caused a ripple of laughs around the table. “You know what I mean,” he sputtered. “At any rate, we never reached a decision about a distribution from the corpus. It has been several years since the last distribution, and under the terms of items four and five of the Covenant we can decide an appropriate amount.”

Renny was not watching Smithfield. His eyes were glued to Layne's hand. At that moment Layne picked up a spoon and almost imperceptibly tapped his glass three times. Swallowing his nerves, Renny cleared his throat. “Excuse me. I would like to make a motion.”

Everyone turned and stared.

Smithfield looked at LaRochette and said, “I was about to turn the meeting back over to Desmond, but if you have something to bring up, go ahead.”

Renny set his expression as he'd practiced in the mirror upstairs. Looking solemnly around the table, he said, “I move for the election of Thomas Layne as president of the List.”

Smithfield sat down as if he had been shot. Renny avoided LaRochette's gaze and focused on Jerrod Weiss, who calmly said, “I second the motion.” “Why, it's treason,” Roget blurted out.

“Hold on,” LaRochette responded. “A motion has been made and seconded. Does anyone want to speak to the issue?”

Renny waited anxiously for Layne to give a speech outlining the progressive changes he envisioned for the List, the most important being a massive, immediate distribution of wealth to them all. All he said was, “I'm honored and will serve if elected.”

LaRochette said, “You all know, except for Mr. Jacobson, the leadership my family and I have provided since the founding of this group. I stand on our record.”

“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.”