THE TAINTED TRUST: A DOUGLASS CRIME AND ROMANCE THRILLER SERIES (THE KING TRILOGY Book 2) (5 page)

“Good point. Do you have any idea what possessed the Kings to keep the money?”

“I can only speculate. I understand the Feds treated them very shabbily. Personally, I don’t blame them for keeping it. In similar circumstances, I would be inclined to do the same thing.”

“To keep three hundred large? That’s a no brainer. It would take me a microsecond to make the decision. I would keep it and spend the rest of my life swinging from the trees… How did Servito die?”

“His wife killed him. She pushed him over a cliff.”

“Nasty lady. I’d better be careful with her.”

“You had better be careful with both. They are extremely shrewd.”

CHAPTER 10

August 14, 1980.

Louis Visconti had a banner day. All of the documentation was now properly executed, the blue cornered indentures safely in place in his firm’s fire-proof safe, and he was now officially responsible for the management of the funds in the King’s trust. The implications for Visconti’s firm were enormous. Annual management fees would increase by orders of magnitude. If the funds were invested to yield a return anywhere close to those generated by the firm in the past five years, the fees would be stratospheric.

He worried about the intentions of Paul Volcker, Chairman of the Federal Reserve. Schnieder had told him that interest rates were going up, soon. If Schnieder’s prediction was correct, the immediate future of investments in stocks and tangible assets was extremely bleak. He had to move fast. He commenced a program of liquidating stocks, investments in real estate, and other tangible assets. He planned to short bonds and ride the interest rate wave to the top. He would wait for the inevitable crash, then plunge again into stocks.

The plan gave Visconti an uneasy feeling, however. In March of that year, interest rates had peaked at sixteen percent and had been dropping ever since. Conventional wisdom continued to suggest the Fed was stimulating the economy and that interest rates would continue to drop, but his respect for Schnieder’s opinion allowed him to overcome his concerns. Schnieder had been correct too many times for Visconti to ignore his counsel. With prime rates at eleven percent and fear and trepidation in his heart, he pressed ahead with his plan. To him, preserving the trust’s purchasing power as Mike had requested was a joke. Maximizing his fees was the name of the game.

CHAPTER 11

Toronto. August 15, 1980.

Rain drenched Mike and Karen’s plane as it touched down at Toronto’s Pearson International Airport at two in the afternoon. Following the usual agonizing and prolonged delay, the result of too many travellers and too few officers, they cleared customs and took a taxi to Karen’s penthouse apartment on Avenue Road.

Martha Perkins, Phillip’s aging and overweight nanny, rushed to greet them when she heard the front doors open and the sound of their happy voices. Her gray work dress complemented her swept back gray hair which ended in a tight bun. “Welcome back, you two,” she said with a gigantic and wrinkled smile. “How was the honeymoon?”

Karen, happy to be home and to see the woman who had stayed with her through extremely difficult times, dropped her bags and hugged her. “Fabulous! Just fabulous! How are you, Martha?”

Martha closed her eyes and exhaled. “A bit frazzled, but I survived.”

Karen frowned and took a step backward. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything except Phillip… He’s been a big problem. Ever since you brought him home from Venezuela, he’s been different. He’s not the same happy boy I remembered. He’s become very difficult to control. He used to do everything I asked without question. Now he refuses do just about everything.”

Mike turned to Karen. “Have you ever been away from him for this length of time?” he asked.

Karen shook her head. “This is the first.”

“It could be that he misses the attention you’ve been giving him,” Mike suggested.

Karen hoped Mike was right, but deep in her heart she knew the problem was probably much more complex. “I feel guilty about leaving him, but I’m worried that it’s related to Venezuela. I think the whole thing has finally caught up with him. I can’t imagine what damage that experience must have done to him.”

Mike turned to Martha. “Is there anything else we should know?”

Martha stared at Mike with a pained expression. “He’s been stealing, taking money from my purse. I haven’t confronted him about it yet, because I thought it would be better if I waited to talk to you first.”

Karen reached for Mike’s hand. “We’ve got to talk to him. This is serious.”

Martha picked up Phillip at Royal Canada College, less than a mile away, and returned to the apartment forty-five minutes later. His face, still rounded by baby fat, showed hints of the chiseled features of his late father. Instead of smiling and running to hug his mother as he had done so many times in the past, he stood and glared at Mike and Karen with what appeared to be anger in his large gray eyes.

Karen ran to hug him. “I missed you so much,” she said.

Phillip remained motionless, his arms passively limp.

Karen pulled backward to probe his eyes. “Did you miss me?”

Phillip gave his mother a vapid stare, then looked away. “I guess,” he said.

“Something’s bothering you,” Karen accused. “What is it?”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” Phillip hissed, then bolted from her arms and ran in the direction of his room.

Karen began to follow, but Mike stopped her. “Don’t go. He expects you to do that. Give him some time to cool.”

“But I missed him so much,” Karen protested.

“If you rush in there right now, you’ll just reinforce his negative demand for attention. Wait for ten or fifteen minutes. Give him some time to think about it.”

Karen waited for ten anxious minutes, then hurried to Phillip’s room. She found him lying on his bed, pretending to read a Superman comic book. “Let’s talk,” she said, slowly removing the book from his hands. “It’s pretty difficult to do it through a book.”

His eyes, unblinking and appearing mesmerized, continued to stare at the space previously occupied by the book. His expression displayed unconsolable depression, one Karen had never seen.

“Something’s bothering you, son. I want to know what it is,” Karen demanded.

Phillip wiped his eyes with the back of his right hand then slowly focused on his mother. “Why did you tell the newspapers about dad?” he asked.

“I didn’t tell the newspapers anything,” Karen replied, shocked by his question. “What ever gave you the idea I did?”

“Now all my friends know about dad and everything he did.”

Karen’s worst fears had suddenly been realized. She kissed his forehead. “I’m sorry the newspapers published the story. If I could have stopped them, I would. You must understand that we wanted more than anything to keep the whole story a secret.”

“If you didn’t tell them, who did?”

“I have no idea… What have your friends said about it.”

Phillip’s eyes resumed their unblinking stare. “They keep saying my father was a crook. I hate them.”

Karen wrapped her arms behind her son’s back and hugged him. She closed her eyes and prayed he would soon forget his father and the ugliness of the incident in Caracas, but worried that the experience had engraved a permanent psychological scar in his memory. She hoped the theft of Martha’s money was merely a manifestation of his frustration. “You have to be stronger than them. They’re just silly little boys who don’t have enough sense to understand that you should never be punished for the sins of your father.” She remained with him for more than an hour in an effort to give him the feeling of security and assurance she knew he needed.

She returned to the living room and found Mike reading a newspaper on the couch. “I know what’s bothering him,” she said, then waited until Mike put the newspaper down. “We have a major problem and it isn’t going to go away soon. The story of his father appeared in the newspapers. He assumed we leaked it.”

Mike frowned and shook his head. “We should have anticipated it. I don’t blame the kid a bit.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea how to handle it. What are we going to do?”

“I have a suggestion.”

“What?”

“If you and I are going to have a family, Phillip should be part it. I would like to adopt him.”

“That’s a wonderful suggestion,” Karen declared with a grateful smile. “I can’t imagine a better one.” She sat beside him and hugged. “Each day I know you, the more I love you.”

“I’m not finished.”

“Then keep going, King. You’re on a roll.”

“A whole new environment might improve his attitude. I think we should send him to a boarding school.”

CHAPTER 12

New York. October 24, 1980.

In accordance with Alfred Schnieder’s prediction, and to the enormous relief of Louis Visconti, interest rates began to tick northward. Until that point, conflicting newspaper articles and numerous mixed signals had constantly plagued Visconti’s mind and caused him to sweat his decision to liquidate investments in stocks. Newspapers and financial publications had been filled with stories about Paul Volcker, the second most powerful man in the United States. Volumes had been written about his preoccupation with inflationary psychology and his failure to break it. Throughout the summer, optimists and bond bulls had confidently predicted a rapid decline in rates and a return to better times. Visconti had stayed the course and now had more than fifty percent of King’s trust committed to short sales of corporate and government bonds. He stood to lose a fortune if Schnieder was wrong.

Toronto. October 31, 1980.

Mike shook his head as he stared at Karen’s dinner plate. “Babe, you haven’t touched your filet. Aren’t you hungry?”

Karen grinned as she stared at the uneaten meat. “I can’t eat another molecule. I stuffed myself at lunch today.” She changed the subject. “Tell me about your daughter. You never talk about her.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything. The only thing I know is that you have one. Where is she now? Have you communicated with her since you and Barbara split?”

“Often, particularly after Barbara moved to San Diego. Aside from the distance and time involved in continuing my visitation privileges, Barbara began to make things difficult for me.”

“How?”

“Whenever I phoned and told her I wanted to see Kerri, she invented an excuse. It didn’t matter what I said, the visit was always inconvenient for her. I think she wanted me to cease and desist, and her new husband to become a surrogate father to Kerri.”

“Did you continue to write?”

“Every week, until my letters started to be returned, unopened.” Again Mike shook his head, tears flooding his eyes. He looked away. “That broke my heart. She was nine years old when I last saw her. I considered hiring a lawyer, but didn’t. I reasoned that it didn’t matter what I did, there was absolutely no way I could ever be a father to her. I saw myself as a meddling sentimental fool who moved in and out of her life. So I decided to stay out of it. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It hurt, and it’s still hurting.”

“She’ll find you,” Karen predicted. “Her need to know you will eventually consume her.”

Mike displayed a worried frown and looked away. “I wish I could share your optimism,” he said, then changed the subject. “Would you like some wine?”

“No thanks.”

With bottle in hand, Mike dropped his lower jaw. “I don’t believe it. I can’t remember the last time you refused red wine. Are you ill?”

Karen’s face and smile glowed in the soft candlelight. “We’re pregnant, King. No more booze for the duration.”

“That’s incredible news!” Mike said with gigantic smile and beaming with pride. He placed the bottle on the table, then hurried to her side. He leaned and kissed her, long and passionately. After the kiss he stared into her dark brown eyes. “A toast. Join me with a glass of milk.”

“Milk makes me sick, but I’ll join you with water and extreme pleasure.”

Mike filled Karen’s wine glass with water, then raised his glass. “To the newest member of the King family,” he said as they clinked their glasses. “How long have you known?”

“I’ve suspected it for three weeks. The doctor confirmed it today. She said we’re both very healthy, and there’s no reason to believe we can’t have a normal healthy baby, sometime next August… She strongly recommended amniocentesis.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a test, particularly for women over thirty-five. They stick a long needle into the womb and draw out a sample of amniotic fluid. They test the fluid for Down’s Syndrome and other genetic abnormalities. While they’re at it, they determine the sex of the child.”

Mike smiled, attempting to hide his worry. “So we’re going to know?”

“If you’re referring to the sex of the child, they won’t tell you unless you ask. Any preference?”

“I think I would like to have a boy or a girl,” Mike said, privately hoping it would be a girl.

“I like your chances, King.”

CHAPTER 13