For the Love of Money

By E. S. Pidgeon

For the Love of Money is based on the true story of an aging spinster and her infirm, mentally-challenged brother who become involved with a mother-son duo seeking to acquire the assets of the wealthy pair. It is a complicated story with tension, intrigue, and surprising twists.

A conscientious but nave trustee, Peter Spencer, tries to protect his two elderly clients, who have become unsuspecting pawns in a game of greed, control, and mental abuse. Committed to standing on principle, the trustee is confronted with dangerous and difficult choices. He steps into a hornets nest and puts his own life in chaos and jeopardy. Truth and justice are not always the worlds bottom line, and Peter unearths disturbing insights into the legal world. Three separate legal cases ensue, one of which becomes precedent-setting.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Oct 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490839530

E. S. Pidgeon

The author lives with her husband in a suburb of New York City. She has contributed to the research and writing of three local histories and enjoys writing poetry and short stories for children. This is her first novel.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

From Innocence to Adulthood

Graduation Day! Peter squinted into the mirror, which shimmered in the sunshine flooding the room. He grinned with delight as he knotted the navy-blue tie he had just flung around his neck. As he grabbed his dark blue Wesley Hall blazer from the back of the chair, he heard the phone ring. It was almost always for him.

I’ll get it, he yelled, as he flung open the door to the hall, leaving it reverberating against the bedroom wall. Bounding down the stairs three steps at a time, he raced to beat his younger sister to the kitchen phone.

He stopped short in the doorway. His mother was speaking into the phone in hushed, serious tones. He held his breath, trying to hear her words. Slowly, his mother returned the receiver to the cradle and turned toward him. Tears glistened in her eyes and bathed her cheeks.

That was your dad. She struggled for composure. Your grandfather just passed away.

Peter slumped into the nearest chair, feeling as though he had just taken a punch in the stomach. Pops, oh no, not Pops! His voice cracked with emotion. But … but I thought he was doing better.

Wiping her eyes with a rumpled handkerchief, his mother sat down across the table from Peter. The fight was taken from him. He didn’t have the strength to go on. I think he just gave up.

Peter felt overcome by so many conflicting emotions—disbelief, anger, a penetrating grief. He pushed back his chair and raced from the room. He needed to be alone.

Throwing himself on his bed, Peter cried into the pillow. Images of his beloved grandfather floated in a hazy parade across his memory. Pops, the gardener with his dirty, khaki pants and old, flannel shirt emerging from the greenhouse with one of his prized orchids; Pops, the enchanting storyteller who would spin the same tale over and over to the never-ending delight of the grandchildren; Pops, the farmer who appeared at their backdoor every Saturday in the summer with a basket of his fresh vegetables. How Peter would miss this man of optimism and kindness who had given him undivided attention and approbation.

Pops, better known to the world as Thomas Moore Spencer, Sr., had lived the American dream. Born in poverty, he rose to a position of relative wealth and fame but was surprisingly unaffected by them. His success did not follow from selfish ambition but from a natural inclination to accept challenges, learn, and appreciate all the different people who crossed his path. As he was well rounded in his talents and interests, he was also well rounded in every aspect of his appearance, from his stature to his gentle moon-face. Laughing blue eyes were the dominant feature on his merry face. He was beardless but a Santa Claus figure nonetheless.

Drained of emotion, Peter slowly sat up. What did Mom say again … about Pops losing his will? But that’s not Pops … the great encourager who made us all feel we could move mountains if we’d only try a little harder.

Peter had many special memories of his grandfather, but none included the public man. It was the public man who had fallen that day.

For days, Peter’s father was uncommunicative with the family so great was his grief. Peter watched his father carefully from a discreet distance, not wanting to intrude but yet anxious to make sense of his mother’s words on the day of Pops’ death. His opportunity came on a warm July day as he knelt in the large flower garden behind the house, shoulder to shoulder with his dad as they systematically did the mandatory weeding.

I know you got the gardening gene from your dad, but I’m not sure it passed on to me. Remember those beautiful orchids in his greenhouse? Boy, did he love those plants. He could even make watching them grow sound exciting. Peter stole a sideways glance to see his father’s reaction and was relieved to hear him chuckle.

Without pausing from his work, his father responded, He could make a good story out of anything. I’ve never known a man with such a keen sense of humor and such enthusiasm for life.

The older man’s tone was light, so Peter dared to continue. I suppose those helped him in his career.

Without a doubt. He proved true the old adage, ‘Nothing great is ever achieved without enthusiasm.’ Pops had several different successful careers and was dedicated to and excited about each of them.

Peter looked up. He had different careers? What were they, and how did he decide on them? I can’t even think of one.

The older man sat back on the grass, removed his large-brimmed hat, and wiped the dampness from his forehead with the gritty back of his gloved hand. He was reflective but not morose. With obvious affection and pride, he slowly launched into the story. Peter settled himself onto the grass and listened attentively.

Your grandfather was a remarkable man. He was the fourth son of a Pennsylvania subsistence farmer who, by the way, had no use for book learning. Fortunately, your great-grandmother realized the potential of her youngest child and encouraged him in his studies. He excelled in school and graduated from the University of Pennsylvania law school at the age of nineteen. He was too young to be admitted to the bar, so he had to find other employment until his twenty-first birthday.

The older Spencer smiled down at his son. Peter had questions, but he decided to let the moment flow. Sharing the story was obviously a healing balm.

Slapping at a pesky fly with his well-worn hat, Peter’s dad continued. "Always fascinated with trains, he soon became a leading authority on railroad legislation and was invited to Washington often to speak to congressional committees. He served in the capacity of advisor to the Senate. His law career led him into the position of dean of Columbia Law School, where he discovered another passion, teaching.

After a number of happy years at Columbia, he retired to take on a new challenge, president and chairman of an insurance company.

That’s all I ever thought he did. Peter was astounded, realizing how little he had actually known about his grandfather.

There’s more, Pete. In time, your grandfather also became head of the New York Chamber of Commerce. Politicians considered it a powerful and important constituency and courted the membership in general, its leader in particular. At the time of his chairmanship, he had a fateful encounter with the governor of New York, whose ambitions lay far south of Albany. During a presidential bid, the governor decided he needed your grandfather’s allegiance. However, Pops had some philosophical differences with the governor and refused his support. It was a decision of conscience, and he could make no other.

Peter’s father faltered and said softly, But it was a decision that definitely cost him his career and perhaps his life as well.

The words hung suspended between them. Finally, Peter cautiously asked, What does that mean?

The faraway look in his father’s eyes retreated, and turning to his son, he continued. Following the governor’s defeat in his presidential bid, he began searching for another prominent position. Since politics was no longer a viable option for him, he looked to the business world for his redemption. He decided he would have your grandfather’s job. The attack was swift and virulent. With the aid of some cronies in the media, he started a relentless smear campaign against Pops and his company. The board decided the most expedient course of action was to distance itself from the chairman. After twenty-five years of devoted service, he was forced to retire.

Peter’s father paused. Not being malicious himself, your grandfather was incredulous at the treachery to which he had been subjected. Head-to-head competition he understood and accepted. He always said honest but respectful disagreements were to be expected. But, as he saw it, purposeful slander and meticulous character assassination had no place in the world of honorable men. The experience was so abhorrent to him that he lost his innate optimism. That’s when his health problems developed, which weakened his flagging spirits even more. He was willing to step aside for the good of the company, but he couldn’t see the ex-governor as the right man to succeed him.

Did the governor get the position? Peter was almost afraid to ask.

No. In the end, the insurance company’s board of directors found the strength to oppose the heavy-handed politician and appoint someone else to what was a coveted position. The ex-governor never did find a niche in corporate America, so he returned to his former profession, which I regret to say was the practice of law. From there, he launched retaliatory efforts against the insurance company and its ex-president.

But how could he do that?

Fabrication. He initiated a lawsuit alleging that the company’s investments were mismanaged and should have been more profitable. By all rational standards, the investments in question were highly successful, and the lawsuit was defeated. However, the case is still alive on appeal, and that process could last for years.

Slowly rising to his feet, mechanically brushing the grass from his pants, Peter’s dad continued in a pensive faraway voice. It will never be over for me until your grandfather is vindicated. There can be no closure, no peace.

Peter was shocked that so much had been going on in his father’s and grandfather’s lives, and he had been totally unaware. He was also stunned his wonderful grandfather had met with such hostility and unfairness at the end of his life. The vagaries of the legal system, the power of vengeance, the dark side of ambition—all these were new concepts to Peter.

He remained seated, looking down at the grass. Was Pop’s experience unusual, or is that the way of the world? Do honor and character lose to power and ruthless ambition? Suddenly, his world of graduation parties, summer jobs, and college preparations seemed mild and safe and insignificant.

On that July morning, Peter learned about his grandfather’s notoriety and the public man who was now gone and forgotten. But the man who had cast a long shadow of love and humor over the family was still cherished and missed.

After a few minutes of shared silence, his father reached down and patted Peter’s shoulder. Your grandfather left us all a legacy of honor, Pete, and an internal compass. Those are rare gifts; use them well.

from a poem by William Butler Yeats

"To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Nothing"

For how can you compete

Being honour bred, with one

Who, were it proved he lies,

Were neither shamed in his own

Nor in his neighbour’s eyes?

CHAPTER 1

The Beginning of the End

Mr. Spencer, she whispered as she opened the front door. It’s so good you’re here. Some strange man has been coming by frequently, always with papers for Mr. Hayes to sign. It’s none of my business, of course. I just hope everything is alright. With her news delivered, Annette took Peter’s coat and retreated to the kitchen.

Harold, how’re you doing? Peter’s voice broke into the silence of the living room.

Harold looked up from a catnap he had been enjoying on the old couch in front of the picture window. A dazed expression gave way to recognition. He made an attempt to get up out of the deep cushions, but Peter waved off his efforts as he moved toward the seating area.

Don’t get up on my account. You look much too comfortable. It’s cold and windy out there; you picked a good day to stay in and have a snooze. Peter opened his briefcase and put some documents on the coffee table. I brought your financial statements. We can go over them after lunch. As he settled into a chair across from Harold, he smiled at the old man. So what have you been up to, Harold?

The white-haired man in his early eighties was wrapped in an afghan. He looked diminutive in the setting—a large, high-ceilinged room with bulky furniture, a grand piano in the corner covered with old photographs in ornate silver frames, and museum-sized paintings in massive gold frames on two walls. Peter was startled to note that in the last few months since he had seen Harold Hayes, the old man had become dramatically older and frailer in manner and appearance.

Well, not so much. The slow, deep voice rumbled like distant thunder. The sound was pleasantly familiar.

Seeing Harold brought back vivid childhood memories. Peter had grown up in the house next door and remembered the neighborhood children making cruel and disparaging remarks about Mr. Hayes, the dummy. His slow, shuffling gait and labored, gravelly speech made the children think he was strange and scary. But Peter had always thought of Harold Hayes as gentle and kind, simple and peaceful. Without ever understanding why, Peter had always felt fondly toward his unusual former neighbor.

Did you use your boat last summer? Peter asked, hoping to evoke some semblance of enthusiasm in the monotone that was Harold’s way of talking.

Well, from time to time. I hired a boy to take care of it for me.

Peter was pleased, thinking he detected a happy inflection.

Annette reappeared. Mr. Hayes, lunch is ready for you and Mr. Spencer.

Peter helped Harold to his feet and offered his arm for support as the old man shuffled slowly to the dining room. The two of them took their seats in the ornately carved armchairs in the dark, oak-paneled room. Peter smiled, remembering that in his secret childhood imaginings, he had pretended these were the chairs of the Knights of the Round Table.

Harold’s favorite lunch was spread out before them, a ham sandwich on white bread with chocolate cake for dessert. As they ate, Harold timidly made a confession. He had been making some investments with a nice man who kept calling on the phone and coming to visit him.

What investments are you talking about? As his financial advisor, Peter was surprised Harold had not consulted him.

Harold slowly pushed back the large armchair and laboriously rose to his feet. He steadied himself for a minute on the old mahogany dining room table and shuffled into the living room. He opened a cabinet door and fumbled through some papers, finally producing a large manila envelope. He held it out to Peter, who had followed him from the table.

Pulling out several papers, Peter glanced at them and then looked at an ashamed Harold. Do you know what these papers say, Harold? He tried not to sound as exasperated as he felt.

Well … Harold’s usual halting speech became slower than ever. I wrote a check. A tax shelter, I think.

Harold, this paper is a receipt for your ten-thousand-dollar check. But that is only the first of ten installments. You’ve committed to a one-hundred-thousand-dollar investment. To be honest, I’m not familiar with this offering. The old man looked so dejected, Peter felt terrible for him. The poor guy thinks if someone is nice to him, that person is sincere and interested in his welfare. He has no idea the object of the caller is to make a sale, appropriate or not.

Trying to soften the blow, he hastened to add, Look Harold, I’ll be glad to check this out for you. But if someone calls you again about anything like this, please talk to me before you make a commitment. Then we can discuss whether it’s the best investment for you to make.

Harold nodded, keeping his eyes on the floor.

Peter stayed for another hour before taking his leave of the old man. As he drove out of the driveway, he glanced at the old stucco house. Paint was flaking off the dark-green shutters, a few tiles on the brick-red Mediterranean roof were broken, overgrown shrubbery blocked the ground-floor windows, and tendrils of ivy looked like bony fingers clinging to the walls. If Peter had looked with the eyes of a stranger, he would have thought the house depressing and run down. But with the eyes of memory, it retained some of its former grandeur and personality. A second glance, however, brought with it an unexpected emotion—foreboding.

Peter was upset with Harold, but the elderly man was untutored in the ways of the world. His spinster sister, Lorna, had moved out of the Long Island family home two years earlier, wanting more land for her hobby of breeding miniature poodles. Harold was left on his own for the first time in his life. While Harold seemed to enjoy some aspects of his new freedom, like being able to smoke a forbidden cigarette and to move at his own snail’s pace, he must have found freedom fearful as well. Perhaps they all should have realized that dealing with people on the telephone would be too great a challenge for Harold.

A few weeks later, Peter received a call in his office from Lorna Hayes.

I hope you’re sitting down, Peter. Lorna barked. You won’t believe what my dimwitted brother has done now. He let that slick-talking broker sell him another tax shelter—for another hundred thousand dollars.

You’re joking, Lorna. That’s absurd. Peter rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair.

Lorna continued with urgency. I told Harold he was stupid and not to talk to salesmen when they call, but he never listens. What can we do about this? Next thing I know, he’ll have lost the house and everything.

Lorna was angry and feisty, but Peter sensed she felt guilty as well. She had convinced herself that it was alright to move to New Jersey and leave Harold alone since Annette and her husband were there to take care of Harold and the house. As a couple, they were not only competent and dependable but also kindly. Harold thought of them as his extended family. But Harold’s mental and physical health had begun to deteriorate recently, and no one had bargained on problems like this.

Peter responded thoughtfully. Perhaps Harold should speak with a lawyer. There’s such a thing as a voluntary conservatorship if he’d agree to have someone else in charge of his finances, to pay the bills, that kind of thing. Then the conservator would have to be consulted on any financial decisions, like buying these useless tax shelters. Peter was not sure how Lorna would receive the suggestion, but it was the best one he could come up with at the moment.

Peter Spencer, now you’ve finally had a good idea. Relief sounded in her voice. That’s just what he needs. I can hardly keep up with my own bills and papers. Then when I go out there, I have to pay his bills too. There are always late charges, or he loses the bills completely. Harold’s lawyer passed away a few years ago. Can you find someone who’d go to the house and meet with him?

I’ve had some dealings with a trust and estates lawyer in New York, Frank Damon. We have several mutual clients, and they speak highly of him. His firm is well respected, and I think Harold would like him. Do you want me to bring up the subject with Harold, or will you?

He won’t listen to me, so you’d better do it. And right now, I might add.

I’ll call Frank right away, Lorna. As he spoke, he flipped through the pages of his calendar. We’re approaching the Thanksgiving holidays, and everyone’s schedules are tight. But don’t worry, we’ll get on this.

Harold agreed to meet with Peter and Frank Damon, and their first meeting took place on Long Island two weeks before Christmas. Most of the time was spent socializing over Harold’s lunch of choice, ham on white and chocolate cake. Harold seemed comfortable with Frank, and when the subject of a conservatorship was brought up, Harold was receptive. The concept was explained in detail, and Harold kept saying he understood and would be relieved to have the help. His only concerns were whether he would be able to have his old Chris Craft inboard boat painted in the summer and if he would be able to hire a college student to operate it. He was assured his monthly allowance would be far more than he was spending now.

As the two younger men rose from the table, Frank addressed Harold. Now Mr. Hayes, we’ve talked about many things and have given you a lot to think about. Why don’t you consider all this over the holidays, perhaps discuss it with your sister if you wish, and then we can all get together again in January. Is that agreeable?

Yeess. That’s okay.

As they walked to the car, Peter breathed a sigh of relief. Good for Harold. He understands what needs to be done. Lorna will be satisfied that the problem will be solved, and Harold will be safe.

Frank chuckled. Let’s just hope this overzealous broker doesn’t want some extra funds for his holiday spending. Harold isn’t out of harm’s way yet.

CHAPTER 2

Protecting Harold

It was a frosty, clear New Year’s Day in Connecticut. The Spencer family was gathered around the kitchen table, enjoying a relaxed brunch and lively conversation. The smell of cinnamon buns and coffee permeated the air, and the sunny room was filled with chattering and laughter.

Giving her sister a playful poke, Rebecca, the oldest, feigned a rebuke. I had to study when I was in college. How do you have time for that when you’re Miss Socialite and Sorority Queen?

Virginia tossed her long, straight golden mane and flashed her mischievous blue eyes. I manage … might even make dean’s list this semester. It’s just a matter of organization. Laughing, she was off again, bubbling over with excitement about her latest beau and life in general.

Peter felt a sense of nostalgia, seeing his three children as young adults. Rebecca’s job had transplanted her to the West Coast, so this reunion was very special. His gaze rested on each member of his family with pride and pleasure. Alice, his wife of almost thirty years, was beaming, delighted to have her brood around her. Her reddish-brown, shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a barrette, and her green eyes reflected contentment.

Stephen, their son, tapped his spoon on his juice glass, calling everyone to attention. The peacemaker in the family, as his sisters dubbed him, was slightly shorter than his father’s six feet, with thick, sandy-blond hair and the Spencer blue eyes. Less talkative than his siblings and more introspective, he was affectionately called the Great Brain, and when Stephen talked, everyone listened. He cleared his voice and affected a serious tone. He had an important announcement.

Lynn and I think you all are a rowdy bunch. He nodded to his wife, whose cheeks were beginning to redden. We’re not sure you’re up to this important task, but there’s going to be a new Spencer at this table, and we want you all to learn to behave, set a good example and all that.

Cheers, embraces, kisses, and tears of joy erupted around the table. Alice gave Peter a big hug. Our first grandchild! What a wonderful New Year this will be.

Everyone talked at once, wanting to know the due date, how Lynn had been feeling, were they going to find out if it was a boy or girl—all the important questions. The chatter rose to an almost deafening level.

A ringing phone was an unwelcome intruder.

To Peter’s surprise, the call was not for any of his children but for him. Alice handed him the phone, signaling wrap this up quickly, and come back to the party. He nodded, left the commotion, and walked into the family room.

Mr. Spencer, oh I’m so sorry to bother you at home. This is me, Annette. I had to call because I don’t know what to do. Her voice was shaky. Her words tumbled over each other.

Peter listened attentively, trying to understand what she was saying, anticipating tears at any moment. Apparently, trouble had knocked again at the Hayes family home, this time in the person of Enrico Sollé.

Since moving out of the house, Lorna had made a point to spend time over the holidays with Harold. They were the only two left in their family—no spouses, no children, no other siblings, no cousins. To give some sense of gaiety to the season, Lorna always invited a few of her friends to join them for either Christmas or New Year’s. Enrico Sollé, the sometime escort of her younger days, was always on the list.

I could lose my job, Mr. Spencer. I’m so afraid of that. What would we do? But something is wrong, suspicious. I want to do the right thing. I owe that to Miss Hayes and Mr. Hayes. They have been so good to me and Martin and our boys. By then she was sobbing.

Peter had never known Annette to be so upset. He was very fond of her and her husband, Martin Blanc, and respected and appreciated their commitment to the Hayes family. The Blancs had emigrated from France ten years earlier and had been employed at the Hayes home ever since. Annette took care of the house and the cooking while Martin was the gardener and chauffeur. They lived with their two young sons in an apartment over the kitchen of the rambling old house. Their loyalty and devotion to both Harold and Lorna had grown over the years, as had their responsibilities. Lorna would never have been able to accomplish her move to New Jersey if the Blancs had not been such faithful and uncomplaining caretakers.

When Annette had composed herself, Peter asked gently, Annette, what’s happened? And where are you?

I’m at the house. She continued to wage a tough battle with her emotions. Everyone else has gone out, so Martin said I should call you quick. It’s about Mr. Sollé. I went upstairs with some fresh towels last night. I thought everyone was in the living room having coffee, but there was Mr. Sollé at Harold’s desk in his bedroom. He was going through the papers in the drawers.

She spoke as fast as possible, anxious to get out her story before being caught. Mr. Spencer, I would have thought he was just getting something Harold wanted, but when he saw me, he jumped up. He turned on me with such a fierce look in his eye and shook his fist at me. I was so startled I dropped the towels. I was frozen on the spot, Mr. Spencer. It was so terrible.

What did he say, Annette? Peter could hardly believe what he was hearing.

He said, ‘Don’t ever say anything about this to anyone, or I’ll have you fired.’ He shoved the papers back in the drawer and walked past me with a look of fire. Mr. Spencer, I shake whenever I think of it. What was he doing? You know about Mr. Hayes’s papers. Were there important things in his drawer? Things Mr. Sollé should not be looking at?

Peter was alarmed but did not want to upset Annette any further. Annette, thank you for sharing all this with me. You did the right thing to call. I’m coming out in a few days to catch Miss Hayes before she goes back to New Jersey. When I come, I’ll check the papers in Harold’s desk. Then perhaps we can figure out what Mr. Sollé was up to. But don’t worry, Annette. You will never be fired. Miss Hayes and Mr. Hayes both care about you and your family, and you know they depend on you.

Peter was astounded but not totally surprised. He had never been a fan of Enrico Sollé, an unabashed gigolo with a saccharin manner and a toothy, insincere, permanent grin. When in his presence, Peter used to catch himself envisioning Enrico with a turban around his head, blowing on a long whistle, coaxing a snake out of a large basket. Perhaps I miscast Enrico. He’s not the performer; he’s the snake.

As Peter drove to Long Island later that week, he contemplated his options. He had no concern that Annette would be fired, so he was just going to have to level with Lorna.

The holiday houseguests had departed, so Peter had Lorna and Harold to himself. While Annette was helping Harold wash up for lunch, Peter had a few moments alone with Lorna. Before she could begin a lengthy round of chatter, he jumped in. Lorna, I need to speak to you in confidence.

She looked up from her chair with a quizzical look. Knowing he had her attention, he relayed Annette’s story. Lorna was visibly angry and upset but not as surprised as Peter would have expected. I know what he was looking for … Harold’s will. Of course, my stupid brother just keeps his important papers lying around for anyone to see. Enrico was probably checking for his name in Harold’s will, which, by the way, he wouldn’t find.

Peter hoped he did not appear as dumbfounded as he felt. What do you mean, Lorna? Would someone really do such a crass thing?

Enrico is always reminding us that his longtime friendship with us entitles him to be named a beneficiary in our wills. He isn’t, of course. But he keeps mentioning it. I’m sure that’s what he was looking for. Just go upstairs right now and get that document … and whatever else that’s important up there. Tell Harold it has to go in his safe deposit box. Now you see why I left? He’s impossible. She dismissed Peter with a wave of her hand toward the stairs.

Lorna was finished with the subject. She was indignant and annoyed at Enrico, but Peter knew she would never confront him. He concluded that it was a bizarre, unrelated, unimportant incident. His attention was focused on the meeting the following week with Harold and Frank Damon, and he felt an increased urgency about it. Harold certainly needed someone to organize and protect his private papers and financial affairs.

The remainder of the month of January, Peter devoted much of his mental energy to thinking about Harold Hayes. At Frank’s suggestion, Harold agreed to have Peter serve as his trustee, as Peter already did for Lorna. Peter wondered what the ramifications of that would be as Harold became more incompetent. He was already feeling increasingly responsible for his old neighbor.

A meeting about the conservatorship was scheduled for early February at Harold’s house. Harold now considered Frank his own personal lawyer, but Frank asked him if he could bring along two partners who were more experienced in this particular kind of issue. Harold agreed. In the conference call between the lawyers and Peter to arrange the meeting, everyone concurred that Harold would be better off in a conservatorship, and all felt comfortable that he was voluntarily agreeing to do this.

Peter was relieved that progress was being made, but Lorna was getting impatient. When will you get this thing wrapped up? she yelled at Peter during one of their regular phone calls. We’ll all be dead and gone and never have gotten any relief. That broker is still calling Harold.

I’m sorry, Lorna, but legal matters seem to move at a slow place. Lawyers beget more lawyers and more discussions and more papers. But hopefully, the end is in sight. Peter tried to sound reassuring as he hung up.

Throwing down his pencil and leaning back in his chair, he looked out the window for solace. He could relate to Lorna’s frustration and shared her belief that Harold needed protection as soon as possible.

I could never be a lawyer. To get from start to finish is so laborious and time consuming; I think I’d go mad. If we can just get beyond this, Harold will be safe and life will go back to normal. Peter saw his reflection in the window and read a question in the troubled face that looked back at him. Or will it?

CHAPTER 3

Weaving a Web

Sitting in his suburban office at a desk strewn with annual reports and financial statements, Peter looked up in response to a gentle tapping on the wall of windows. Sleet had started to drop from the overcast February sky, and the mid-afternoon light was dimming into darkness. It was tempting to leave early and beat the commuter traffic, but he wanted to finish writing the monthly market letter for his clients.

He returned to the task at hand and was lost in concentration when his administrative assistant, Carly, appeared in the doorway. There’s a call for you on line two, Annette Blanc. Peter nodded and picked up the phone.

Mr. Spencer, it’s me, Annette. I’m so sorry to bother you in the office. I know you’re busy, but something crazy is going on. Last week, Mr. Hayes was dozing on the couch in the living room after breakfast when I heard a loud banging on the door. I was startled, so I peeked out a window and saw it was Mr. Sollé outside with a woman I don’t know. He never comes here when Miss Hayes isn’t here. But I let him in, and the two of them swept by me without a word into the living room. Mr. Hayes woke up and just stared at them. Annette was breathless but unstoppable.

Mr. Sollé told Mr. Hayes that since his sister worried about him here alone, he had brought a friend to check in on him. The woman … her name was Giovanna, do you know her? Well, she just stood there, looking at everything in the room. She even walked to the piano and picked up the old photographs. She told Mr. Hayes that she and some friends own a restaurant nearby and that he should come visit her there. Mr. Hayes didn’t say one word. The other two talked for a few more minutes and left. The next day, the woman came alone with some cookies for Mr. Hayes. Two days later, she came by with some soup. Yesterday, she came again with a chocolate cake and stayed for about an hour. This morning, she came by around eleven and told him she was taking him to her restaurant for lunch. He was embarrassed. You know Mr. Hayes. He didn’t know what to say. She just helped him up and told me to get his coat. She grabbed it from me when I tried to help him, saying she would take care of him. Then she took him by the arm and got him to her car. Her voice cracked. Oh Mr. Spencer, I don’t know what to do. Should I have let him go? It’s three o’clock, and he isn’t back yet. And you know he takes a nap after lunch. I’m afraid. Maybe I should have called you before today, but I didn’t want to be a busybody. Can you help me?

Peter tried to make sense of the story. Does Miss Hayes know about this Giovanna and who she is other than Enrico’s friend? And has Mr. Hayes said anything to you about her?

I didn’t think I should call Miss Hayes, because it was Mr. Hayes’s business. But when she called here two days ago, I did mention this woman, and Miss Hayes said she did not know her. Miss Hayes was angry. Now I’m afraid to call her because maybe she thinks I should not have let him go out with this stranger. Fighting back tears, she continued. Mr. Hayes thinks this woman, this Giovanna, is nice to bring him presents. That’s all he says. But I think he’s confused because he doesn’t know her. He just likes the attention, Mr. Spencer. That’s what I think.

Peter had been sitting rigidly on the edge of his chair, trying to assimilate this latest peculiar news. He wanted more facts.

Now tell me a little about this woman, Annette. How old is she? Does she live nearby? Whatever you know.

She’s older than me, Mr. Spencer, I’d say she’s in her fifties. Very much younger than Mr. Hayes. I don’t know where she lives, only that she works at a restaurant near here. Mr. Spencer, I’m embarrassed to say this, but she’s always patting his shoulder, or his head, or his cheek. And I guess I would say she acts like she’s flirting with him. Mr. Hayes just sits there. He doesn’t understand what is happening.

There was suddenly a pause in her breathless rush of words. Wait a minute … oh, Mr. Spencer … I must go. I think I hear a car in the driveway. If it’s not Mr. Hayes, I will call you back. Oh praise the saints … I hope it’s Mr. Hayes. Thank you, Mr. Spencer. Annette was gone in a flash.

Peter was so absorbed by the strange news, he sat staring at the phone for the next few moments. When it did not ring again, he tried to put it out of his mind and get back to work, figuring Harold was at least home safely now. After several futile attempts at being productive, Peter pushed his notepad aside and rested his elbows on his desk, his head in his hands. Good heavens, what in the world has Harold gotten himself into this time?

A few days later, Lorna called Peter again about the conservatorship situation. Her tone was high pitched and emphatic. Listen to me, Peter. You’ve got to get those lawyers moving. Have you heard about that Giovanna woman? I don’t know what she’s up to, but I’m sure it’s no good. You know Harold has never been a ladies’ man, so what does that woman want with him anyway?

Before Peter could venture a guess, Lorna rolled on, building up a fury. I’ll tell you what she wants … his money! It’s plain and simple. I don’t know how she’s planning to get it, but that’s what she wants. Look how easy it was for that broker … like taking candy from a baby. She paused, and her anger dissipated into pleading. Harold’s vulnerable, Peter. You’ve got to do something to protect him. Tell those lawyers we need this conservatorship for Harold immediately.

Lorna, I’ll do my best. Believe me, I’ll try. But speed and efficiency are not attributes of the legal profession. He was anxious as he hung up. Lorna’s right. Something bad is brewing. And what are Enrico Sollé’s interests? Better call Frank and tell him to get those conservatorship papers finished.

February turned into March. Despite pressure from Peter and Lorna, it was not until the beginning of April that a final meeting with the lawyers was scheduled at Harold’s. The purpose was to review the papers with him for his approval before the conservatorship hearing. At Peter’s suggestion, Lorna was invited to attend.

Curious to see the lawyers and find out exactly what was going on, Lorna sat at the meeting with arms folded, head tilted to one side, studying each newcomer with critical, piercing eyes. In typical Lorna fashion, when the opportunity presented itself, she did not hesitate to express her exasperation with the process.

In the course of conversation, Harold revealed some additional investments he had authorized over the telephone. Peter and the lawyers pored over the documents. The grand total was now close to a million dollars in worthless tax shelters. That finally convinced the lawyers that the situation was serious.

As the men and Lorna sat in a circle in the dark and dated living room, one last item was discussed. Who should serve as conservator? Lorna piped up immediately. Why, Peter Spencer, of course. Harold would want someone he knows, and Peter is now his trustee and is familiar with all Harold’s affairs.

That’s possible. If we’re all in agreement, we can present Peter’s name to the judge. Is that okay with you, Peter? Frank’s senior partner from New York took charge.

Why yes, of course. Peter felt that in his dual role as financial advisor and trustee, he was already doing much of the work of a conservator.

There will be compensation, of course, the lawyer continued.

Well, I already get paid as investment advisor, so I can waive any fee.

As you wish. The lawyer shot him a cryptic look, gathered his papers, and snapped his briefcase shut. We’re finished here, and I’ll submit these documents to the court right away and inform you all of the hearing date. Oh, and by the way, he motioned to the other lawyers, we need to discuss the possibility of initiating a suit against that broker for taking advantage of Mr. Hayes. We’ll have a conference call tomorrow with you, Peter.

Before you hurry away, gentlemen, there’s one more important thing. Lorna chimed in authoritatively, putting a halt to their departure. What about that woman who’s been visiting Harold?

All eyes, wide, surprised, and questioning, turned to Harold, who was visibly uncomfortable and kept his own eyes fixed on the floor.

The three New York lawyers took their seats again and looked to Peter and Lorna for an explanation.

A woman has befriended Harold within the last couple of months, isn’t that so, Harold? Peter glanced from Harold to Frank, wondering why this had not been mentioned to the other lawyers before.

Not only that, Lorna broke in emphatically. Harold told me before you all came that this woman wants to take him to Florida on a vacation with her. And Harold thinks she mentioned something about marriage. Isn’t that what you told me, Harold?

With a slightly audible gasp, all turned their attention to Harold. Still looking at the floor, he responded, Yeess. She wants to go to Florida soon.

Peter was totally caught off guard by this revelation. Harold, what did this woman say and when? And just what do you know about her?

Harold could barely speak one on one. In no way could he explain the unexplainable to a roomful of people. He retreated into silence.

The others waited expectantly. When nothing was forthcoming, the senior partner, Ralph Patterson, shattered the shock-filled silence. Mr. Hayes, this is a serious matter. Just answer one question. Do you want to marry this woman?

After a painful silence, Harold mumbled, I don’t know.

Mr. Patterson set down the briefcase he had been holding and snapped it open. Taking out a legal pad, he began writing down some notes.

Well, challenged Lorna, what’s to be done about this? He doesn’t even know this woman, but he just can’t say no to her. You lawyers are supposed to protect people, aren’t you? Well, Harold here needs protection. She sat back in her seat, turning her head from the senior lawyer to the others and back as though she were watching a tennis match. She tapped her fingers on the end of the chair, wondering who was going to take up the gauntlet.

Peter sat back, speechless. Let’s see if these guys are worth their salt. Let them come up with a solution to this one.

Frank Damon began hesitantly, Well, we’re in the process of some important legal work right now for Harold, work that he has authorized. So it seems to me that any other major decision should be postponed until after this matter is settled. Turning to address Harold, who was slumped on the couch next to Peter, he asked, Do you agree, Harold, that this isn’t the time to make such an important decision as marriage? Harold nodded.

Feeling emboldened, Frank continued. Well then, since apparently this woman is very persuasive, it seems only fair to Harold that we help him by bringing to this woman’s attention that this is not the appropriate time for Harold to be discussing marriage. He smiled triumphantly at all the glum faces around the circle.

That was pretty good, Frank. You were tactful to Harold but made your point. Peter looked to the senior partner, who was obviously working out his response.

Yes, absolutely, Frank. Now Mr. Hayes, what I propose is a restraining order. It’s simply a court document that will convey to this friend of yours that she may not enter into any legal arrangement with you at this time. After the conservatorship is in place, and your finances are in order and protected, then you and she may talk about marriage. If you haven’t known her too long, it will give you some more time to get to know her better, and that’s always a good idea before you make such a weighty decision. He produced a halfhearted chuckle, trying to lighten up the moment.

After another pregnant silence, Harold mumbled an okay. Believing there would be no further response, the men rose to