The Prudent Man

By Isaac Ritter

James Knight is a third generation trust officer, trying to succeed in the family business. His grandparents, who adhered to strict moral values, raised him, and James hopes to apply their values to his work. Many of his co-workers consider him a boy scout, always trying to do the right thing, but his values are shaken by his new job.

Horrible controversies surround the trust customers and employees of his large metropolitan bank. While working for his alcoholic supervisor, James stumbles upon massive cases of fraud. He takes it upon himself--with the help of a retired private eye--to work with authorities and bring his boss and co-conspirators to justice.

However, good old boy James isnt quite ready for the dangerous game hes playing. His life is threatened just as he meets the woman of his dreams. Now, he must shield himself, his reputation, and the woman he loves while dismantling a huge financial institution. To free himself of scandal, he must hold tight to his values, which soon turn out to be the best inheritance his grandparents could have left.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Nov 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781480823549

Isaac Ritter

Isaac Ritter has over forty years of experience in the trust industry, administering wealth for a variety of individuals from diverse backgrounds. A graduate of Indiana University School of Law, his knowledge of the personal lives of his customers only reinforced the premise that money can’t buy happiness.

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Copyright © 2014, 2015 George A. Buskirk Jr..

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-2353-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-2354-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015916948

Archway Publishing rev. date: 10/12/2015

Contents

1 Merry Christmas

2 The Next Day Back at Work

3 Christmas Day

4 Suspicion

5 The Private Eye

6 Taking Fees

7 Tailing the Boss

8 The New Case

9 The Gun Shop

10 Probate Court

11 Inspecting the Gun Shop

12 Cleaning Up the Mess

13 Researching the Widow Johnson

14 The Inventory

15 The Bartender

16 Gun Trouble

17 Trouble at the Office

18 The Feds Are Unhappy

19 The Hearing

20 Assisting the ATF

21 The First Date

22 The Mystery of the Money Market Fund

23 The Computer Geek

24 Visiting the Family

25 Indian Joe

26 Loss of a Friend

27 Into the Trust Computer

28 Julia’s Daughter

29 The Klan Attacks

30 Dinner Date

31 On the Offensive

32 Finding Margot Johnson

33 The Clubhouse

34 Baltimore

35 The Saga of Joe Thunder

36 Family Feud

37 Kidnapping the Wrong Victim

38 A Family Gathering

39 The Prosecutor’s Review

40 The Propaganda Posters

41 The Hospital

42 The Wife

43 The Most Informative Meeting

44 Operation Sweep

45 The Code Breaker

46 Welcome Home

47 Meeting with the ATF

48 Understanding the Scam

49 The Federal Investigation

50 Pangs of Conscience

51 The Visit

52 The Raid

53 Interrogation

54 The Johnson Tragedy

55 Shutting Down the Interest Scam

56 Going Home

57 The Funeral

58 Nazi Revenge

59 A Little Justice for Paula Whitingham

60 The Grand Jury

61 Yellow Tape

62 the Final chapter

1

MERRY CHRISTMAS

J ames Knight IV entered the elevator of Union Bank and Trust of Indiana, taking a mental inventory of the things he wanted to accomplish that day. He had learned this exercise from his grandfather as a child, to prepare him for the important matters to be achieved before ending any day worth spending. His grandfather, James Knight II, had warned him to never waste a day—never to cheat himself out of an opportunity to use every minute of time given to him by a greater power to achieve his personal goals.

It wasn’t always about money, his grandfather would tell him. The mental list for a productive day could include almost any worthwhile pursuit. But building the family fortune should always be at the top of the list if possible, with other worthwhile pursuits falling in place behind fortune-building.

Jim was his grandfather’s best effort. The death of Jim’s father in World War II had compelled James Knight II to spend every waking hour shaping his grandson into a legacy for the family and its position within the Indianapolis community.

Jim was moderately good-looking, six feet tall, and in good shape. He feared that someday he would inherit his grandfather’s baldness, but he hoped that he would inherit his maternal grandmother’s genes instead, since her father had passed on several years ago with a full, bushy head of hair. The prognosis for this was doubtful, however, since many considered young Jim to be the spitting image of his grandfather, James II.

The only argument he recalled ever having with his grandfather was over his decision to join the army reserve as a JAG officer, a commitment vehemently opposed by Grandfather Knight, since he had already paid the ultimate price with the loss of Jim’s father in World War II. Jim survived his tour of duty and Desert Storm with a less-than-glorious assignment in Germany at Central Command’s European headquarters, managing legal problems for soldiers rotating in and out of the Middle East. Jim had requested duty in the combat zone, but orders were orders, and reserve JAG officers were not usually placed in combat environments without special needs for their service.

Jim had not been lucky in love. His focus on his career had taken a toll on his social life. He had dated some of his classmates in law school but discovered they too were concentrating on their futures and were not really interested in more than an occasional one-night stand or casual dating for attending bar association functions and community events. This was okay with Jim. He felt that if the right girl came along, he would know it when it happened.

Today, Jim’s list of important things to accomplish was rather simple: Wish all the secretaries a Merry Christmas. Compliment Abby, the boss’s secretary, on what a nice job she had done organizing the office party. Have two drinks—no more—so as to not say anything stupid or irrational in front of the boss. And above all, look around for the other trust officers to say or do stupid things after drinking too much. This, of course, was priority number one—gain intelligence on the enemy to use in the future to outmaneuver them on the field of battle.

The brushed-aluminum doors of the elevator opened on the sixth floor, exposing the black-slate tile floor in the lobby of the trust department. It was truly a beautiful office, one any young lawyer would be proud to work in. Jim felt fortunate that his strategy for getting here had succeeded so far. Judy, the vampish receptionist seated at the oak desk in the lobby, smiled as Jim approached. She was a beautiful woman, with a slender size-four body interrupted by glorious tits. A perfect sweater girl, as his grandfather would say. But sadly, she was a notorious tramp and a gold digger, hoping to snag a rich widower and become a trophy wife. She was not a person for whom he could sacrifice his strategic objectives, and she sadly knew this. There was a mutual understanding between them, which he could see in her eyes. She knew that James Knight IV would never marry a girl like her, and James Knight IV knew that he would never devote his life to caring for a woman with her get-rich objective. Jim felt sad when he thought about Judy—someone he thought was genuinely nice and attracted to him—but both of them knew it was not to be.

Good morning, gorgeous! Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas to you, Jim. Let me give you your present before a crowd shows up. Judy came from behind her desk and kissed Jim on the lips—hard. I waited to put on my lipstick this morning because I knew I would embarrass you. You have a great day, okay?

Again, Jim could see the sadness in her eyes as he squeezed her hips, truly grateful for her sincere and sexy overture of affection. Their eyes connected, but that was the end of it—two people committed to their own courses of action that would fail if they became personally connected in the world they lived in.

Jim stood back, and Judy returned to her desk, opening her purse to remove her lipstick. Jim turned and began the walk down the long hall to the bull pen, where sixteen desks were lined up in neat rows of four. The bull pen was where the young trust officers and management trainees sat at their respective oak desks. As a young officer rose through the ranks of the stoic trust-officer world, he would advance to a more prestigious place of honor. Front-row seats belonged to secretaries; second-row to trust officers; third-row to assistant vice presidents; and the back row to vice presidents.

The senior vice presidents were in private offices that bordered the bull pen. This was where the right and left hands of God lived—all trying to kill each other off to become the one and only executive vice president of the trust department.

Jim saw Abby standing by her desk, sorting the morning mail in neat piles to distribute to the senior vice presidents. Mail going to the lower-ranking personnel went into one large pile to be sorted by the lower-ranking secretaries. Abby was the exclusive domain of the high and mighty, and though always courteous and kind to the underlings, she never performed secretarial tasks for anyone below the rank of senior VP.

Good morning, Abby. You look very pretty today. I want to thank you now for planning the Christmas party because I know you’ll be surrounded by VIPs this afternoon and won’t have time for me.

James, you are such a bee charmer. But I love you anyway. Thank you for the compliment. Now get to work before Mr. Kelso arrives, and quit wasting your time with an old woman like me.

Both smiled as Jim headed toward his desk; item number one on his list could be checked off. Abby was noticeably pleased by his good manners and lavish compliment. Jim knew he had a small inside advantage with Abby because she always called him James. She had been a young and very attractive secretary in the early 1940s, when his grandfather was head of the trust department. Abby never used nicknames when addressing important people. She had evidently promoted Jim to that status by addressing him with his formal name.

Jim believed there was something more there, but only by the affection she showed for him. His grandfather never would have placed her in jeopardy by having a relationship with her other than a professional one; nor would he have placed his own political position in jeopardy with an office fling. Jim was always in awe of his grandfather’s self-control and strict code of professional conduct, not just with Abby but with everyone his grandfather had ever introduced him to before his death.

Jim threw his overcoat over his chair and his briefcase onto his desk.

Good morning, Jimmy. How’s my favorite serf?

As pleased as he had been to greet Abby and Judy, Jim was immediately irritated by the greeting he received from his supervisor, David Walker. Walker had preceded Jim in law school by five years and had succeeded in his fast rise in the organization by screwing everybody and anybody he could to get ahead. In an arcane way, Jim admired Dave Walker for his success and aggressive style, but that was as far as it went. He was rude and ill-mannered and would often hurt good people to get whatever he wanted. He drank too much and hit on any woman he thought he could have his way with. Jim was amazed he had not been fired for conduct unbecoming an officer—but for some unknown reason, his star continued to rise within the organization. Walker liked to jab at Jim by calling him Jimmy or his favorite serf, declaring at cocktail parties that he was not ready to be called a knight at Union Bank and Trust. The staff and many customers considered the source, and anyone hearing the joke more than once ignored the insult—just as they had learned to ignore the jabs aimed in their own direction by Walker.

Good morning, Dave. Everything okay? Jim responded, as he knew he should, just to be civil at all times and remain professional—as his grandfather would say. Jim wondered how many rules of conduct his grandfather had bestowed upon him. He thought that he should write them down as a primer on rules of engagement in business dealings, but he never took the time to do so.

It’s going to be a great day, Jimmy. We can go for a long lunch and break in the scotch and then go on to the Christmas party. This should be fun!

Jim cringed at the thought of having to babysit with David Walker all day, followed by the possibility of being ordered by Mr. Kelso to drive him home after the party. It was time to think of a reason he would have to go home early just to avoid the normal duty of ferrying the department drunk home after the party.

Jim proceeded to hang up his coat and get a cup of coffee before reviewing the cash balances in his trust accounts to determine the required buys and sells needed for the day to service his customers’ cash-flow requirements. Jim had 120 trusts and estates in his portfolio, a fact he was proud of as a young trust officer just a few years out of law school. Understandably, these were smaller cases, with the biggest and most important cases being assigned to the assistant vice presidents, vice presidents and senior vice presidents in a pecking order directly linked to the importance and wealth of the customers. Union Bank and Trust Company was the largest bank in the state of Indiana, having been chartered right after Indiana became a state in 1816. Accordingly, it had the lion’s share of wealthy Hoosiers as customers, covering a wide range of industrialists, owners of large farm holdings, oil well owners, and just plain old second- and third-generation multimillionaires throughout the state. The learning curve for trust management was logical and prodding. As a young officer progressed in his career, he would be allowed to work on bigger and more complex trusts. There was no academic environment that offered this type of education to a probate lawyer. The only way to learn the business was to actually work on trusts and experience the broad variety of issues involving the personal family issues coupled with wealth management that presented itself to a trust department. Experience therefore meant everything in a trust officer’s training to be adaptable to a new situation when a new case arrived in the office. Only a few individuals were afforded this type of experience as they exited law school—a very enviable position for a young lawyer. Having been born into the business, Jim appreciated the advantage that his grandfather had afforded him and was determined to succeed. He realized all too well that dozens of young lawyers had applied for a job at Union and that he was no smarter than many of them. His grandfather’s legacy was paying big political dividends for him, and he could not afford to waste the opportunity he had been given.

The mood of the office was festive in anticipation of the Christmas reception planned for the afternoon. Many of the secretaries had made the effort to prepare cakes, candies, and other holiday delicacies that were placed on countertops and bookcases throughout the office for employees to munch on. At four in the afternoon, the office began to empty out as personnel headed toward the bank’s auditorium on the fifth floor to participate in the official celebration.

Union Bank had a strong, successful tradition of hosting a lavish Christmas event for the Indianapolis Bar Association. The entire bar of some five thousand members was invited, but historically, about five hundred members attended on a regular basis, justifying the marketing expense in the eyes of Mr. Kelso. The buffet featuring the best that local caterers had to offer and the traditional open bar featuring quality brands ensured that all the attorneys doing business with the trust department went home after a good meal and with severely compromised mental faculties. Mr. Kelso always insisted on having a lavish display of food and beverage for the bar members, stating, If you’re not going to have a nice spread, it’s better to not have any party at all.

Mixed in with the official guests from the bar association were the trust department staff members. All of the secretaries, wearing their Sunday best, mixed with the crowd along with the trust officers. The simple goal of the gathering was to thank the community lawyers for their patronage and see that everyone had a good time. Music was provided by a small orchestra playing traditional Christmas songs and musical favorites from the big band era.

Jim’s marching orders for the event were simple enough. He and all the other officers were to mix and mingle with the lawyers, thank them for their business during the year, and make sure they had a good time. Spending the right amount of time with each lawyer who entered was an important skill. Jim would endeavor to work the room, shaking hands and saying hello repeatedly, hoping to spend a least a moment or two with all the lawyers who favored Union Bank with their clients’ business. Of course, Jim had his favorites, as well as a shit list of lawyers he did not like or trust. Frequently, he would run into one of his grandfather’s contemporaries. Older lawyers who had been young and just starting out when his grandfather was head of the trust department enjoyed spending time with old Jim’s grandson. They would regale him with their own war stories, cases they had worked on with his namesake many years before. It was a good feeling for Jim and made him feel accepted and treated in some small way as a local VIP in the trust department. It did not, however, endear him to many of his contemporaries, who were jealous of his minor-celebrity status.

The party progressed as planned, and Mr. Kelso was noticeably pleased as the crowd began to thin out after three hours. As the density of people diminished, however, a new distraction was noticed by the boss. In the corner of the auditorium, Dave Walker was again on the warpath, talking and laughing loudly above the combined noise of the orchestra and the crowd. People were turning their heads and moving away from that corner of the room to avoid being drawn into his social vortex or becoming another victim of this crude brand of entertainment.

David had just accused Bill Simon, an older trust officer near retirement, of having the ugliest necktie he had ever seen and had proceeded to cut it off with a pocketknife. Bill initially stood there in disbelief, embarrassed and red in the face, not knowing how to react. As the gentleman he was, he quietly retreated from the auditorium toward the men’s restroom to remove the stub that remained and quietly exited the affair to terminate the incident.

Mr. Kelso firmly grabbed Jim’s arm from behind and whispered sternly into Jim’s ear. Jim, get that fucking idiot out of here. Take him home and drop him off. Can you do that for me?

Jim nodded his head in the affirmative. He knew that Kelso and everyone in the auditorium needed to protect the reputation of the trust department from any more collateral damage caused by a drunk officer making a scene in front of the department’s most important clientele during the most prestigious event of the business year.

Jim moved forward through the room, passing guests and staff members and smiling and wishing them a Merry Christmas as he approached Dave Walker, who was now standing at the bar, ordering a double martini.

Dave, I think it’s time to go. Let’s get outta here and go get some dinner. What do you say?

Why, it’s my favorite serf, Little Jimmy. How you doin’, good buddy? Why do you want to leave? The party’s just getting started.

I don’t think so, Dave. Most of the lawyers have left, and I’m tired. How about a ride home?

"Why the fuck do you think I need a ride, Jimmy?

I think you need a ride, Dave, because you already have two DUIs on your license, and if you get stopped again, you lose both your driver’s license and your license to practice law. That’s why. Let’s go, and don’t give me any more of your shit. I’m trying to help you here!

Dave was suddenly sullen, his mood noticeably having changed from happy to concerned, as he stared at Jim with a look of absolute hatred mixed with acknowledgment and despair. He knew Jim was right but hated him for it. He looked around the room and noticed several people staring at the standoff between the coworkers and suddenly realized that he had overstepped his boundaries—once again a victim of too much alcohol.

Dave dropped his glass, spraying vodka and ice on the carpet, and began to swagger toward the exit. Jim picked up the glass and placed it on the bar, grateful that Dave had not swung at him in a drunken rage. Jim then began to follow Dave out of the auditorium, hoping that the exit would be completed without another incident.

While Dave was throwing up in the trust department men’s room, Jim opened Dave’s desk drawer and took his car keys, knowing that was where he kept his personal papers and important items. When Dave returned, he immediately went to the drawer and began rifling through it. All right, asshole, what have you done with my car keys? he screamed. Give them to me right now!

Not a clue, Dave. Did you have them with you upstairs? Maybe you dropped them in the auditorium. The janitor will find them. We can get them tomorrow.

Just this once I’ll let you get away with this, Jimmy boy. Just this once because I feel like shit. Now take me home, serf-boy.

Neither Jim nor Dave made conversation as Jim’s car proceeded north on Delaware Street toward Dave’s subdivision. As Dave opened the window to throw up a second time, Jim pulled over and broke the silence. You throw up in my car, and this serf is going to kick your ass, Mr. Walker—understand?

Just get me home. I feel really bad.

Jim pulled up in front of Dave’s well-appointed home in the stylish Willow Farms subdivision where Jim had deposited him on several other occasions when Dave was under the weather. Jim had never been invited into his house, nor did he wish to be, preferring to be rid of his passenger as quickly as possible. Dave stumbled out of the car, and as he slammed the door of the car as hard as he could, Jim noticed Dave’s wife looking out the dining room window. The typical trophy wife, Sally was long-suffering in her endurance while dealing with her husband’s bad habits, seeming to hang on to the marriage in the hope of some unknown reward in the future for her willingness to endure her relationship with her notorious alcoholic husband.

As Dave walked toward his house, he yelled Thank you, asshole, symbolic payment in full for Jim having once again served as lackey for the trust department’s resident crazy person.

Jim, however, was grateful that the evening was over—mission accomplished with a relatively low level of fireworks. As he drove toward his apartment, he had mixed emotions about the evening; he was angry that Mr. Kelso had once again called upon him to be his cleanup man but also was grateful that Kelso felt Jim could handle difficult public relations issues for the good of the organization.

2

THE NEXT DAY BACK AT WORK

T he office was quiet the next day as the staff entered to take up their daily chores the morning after the party. It was Thursday, the middle of the week, and everyone under the rank of senior vice president had to show up, if for no other reason than to prove they had the stamina to survive the festivities and still function the day after the big event.

Naturally, Mr. Kelso, or the Cobra as he was known by the junior officers, was already sitting in his corner office reading the Wall Street Journal, as if to send a signal to the young bucks in the herd that he was the seasoned head of his domain and could out-drink, out-party, and out-fuck the entire staff whenever necessary and still be on time for work the next day. Mr. Kelso had earned his nickname by never letting you know when he was going to strike and by his ability to move quickly and in deadly fashion if he was upset about the trust department’s performance. He was a straitlaced traditional trust officer, trained by Jim’s grandfather and others to perform to the standard of excellence expected by the corporate fiduciary industry. Herbert Kelso had received his bachelor’s degree in economics from Columbia and his law degree from the University of Virginia. He was considered a man of few words, but when he spoke, you listened or ran the risk that he would not repeat himself. If you screwed up, it was only a matter of time before the Cobra would strike a devastating blow to your career. That was the odd thing about Mr. Kelso’s treatment of David Walker. Any other officer would have been fired on the spot. Why did the Cobra indulge him and allow him to get away with disorderly conduct time and time again? It was a mystery to everyone in the department with the possible exception of the senior vice presidents, who knew the department’s dirty secrets and thus perhaps knew the secret of David’s survival when confronted by the Cobra.

Everyone wished that the office party had been held on the Friday before Christmas instead of the Wednesday before so that they could begin the holiday break away from the tensions of the office. But traditionally, Mr. Kelso insisted that it be held in the middle of the week for a couple of reasons. Primarily, he knew that the lawyers in town would close their offices and take an extended weekend holiday break, causing poor attendance at his party. But his secondary reason was more calculating and political. He wanted to determine the staying power of his staff and their resilience. Would they show up for work as usual the next day and perform their duties as trust officers? The Cobra would spend the bulk of the day walking around the office, taking mental notes of who had shown up for work—ready to strike in his normal style. In a weird way it was his way of determining who had been naughty or nice, and like Santa Claus he would make a list of the good and bad boys of the trust department.

Everyone else knew this, including Jim, and he was on time with five minutes to spare, deliberately walking by the Cobra’s office to let him know that this was one young lion who could handle a party and still show up for work. In his loudest office voice, he began a conversation with his guardian angel Abby on his way to the bull pen. Good morning, Abby. Great party. You did a wonderful job as usual!

Abby, with a twinkle in her eye, smiled and responded on cue, as if the exercise had been rehearsed. Oh, Jim. You are nice to say so. But the real credit goes to Mr. Kelso. I’ll tell him you said so. By the way, he would like to see you as soon as you get your coffee and hang up your coat.

Jim proceeded to the coatroom and the coffeepot as if on a mission from God. Any face time with the Cobra was a good thing as long as you were sure you had not screwed something up. But today, Jim knew what this was all about. His boss wanted an after-action report on David.

Jim stuck his head in the door and leaned forward into the Cobra’s office. Is this a good time, Mr. Kelso?

Come in, Jim. Shut the door and sit down.

Jim eased himself into one of the overstuffed leather chairs in front of the Cobra’s desk. The desk was made of mahogany and spanned a width of almost eight feet in the largest office on the sixth floor, which was lavishly appointed with the finest commercial office furniture. The room brought back fond memories for Jim. It had been his grandfather’s office when Jim was a boy. James II had brought him in on many a Saturday when he was small, a lonesome boy who had no father. This had been his grandfather’s feeble effort to bond with his grandson and entertain the boy on long Saturdays. Jim reminisced about crawling under the desk and pretending it was a great fort that his father was protecting, firing his cap pistols at the invisible enemy who had killed his father in combat.

Jim snapped out of his daydream to pay attention to the boss—the next few minutes would be a test of his diplomacy and political savvy.

I want to thank you for handling our problem with David last night. Your grandfather would be proud of you. Did you get him home all right?

Yes, sir, Jim answered immediately. Walked him to the door, and Sally took charge.

"Listen, Jim, I know you’re tired of wiping David’s ass, and I hear you take a lot of crap off of him as well. People keep me informed. You should know there is nothing I can do about his situation right now, but I am working on it. You have