The Beach House

By Clifford Lueck

The inheritance left by her father draws Emily into reactivating his business including fund-raising through corporate donations tied to federal expenditures. Her agreement to administer the spending from the inherited offshore bank accounts pulls her into the underworld of subversive activity related to the Middle East conflict and the prisoners held at the Guantnamo Bay prison in Cuba. Emilys determination to adhere to her fathers principles of limiting spending to humanitarian efforts leads to charges of subversive activity as she uncovers details around her fathers sudden death. Emilys conflict with her mother over the beach property forces her into liaisons and investments to protect The Beach House, her sanctuary for her and her child, Susan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499061369

Clifford Lueck

The Beach House is Clifford Lueck’s sequel to Emily, The Inheritance that continues the saga of conflict with Emily’s mother over the estate and the tropical paradise home left to her by her father. He continues his writing while enjoying his three children, eight grandchildren and three great-grandchildren with wife, Anita, in Connecticut.

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Copyright © 2014 by Clifford Lueck.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 08/19/2014

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Prologue

The cacophony of the seabirds pierced the evening breeze overriding the soft sounds of the surf. Circling gulls watched the jogger lying near the water’s edge landing singularly at a safe distance. When the figure moved the seagulls retreated. He struggled to stand, staggered in the loose sand and haltingly retraced his steps up the beach. The baseball bat crushed into his back again with a sickening thwack rupturing a kidney. Falling face down in the sand, he raised his head blinking to clear his vision, but slid into unconsciousness.

The jogger’s shirt, wet with the night’s dew, glistened in the first rays of sunlight. The seagulls continued their vigil tiptoeing around the still body. One bold bird moved in and pulled on the jogging shorts, and with no response, pecked tentatively at the pooled blood in the sand. When a car pulled into the driveway the birds took flight, resettling down the beach. The intruder rolled the body over, knelt for a moment shaking his head in dismay, then felt for a jugular pulse. There was none. He phoned the local police.

Chapter One

Emily Robinson reclined her seat back closing her eyes to suppress the issues preying on her mind. She smiled, recalling the paternity test found in her father’s files confirming their relationship, then sobered with the awareness of his death. The two years since he died seemed forever yet it felt like yesterday. How she needed to talk to him about the bank accounts. Why did he leave them in her name?

She glanced at her mother in the adjacent window seat. The toddler, Susan, was comfortably nestled in her grandmother’s arms. Both were asleep. Her gaze swung to Jack dozing across from her. Accepting his offer to get a place together may have been a bit hasty. Finish school. Graduate. Get him back in engineering. Worry about the accounts later. She dozed, along with the rest of the passengers.

The seat belt sign illuminated. United Airlines flight 687 from Nassau was in its final approach.

Graduation exercises were held in the University field house. Emily was unable to locate her supporters in the crowded stands before making the pomp-and-circumstance march to the podium. She was pleased that Evelyn Carter, the paternal grandmother of her baby, came for the ceremony. Their time together with the baby steadily improved their relationship. The recent court order for child support discouraged Jerry Carter, Susan’s father, from attending. Most of all she wished her father could be here. He would have been so proud of his daughter finishing college while working to support herself and the baby.

Emily’s mother controlled the trust left by her husband. Margaret Robinson resented everything about the estate plan, especially naming her daughter as equal in sharing the assets. The recent court ruling voiding the will left Emily out of the estate altogether. When Mrs. Robinson learned of her husband’s offshore bank accounts in Emily’s name, she offered to split the estate with Emily if it included the accounts. The accounts turned out to be CIA monies held in joint tenancy by her husband with their daughter. Emily became sole owner on her father’s death and agreed to manage the accounts for the CIA frustrating her mother’s attempt to add this substantial asset to the estate.

The Dean of the College of Letters and Science called, Ms. Emily Robinson, Bachelor of Arts – Sociology. She grinned as she accepted her degree, shaking hands with the Dean and accompanying faculty members that wished her well while extending their stilted accolades.

The celebratory dinner following the ceremony was equally cordial with Emily’s mother exhibiting a surprising level of pride over her daughter’s accomplishment. Her bragging was unlike her usual critical approach in their relationship. Emily’s announcement of her plans to rent an apartment with Jack raised eyebrows but did not invoke a rebuke or a moral editorial on the living arrangement.

Emily, Jack and Mrs. Robinson planned to return to Nassau after graduation to enable Jack and Margaret Robinson to work on reactivating Mr. Robinson’s heavy equipment brokerage business. The brokering of earth-moving equipment would continue to be the cover for the CIA fund raising while Emily worked with Charles Bolden to authorize programs to utilize the existing $68 million held in the Nassau bank.

Charles was sending written proposals via private courier, and although they were extensive in detail, she could not understand them. Emily was determined to hold to the principles established by her father to authorize projects that were humanitarian in nature. In spite of her insistence to hold up on the frequency of the proposals, Charles was sending them at regular intervals. His pressure for her approvals made her more deliberate in her analysis further delaying any action. Although she was excited about returning to her beach house, Emily was not looking forward to reviewing the projects with Charles.

Charles was attentive, meeting their flight and driving them to the beach house. The flight was long and late, and although everyone was exhausted, Charles insisted on a meeting the following day. She stalled explaining the need to study her father’s files before making any decisions. Mrs. Robinson was anxious to learn about Charles’ role in her husband’s business and suggested the two of them meet the following afternoon while Emily finishes her homework.

Mrs. Robinson lifted Susan from her crib at the first sign of need. When Emily appeared on the veranda later in the morning, her mother and daughter were enjoying each other’s company. Susan was anxious to play in the sand and insisted they go down on the beach.

The women enjoyed watching Susan play near the water’s edge. Jack arrived shortly thereafter settling in next to Emily. He offered her a peck and a cup of coffee.

Welcome to paradise, Emily said.

This is OK, Jack answered as Susan barreled into him. She dragged him to the pile of sand she had constructed, smiling proudly over her accomplishment. Jack willingly joined her adding to the sand pile. When lunchtime approached, Emily left to retrieve drinks and snacks for the three of them.

Charles arrived as planned and he and Margaret left in Emily’s inherited Mercedes SL convertible leaving Charles’ ordinary sedan behind. Emily hadn’t thought about the problem with the two-seater coupe and the need for a baby seat for a family of three. Jack should be able to figure out something because she’s not about to give up her car for some stodgy thing. When nap time approached, Emily returned to the house with Susan, and then started on Charles’ project proposals.

It didn’t take long for Emily and Jack to realize the enormity of their tasks as they reviewed David Robinson’s files. Invoices dated back eight years. The number of vendors represented was confusing, and Jack thought some were subsidiaries of other corporations. It was hard to differentiate companies with post office box numbers in the same zip code. Jack pondered the equipment descriptions. He had no idea what some of this stuff was used for, but there was a lot of it. Sales favored the Middle East, especially Saudi Arabia with scattered invoices to Central and South America.

I don’t see how I can learn this business, Jack confided in Emily. I’ve been at this for two hours and I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.

I know what you mean. I’m just as confused.

What are you looking for?

I’m trying to tie Charles’ proposals to my Dad’s files. I’m thinking, if Dad did this before, maybe it’s OK for me to approve it again.

Any luck?

Not really. The authorizations are not specific enough.

Do you think there is a tie between his brokerage and the CIA thing?

I’ve assumed there wasn’t. The brokerage was just a cover for the other stuff.

Could Charles help us understand this?

I don’t know, Emily answered. He never gave me a straight answer about his involvement with Dad’s business. He admitted taking care of this house but nothing about the business.

Maybe he wasn’t involved, and all this is a cover for the CIA activity.

He never confirmed that he was CIA to me. Mother said he told her he was.

. . . and not your father?

"Charles said he was not, if we can believe him. Maybe that’s what Mother’s doing – checking him out. She seemed enamored with him when they first met. Called him a hunk. Kind of pushed him at me mentioning he was closer to my age than to her. He is cute."

Oh?

Not as cute as you, Sweetie, pecking him quickly on the cheek with a grin. I’ll bet they both have an agenda. Mother doesn’t fool around for the heck of it. She probably has a plan.

I’ll bet Charles has a plan too, Jack answered.

Emily sat back in her chair and stared at Jack recalling the last trip to Nassau and the unexpected meeting between Jack and Charles.

What?

Nothing. Just wondering.

About what? he asked.

About you and Charles. You never did explain your dealings with him.

What dealings?

The dealings you had before I came down. Is there anything you’re keeping from me?

Not really. I came to check him out. I offered to deal him in – pretending I had an agreement with Jerry Carter. I was trying to confirm that he was working for Jerry and if we joined forces we could get a bigger piece of the action. I don’t know if he was checking me out at the same time by going along with my proposal to set up a new account so we could transfer it to Jerry. I think he was conning me and planned to take the money back to the CIA. Stiff Jerry and me. Since you didn’t let Naomi do the account, nothing happened.

What would you have done if I did transfer the money to him and Charles took it for Jerry?

I guess I’d be rich and out-a-here.

Jack …!

I’m just kidding. I wouldn’t have screwed you out of the money.

"Jack, you didn’t know then that the accounts were in my name not Dad’s. You were worried about my mother getting them."

Well, yeah.

Did you have a deal with Jerry?

. . . I didn’t have any deal.

The two parties sat questioning the other’s answers. Emily’s gut told her there were some details left out.

You know, Jack, you are the one person I feel I can trust. I don’t trust Mother. Definitely not Jerry. I’m not sure about Charles. All I have is you.

You got me, baby. Trust me.

Trust you?

I have your best interest at heart. Really.

Can I trust you enough to share my problems with Charles’ project proposals?

Absolutely. I’m the most trusting person on earth.

Emily scoffed. Charles has been adamant about secrecy and doesn’t want me to share anything with anyone.

What if it’s illegal or something? Jack asked.

That’s part of what I worry about. I can’t do this alone. I need help.

Well, I need help too. I thought your mother was going to help revive your dad’s business. I’m supposed to be helping her not the other way around. So, she’s off fooling around with Charles.

Maybe she’s softening him up.

Yeah, right, Jack said, shaking his head.

The demands from the bedroom closed off further conversation as Susan called for attention. Emily gave Jack one final skeptical look and left to retrieve her baby.

Mrs. Robinson returned in early evening in a jubilant mood. Her vague responses provided little information as to her afternoon’s activities with Charles but whatever she was doing seemed to agree with her. She returned to shower and rest-up before meeting him for dinner.

When Charles returned, he asked Emily for a meeting the following day to begin authorizing payments on the programs. She stalled, confessing she had not had time to deal seriously with the proposals. He told her they had an appointment with the Nassau Sovereign Bank two days from now to start the funding transactions. With that deadline, she would have to buckle down and figure this thing out – and make some decisions.

Emily prepared her version of a luau and served the food on the veranda. Jack steered the conversation to the CIA proposals urging her to open up and let him help her.

Here you go, Jack. There are eight proposals. She slid the first document toward him. This one has to do with Somalia. I know where that is – it’s East Africa. It’s to provide $1.5 million to somebody I can’t pronounce in Mogadishu. It claims this guy represents a minority religious party and the money is for medical supplies. The country is mostly Muslim. I wonder what kind of minority religion this is. Must be Christian.

Jack leafed through the write-up. Scowling he said, That doesn’t give us much to go on. Isn’t this the place full of pirates?

What pirates?

Those guys that were grabbing ships coming through the Suez Canal and ports off Saudi Arabia. Holding them for ransom. Remember they took one of our ships. Our Navy Seals intercepted and killed a couple to get their attention.

I remember.

He passed the document back. This smells bad to me.

What do you mean?

I don’t buy it. The country is full of refugees from all over the place. Government is corrupt and the UN has the country at the top of their list for aid. This money is a pittance. It sounds more like grease money. Grease somebody’s palm – not a religious thing.

Do you think Charles would try to con me, Jack?

The CIA doesn’t go around doing good deeds. They muck around in other people’s business and mess with governments we don’t like. It looks phony to me.

If it’s really for medical supplies I want to do something, Emily pleaded.

Jack shook his head. If you want to give money for medical supplies, why don’t you send it to the UN relief fund and specify it has to go to Somalia? I’m sure they would love you for it.

That’s a good idea. And if Charles fights us that will confirm this is not a legitimate thing.

She passed the next document to Jack. This has to do with that prison, Abu Ghraib, in Iraq. Charles wants $1.1 million for recreational equipment for the prisoners there.

That’s the place with the big scandal over torturing those people we rounded up in Iraq and Afghanistan, Jack said.

You mean terrorists?

Who knows? None of them were ever tried. Just jailed.

Shouldn’t they have some recreation like regular prisoners? What’s wrong with buying them basketballs or something? Soccer balls.

How many soccer balls can you buy for a million bucks?

A bunch, I guess.

What does that tell you?

Smells? Emily asked.

After all the hubbub over the torture thing, we supposedly turned the prison over to the Iraqis. So why do we want to buy sports equipment?

Do you think we’re still involved?

Don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised. We still have Guantánamo going you know. Same difference.

Another con job by Charles?

Smells a little – but call me suspicious by nature.

We make a good pair. I’m too trusting and you have a suspicious mind. So what do you think I should do with this one?

If the CIA wants to do something for our prisoners, whether it’s sports equipment or whatever, why not do it for those guys sitting in Guantánamo? That’s not far from here. Why don’t you tell Charles you’d like to go there and check it out? See what they need.

Go to the prison in Cuba?

Sure … ask … why not we both go down there to check it out and then maybe give them some money?

I don’t think Charles would buy that.

Probably not. But if he was serious about helping prisoners, this would be an option – or confirm that it’s just another sham proposal to fund some shady crap in Iraq.

You’re a genius. She bent over the table and kissed him.

The remaining six proposals were more convoluted and confusing than the first two. With their questioning analysis, they were increasingly skeptical of the proposals. Jack thought Charles might be testing her to see if she was going to be a soft touch.

At the end of the exercise, Emily was very uncomfortable with her conclusions. She would have to confront Charles, which was not her strength. She wondered how Dad was able to sort through these deals if Charles used the same approach with him. Was she considered a patsy compared to Dad, and he assumed she would go along with these things because they looked humanitarian on the surface? She wondered if she was fantasizing over the $68 million thinking she could do something important in the world.

Emily spent much of the following day writing an analysis of each of Charles’ proposals, tabulating the issues for each document. She then wrote a summary of her analysis with a conclusion and recommendation for each. The negative connotation of her conclusions, that these were sham proposals, left her pleased with her work but fearful of the confrontational meeting that had to follow.

Margaret Robinson spent much of the day on the veranda entertaining her granddaughter. Late in the day, she noticed Emily’s isolation and went to the study to check on her. Emily tried to brush off her questions but her mother insisted on getting involved.

Initially, Margaret was contemplative; impressed with the depth of thought and professional level of the write-ups Emily created. But as she probed for additional basis, other sources for Emily’s conclusions, her challenges became critical and belittling. When Emily failed to identify any expert references, depending on Jack and her limited knowledge of the issue, Margaret questioned whether Emily had the right to challenge them based on intuition and her own feelings. Obviously a lot was assumed and Margaret insisted that Emily was not in a position to impose her ideals on Charles or the CIA that may be contrary to the bigger picture.

Here was the mother telling her to follow directions and cooperate, who just a short time earlier, encourage her to take on managing the accounts pointing out her competence and integrity. When Emily resisted, arguing her position more fervently, her mother badgered her, pointing out her inexperience in the real world. Emily was hurt by her mother’s criticism and withdrew from the discussion. Jack heard the exchange but did not intervene.

After Susan was bedded for the night, Jack asked Emily to take a walk on the beach, leaving Margaret to mind the sleeping child. The couple strolled leisurely, hand-in-hand, letting the tropical evening work its magic. Emily’s thoughts were not on the confrontation with her mother but had moved on to the meeting with Charles in the morning.

I overheard the discussion you had with your mother this afternoon, Jack stated.

I wouldn’t call it a discussion.

Are you hurting, Babe?

I guess.

Me too, for you, Jack replied, reaching his arm around her shoulders pulling her close to him as they walked. He steered her down the beach closer to the water’s edge playfully pretending to walk her into the water. She pushed back, grabbed his waist and tried to switch places to put him on the water’s side. He resisted, and the struggle for control brought them in face-to-face contact. Emily relaxed her hold conveying a yielding posture to his superior strength. He embraced her in response to what he felt was her objective, offering a kiss. She raised herself and as their lips touched, she mustered all her strength, swinging him into the surf. He was caught off guard landing flat on his back in the water – drenched. The war was on.

She sprinted down the beach, anticipating his retaliatory move that was sure to follow. A very soggy Jack took off after her. They must have sprinted a hundred yards before she left the firm wet sand for higher ground where she dropped raising her hands in surrender. He fell in beside her, both panting to catch their breaths. She was giggling, trying to get serious, leaning toward him to get the kiss he had offered moments before. He pecked tentatively, grinning as he chastised her, You’re in trouble, girl.

I’m not in trouble. You are. And if you’re not careful, I’ll throw you back in the water, Emily chortled.

You and whose army?

I don’t need an army – just kiss this poor defenseless girl.

They embraced in an extended kiss. Jack slowly lowered his arm grabbing her under her knees. He picked her up and headed for the water struggling mightily in the loose sand with his burden. She squealed in anticipation of the outcome. Not willing to submit to the inevitable dunking, she began thrashing to loosen his hold. She was a handful, taking Jack’s total effort to hang onto her as they crashed into the surf. She squirmed away, rejecting his attempt to kiss her as the small waves swept over them. She jumped to her feet and took off running down the beach. Good God, woman, he cried, taking off after her.

The meeting took place at the Nassau Sovereign Bank with the bank clerk, Naomi Peterson, present and poised to begin the paper work for the transactions. The one-on-one meeting Emily had envisioned with Charles was expanded when Jack insisted he be involved. Surprisingly, Margaret did not push to attend and accepted her role to baby-sit Susan. This was Emily’s first trip with her convertible and she grinned all the way into town, assuring Jack that he could drive back if he behaved himself. Their romp in the surf the previous night had eased much of the tension over the