A Crooked Few

By Andrew B. Louis

The routine meets the unbelievable. A wealthy French physician and his wife create an offshore trust in the Cayman Islands for the benefit of their children and grandchildren. However, both the physician and his wife die without having revealed the existence of the trust to their children.

The hero, a retired senior asset management executive, finds out by accident that he and his siblings might be beneficiaries of a trust which has grown to more than $600 million! Yet as he and his friend, who works at the bank that manages the money in the trust, dig into the trust and its history, they find irregularities.

In order to ensure that the police or the internal authorities of the bank are not brought in to look at frivolities, the hero and his friend conduct a thorough investigation of what may have happened, looking for the potential guilty parties. This takes them throughout the Caribbean, to Florida, and to Canada. The intrigue digs into investment management, trust, accounting, and legal issues along with the usual human aspects of a variety of protagonists.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781638816157

Book preview

Acknowledgments

Though all the writing and errors are solely my own doing, a number of people contributed to the creation of the text. I would like to thank the numerous friends and family members who were kind enough to comment on various drafts and led me to make material changes for the better. A special mention is reserved for my wife who labored through so many versions that I am sure she has lost count.

Preface

The events described here are plausible, as they have been sampled from a number of different real-life situations. However, all the parties to this story are totally fictitious, and if there was some resemblance with individuals or institutions, it would be purely coincidental.

Prologue

September 2018

Naples, Florida

What? Six hundred million? Dollars?

Pierre Bricard paused for a second and then, emphasizing each word individually and his voice higher by at least ten decibels, repeated, "Six hundred million dollars? Jack, come on, you’ve got to be kidding. Have you been drinking?"

*****

The phone on Pierre’s desk had rung. He had picked it up and said with a mellow voice, Pierre Bricard.

Ah, Pierre…

Yes, great to hear your voice, Jack. What can I do for you?

Pierre had recognized the voice at the other end of the line. It belonged to Jack Feron, a relationship manager at Royal Bank of Ontario in Nassau who had become a dear friend in the last couple of decades.

Though retired from his corporate activities, Pierre had created a wealth management consulting practice. As such, he had been serving on the management committee of a couple of trusts; these had been based respectively in North Dakota and Cayman for many years. These trusts were related to one of the clients he enjoyed the most. They allowed him to focus on helping manage the financial assets, which had been his main business for forty years or more. More importantly, in contrast to many of his other clients, they also allowed him to participate in the allocation of a significant annual philanthropic budget. The grantor had built philanthropy and taking care of his descendants as the two sole purposes of the trust. It had given Pierre a chance to meet interesting people, many of whom had become personal friends.

*****

Jack lived and worked in Nassau in the Bahamas. He came from the Canadian Midwest—as he called Manitoba—the province where his ancestors had settled after emigrating from Normandy in France at least two or three generations before his father’s. He was educated in Canada and had pursued a career in the wealth management industry. It had taken him principally within Canada, but also to New York, for a brief period of time. His wife, however, was one of these wonderful people who, despite or maybe because of having grown up in the Minnesota cold, craved the sun and warm weather. Jack often joked that she would likely be cold if she lived in Singapore, a city-state about eighty-five miles north of the equator. As soon as Jack found out there was a possibility for him to move to Nassau all the while staying with the Royal Bank of Ontario, his wife had fallen in love with the idea. Jack had jumped at the opportunity, as he thought, Happy wife, happy life.

In his mind, he had totally accepted that the move was probably ending any chance he might have had to climb the corporate ladder further. Though this may have meant swallowing some pride or ambition, he knew that it would not affect their standard of living. His wife came from a privileged background; the financial assets which eventually came to them from her family, together with their own savings, gave them what Jack liked to call the drop-dead money. He did not have to kowtow to anyone. He did not need to keep accumulating more goods or financial assets to be able to lead the comfortable life he wanted. He could also pass enough onto their children so that, in the words of many family advisers to the wealthy, they could focus on being the best they could be at something they loved doing. They would not have to take a job, any job, just to put food on the table or a roof over their heads. They would have the luxury of working at what they liked best, even if it was not the most lucrative endeavor. Jack would often add with a whimsical glow in his eyes, What’s the point of being the richest corpse in the cemetery?

*****

When the phone rang, Pierre Bricard was sitting at his desk in his spacious home, in the library which he used as his office. When he was not traveling, his daily routine did not change much. He would work in the library, a room with eighteenth century French Regency furniture and beautiful Persian rugs scattered about the floor. He would take some time out every few hours to go sit outside to breathe in fresh air or to allow his mind to wander a bit. Then back to the salt mines, or more precisely, to his beloved library contemplating both old and newer books and a painting which had adorned his own father’s office.

Though impressive by any standard, the Bricard house had somewhat of an understated feeling to it. Admittedly, it was quite spacious, probably more spacious than the couple really needed. Yet Pierre often quoted an old French car advertisement which had struck him: What if extra space was the ultimate luxury? The advertisement was designed for an automobile whose name translated into English as space. In his case, he liked to have what he called nice vistas. To him, it meant that his line of sight could get lost into the distance without bumping into walls. For instance, from the sofa in the library, he could see the living room in the distance. He viewed that as expanding his current space.

Yet the house which he and his wife Karen built had been designed in a way such that it was less impressive from the outside than from the inside. Pierre and Karen did not believe in advertising their financial status. In fact, they felt that it should remain totally private. This was in part what had attracted them to the West Coast of Florida, the so-called Florida Midwest, while quite a few of their acquaintances from the New York area had moved to the East Coast of the state, where wealth is more lavishly visible.

Their main concern when they built the house was that it would allow them to live comfortably; they did not want to be rattling about in a huge home. Yet at the same time, they wanted plenty of space, occasionally for dinner parties with friends and, more importantly, to allow them to welcome their four children and their families whenever they visited at the same time. The first floor of the house was designed for Pierre and Karen; it had a nice master suite, a library and a gym, alongside the usual kitchen, living room, and dining room. They did not need to go upstairs if they did not want to, except when Karen wanted to play the piano, which sat on a mezzanine level overlooking the two-story-high living room, right next to the concert harp with which she had dabbled from time to time. Yet family guests and friends could find plenty of sleeping space on the second floor. There, the house had five bedrooms, the fifth being a sort of grandchildren sleeping quarters with bunk beds. In addition, the second floor had a TV room, which others might have called a movie room; however, Pierre and Karen had dispensed with movie-theater-like seating. Plain sofas did the work very well in their view. Having a TV upstairs allowed them to avoid TV noise downstairs, even if grandchildren wanted and were allowed to watch a movie. The house indeed only had three TV sets, one in the gym, one hidden in the living room, and the last in the TV room.

What made the house quite unusual in the South Florida environment was the way it was decorated and furnished. Pierre and his family had spent a number of years overseas in both Europe and Asia. They had accumulated a number of local treasures, a few of them very valuable, others less so, from these places which, as they often remarked, others only visit as tourists. They loved to browse in classical antique boutiques where they found a piece that was both of interest and reasonably priced. Additionally, both Pierre’s and Karen’s parents had owned a number of true collectibles, whether in terms of furniture or art works; they had now inherited many of these after the prior generation had passed away.

Karen loved to say that the decor was eclectic. The classical kind of understatement you might expect from a Midwestern girl. Pierre liked to confide, but only to his closest friends, that most people would likely never realize that the things that were inside the home were surely collectively more valuable than the house itself. But these same close friends would probably add that they knew the Bricards’ valuables were treasured more for their sentimental or artistic value than their financial worth. The Bricards steadfastly refused to be owned by things as they said.

*****

As per his usual routine, even before having breakfast with Karen, Pierre had sat at his desk and quickly scanned headlines online; that gave him a sense of the top news of the day. He also had taken a look at the numerous emails he received from a large variety of service providers who wanted to have him or his clients become their clients. He just wanted to be sure there was no emergency that needed his immediate attention. He would then go have his breakfast with Karen, inside the house or outside on the terrace depending upon the weather. When done, he started work in earnest.

He managed Bricard Associates, a wealth management consulting firm he had created after retiring from a successful career in the investment management business. The firm, which he ran with Karen, only had a small number of clients, which allowed for a more intimate relationship with each family they served. Their main focus was to sit on the same side of the table as the client and help them to avoid as many as possible of the traps that laid in wait. As Pierre often repeated, I’ve seen a lot of these traps, fallen in quite a few of them. Clients should be able to learn from my mistakes. Then he added with a wink and a smile, We’re all creative enough to discover new traps. No need for a repeat performance on old ones.

In the last few years, Pierre had started to think that Karen and he had reached the time when they could slow down a bit. Just like Jack, he felt that they had plenty of money and did not need much more. So Karen and he defined their financial goals less as to add to or hold onto and more to give away or pass on wealth.

*****

Pierre and Jack had grown quite close over the last twenty years. Jack had become the lead relationship manager for the trust on whose management committee Pierre served. Not only did they have similar general outlooks on life, but also they both were keen and, in fact, quite good golfers. They typically made it a point to have at least one round of golf together when they met with the management committee of the trust. Coincidentally, Jack was married to a high school classmate of Pierre’s wife, Karen. Molly, Jack’s wife, was from Minnesota, just as Karen. They had both grown up in Edina, a ritzy suburb of Minneapolis. They both had attended the international school in Eden Prairie as both sets of parents wished for them to be exposed to the multilingual and multicultural environment offered by a school which was part of a global network originally founded in Lebanon. Molly had met Jack at McGill University in Montreal, from which they both received their bachelor’s degrees. Pierre had met Karen in business school, Kellogg at Northwestern University, where he studied after having earned a solid degree in France. Molly’s and Karen’s parents were both members at the Interlachen Country Club, one of the premier golf and country clubs in the Twin Cities, and arguably in the United States. When they met in Cayman for the first time as wives, the two ladies had been quite surprised. They were then delighted to catch up and rekindle the relationship they had enjoyed thirty-five years earlier or so.

*****

Pierre was brought back from his mental meanderings to the phone call by Jack’s blunt declaration, Pierre, I need to see you.

Sure. Hey. What’s wrong, my friend?

Not sure. Don’t think there’s anything bad. I may have stumbled on something crazy. You’re the only one who can clear it up. Could actually be great news.

Doubt I really am. By the way, great news for whom?

Not on the phone…face-to-face. Are you around Thursday?

Around where?

Naples?

Pretty sure I am. Let me check. Yep, not traveling this week…or next for that matter.

Lucky you. How about a golf game in Pelican Fairways? I hear they have remodeled one of the three courses.

Sure… The Lakes. They did a great job, though they kind of dumbed it down a bit too much for my taste. By the way, something wrong with the trust?

No. As I said, don’t worry.

Then tell me why is it that I am worrying?

Should not have tried to be dramatic to catch your attention. Trust me. Nothing is wrong.

Okay, if you say so. When can you get here?

There’s a United Flight to Tampa tomorrow afternoon. I’ll book a hotel.

Pierre interrupted, Jack, don’t be an idiot.

What?

Drive down here and stay with us. We can have a game the next morning early enough for us to chat and have lunch. Then you can catch a return flight to Nassau that evening.

You sure?

You know Karen…

Sure do. Know the house too. Deal.

*****

Jack arrived in Naples just in time for a before-dinner drink, which they decided, exceptionally, to have in Pierre’s office. Normally, they would have sat outside, by the pool, watching the pond with the large alligator in it and, beyond the pond, the short fairway and the green of the eighth hole of the valley course, a great par three, with a lot of water and bunkers to match. Pierre always chuckled when thinking of how one could name a course the Valley in a state where the highest elevation, Britton Hill, is 345 feet. It was all the funnier to him as he had, while growing up, been a member of the Racing Club de France, La Boulie, a country club just outside of Paris. That club also had a course called La Vallée, but that one did deserve its name, with many ups and downs. And in those days, no motorized golf carts!

Wishing to have a bit of peace and quiet for their discussion, they slid the doors shut and sat on the sofa under the fauve painting.

Pierre began, So, my friend, what’s up?

Fasten your seat belt, Pierre.

Pierre looked at him quizzically. Still trying to get my attention? By the way, if that’s your goal, you’ve succeeded.

Jack explained that he had just realized that an account that his office had covered several years earlier was quite unusual. He surprised Pierre again by asking, What’s your father’s first name?

Lucien. But he’s been dead for nearly forty years. You knew that, right?

Jack had forgotten and almost mechanically said he was sorry. He then asked, What did he do for a living?

Was a cardiologist.

How about your mother?

Assume you mean her name, Pauline Bricard. But she’s been dead for nearly thirty years. Matter of fact, she died in ’92. I was the executor to their estate.

Ahhh. What was her maiden name?

Pierre displayed a bit of impatience. Jack added, Almost finished. So your mother’s maiden name?

De Gambe.

Jack smiled and deadpanned. Oh, aristocracy. Of course. Should have guessed…your pinky ring… The crest above the door. Then he resumed his questioning, Do you have any siblings?

What’s this all about, Jack? What does it have to do with anything?

Pierre, please trust me, trust me.

Pierre calmed down a couple of notches and replied, Two siblings, both younger than I. A brother, Maurice, and a sister, Caroline, both MDs. Caroline died in 1995, but her husband is still going strong, a wonderful man. Denis’s his name, and he is an MD too, a GYNOB.

Can’t say you have had a lot of luck with your family.

Pierre thought for a second and smiled. Ahhh, you mean that too many died too young.

Yeah. How much do you know of your parents’ financial situation?

Pierre was taken aback by the question and was starting to get mildly annoyed. He had just told Jack that both parents had been dead for more than a quarter century, that he was the older of three children and the only one involved in finance and was the executor of their estate. How could he not know his parents’ financial situation intimately?

His voice a few decibels higher than normal, he muttered, I think I know it all. As the only son who knew about finances, as I just told you, I was the executor of the estate. Whatever they had is now my brother’s name, my sister’s children’s names, or mine. So I can’t see what I wouldn’t know.

Jack smiled, tilted his head to one side as if to say he realized his question had not been particularly smart. Yet he went straight on with the interrogation as if he were a prosecuting attorney or a machine gun. Any money outside of France?

Assume you mean my parents. Not that I know of, not when they died, and obviously not now. Only money in the family offshore France is what Karen and I have… I think. Though who knows, we don’t much talk money when we get together, Maurice, Denis, and I. He added, "I said Karen and I have offshore money, but even that makes little sense. I’m not sure what offshore means to us. Karen is an American citizen, and I still have my French passport, though I have been a US permanent resident for nearly thirty years… So stuff in France is onshore for me and offshore for her and vice versa, I guess."

Jack took a deep breath, and smiling even more broadly, he said, Well, my friend, brace yourself. There may be something about your parents you don’t know.

Like what?

You and your wife may be the beneficiaries of a piece of a $600 million trust.

What? Come again. Be serious.

"I am serious. You heard me, $600 million."

Chapter 1

May 1968

Paris

Lucien Bricard was probably the best known vascular and cardiac surgeon in France at the time. If truth be known, he had initially planned on becoming an engineer, growing up in an affluent but not wealthy family in Paris. With the Second World War looming, he had elected not to attend L’Ecole Polytechnique to which he had been admitted; its military character worried him. He was not antimilitary in any way. His father himself had been wounded in the First World War. In fact, he had eventually died from the deferred effects. Yet Lucien definitely did not wish to be serving on the front. He saw it as a waste of talent, illustrating one of his character traits; he knew his worth and was not shy about it. Some might have called it arrogance; he called it being intellectually honest. He often argued that the people he found the most distasteful were those who practiced what he called false modesty.

He thought he could help his country without going to the front. He had experienced quite an easy scholastic cursus, finishing always first or second in his class year after year. His parents rightly kept pushing him, but they also never let him forget that his intellect and drive were gifts from God. It was his God-given duty to work hard and use them to the maximum. So rather than joining the engineering school, he elected to apply and was immediately admitted to medical school. He completed his general practitioner cursus and chose a residency in cardiology. He used to say that the specialty was a fascinating mix of mechanics and physiology. This appealed to him.

Early on, he had attracted the attention of Professor Camus, the head of the Institute of Cardiology at the famous Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital in Paris. In the late 1950s, he was sent on a Fulbright scholarship to the Cleveland Clinic in Cleveland, then the best hospital for cardiology in the United States. He followed that stint with another shorter one at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago. He remained within the French public health system when he returned to his home country, practicing both at the hospital and in its private clinic. The combination of the two gave him the opportunity to earn an excellent income on the private side, all the while earning laurels and admiration on the public side. In addition, he loved to teach and became a full professor in cardiology before the age of forty. Eventually, to no one’s surprise, when Professor Camus retired, Lucien succeeded him at the head of the Institute of Cardiology.

He was both brilliant and lucky. Intellectually, he had the uncanny ability to simplify any problem, identifying what was crucial and avoiding the distractions associated with what was peripheral. At the same time, he also had the analytical skills to solve many of the complex issues as well. He could explain what he was doing to all but the least qualified listeners. That made him an excellent teacher, though his children would at times, but never within his ear sight, argue that he spent little time explaining much of anything to them. He also had unusual manual dexterity, being, among other things, perfectly ambidextrous; this was a huge asset in the operating theater. He was also a bit of a showman; he knew how to use his dexterity both to serve his clients but also to polish his own image. He loved to dazzle assistants and nurses by working at the operating table with one hand and then shifting to the other if that offered better or more practical access.

His engineering passion, his original love, however, had never really left him. In the mid-1960s, he met an individual, Dr. Michel Jegou, who had a PhD in materials sciences and was a mechanical engineer. They shared a passion for the arts and would regularly have lunch together, at least once a month, if only to catch up. Dr. Jegou did not have the same financial means as Dr. Bricard, and the lunches more often than not involved Lucien Bricard showing off his latest acquisitions to his friend.

One day, Dr. Bricard was expressing his frustration at the limitations imposed on cardiac surgeons by heart-lung machines. He conceded that they had made open-heart surgery possible and thus had been a wonderful, crucial technological advance. Yet he viewed them as cumbersome and slow. Dr. Jegou jumped on the idea and asked whether he had any idea of how they could make the machine more efficient.

Dr. Bricard replied, Frankly, at this point, I have nothing special but still have an intuition.

What? Let’s hear it, Lucien.

The valve actuators could work more smoothly.

*****

Years later, Pierre would tell stories of how, after the family had had dinner in the large apartment they shared in the sixteenth arrondissement in Paris at the top of Rue Raynouard, Dr. Bricard would excuse himself from the living room or the smaller TV room and retire to his library to work on his research. The apartment was large enough for each child to have his own room, a rarity in Paris at that time. It offered unobstructed views on the Parc de Passy, the Seine and, slightly to the east, the Eiffel Tower and the Champs de Mars.

Pierre used to say that his parents’ apartment was a bit of a museum, with exquisitely fine period furniture, a vast collection of Asian art,