Chapter 3

We spent the slightly more than two-hour flight to the coast going over what Jake had mostly outlined the day before. There were a couple of points of interest for me though, that I made sure I got a full briefing on.

I was a minor but, when I reached sixteen, I would have almost unlimited authority to do what I wanted with the trust. The lawyer assigned as the trustee by the law firm would take directions from me and, unless overruled by a majority of the trustees or the request was illegal, would follow my directions. I could do almost as much today at fifteen, though any large disbursements would have to be countersigned by a trustee or denied in writing, that denial to be reviewed by the other trustees and, if I wanted, a court appointed arbiter.

Once I was sixteen, even that control would be gone. I could direct the trust to buy or sell real estate on my behalf, provide direction to the broker who managed the trading account, though actual directions for specific trades might be problematic since they had to go through the trustees. I could do just about anything I wanted including giving it all away, as long as the trustees were certain that I was not being coerced or forced in any way.

I thought this sounded okay, since it was all free money as far as I was concerned. The only snag would be if the trustees were a bunch of dicks or if they got together and decided to screw me. The safety valve there was a condition that any disagreement between me and a trustee (or all of them!) that could not be settled could be pushed, by either party, to arbitration before a judge who would make the final decisions.

One trustee was a lawyer from the firm, one was law clerk for the judge who had oversight for the state and one was Rene DeBlasio, my therapist!

“Jake, I thought Rene said she didn’t know about the money?”

“She didn’t. Oh, I suppose that if she had read through all of the small print on the guardianship paperwork, she might have realized she would also be a trustee, but it wasn’t something we advertised for safety reasons. Until or unless an accounting is requested or a decision is needed that requires all three trustees, only the lawyer assigned to the trust by the firm I hired was really aware of all of the provisions of the trust, much less the assets. Even the Judge doesn’t know, this being small change compared to the money the feds are holding for you.”

I wasn’t sure I understood but okay.

The other thing I learned was that I had an expense account. I had an account that I could access with a card that the trustees would provide. There was a five thousand dollar per transaction limit on the card, but the only other limit was how much I had in the associated money market account. Currently, there was nine million in that account.

Terry, my new attorney, handed me an envelope that contained an American Express card. He explained that any charges made against the card would be paid monthly by the trust and that the limit of five thousand was an arbitrary figure that I could, with the agreement of the trustees (until I was sixteen), raise or lower at any time. When I turned sixteen, my limit would be whatever was in the account at the time.

Jake had been quiet this whole time, already knowing what the trust contained since he set it up. He did speak up at this point though to interject some interesting information.

“Jack, the attorney for your other trust, the state run one, asked if he could meet us in Galveston instead of flying with us. He said he has a major fear of flying but would drive down and meet with us tomorrow. I am afraid I don’t know a whole lot about how that trust is structured, except for broad strokes, so I can’t tell you what the restrictions are there. You’ll find out tomorrow, I suppose.”

“I will? You won’t be there?”

“Jack, it is none of my business, really. You don’t have to have me looking over your shoulder. I wouldn’t be here listening in to this discussion if I hadn’t been the one to set it all up in the first place.” Jake said reasonably.

“Would you, I mean, I would like you to be present when I meet with the other lawyer. I am way over my head here.” I said quickly, suddenly sure I wanted all the help I could get.

He just smiled and nodded his head.

“You too, Terry. So, do you work for me or for the trust?”

“Hmm ... My ethics professor would say I worked for the one who pays me, but my pay is being billed to the trust so...” He grinned but he could see I wanted facts, not jokes. “I work for my firm, Jack. They assigned me to the trust and bill the trust for my time.”

“So, they could assign someone else then, like that ass that was here earlier? Do I have any say in the matter?”

Terry looked thoughtful and pulled out his own copy of the trust paperwork. He thumbed through and tapped a spot about two thirds of the way through the inch-thick document.

“I thought I remembered something in there! It says here that the associate assigned to the trust must be agreeable to both the client, you, and the firm, my bosses. Again, in the case of a dispute that cannot be reconciled, a court appointed arbiter would make the decision. If that were to come to pass, there is a codicil here that gives the arbiter the ability to move the trust to another firm agreeable to the principal. That’s you.”

“Geez, Terry. English?”

He grinned at me and complained. “That was English, Jack! If you don’t like who they assign, make them assign someone else. If they insist, tell the Judge and his arbiter will smack the firm down, maybe even remove the trust all together. They will give you what you want, Jack.”

“Good, then until further notice, you are the only one I want working directly on the trust.”

He gave me a happy thumbs-up. “I’ll write that up and get you to sign it with a witness for the records.”

Terry then showed me, in the paperwork that Jake had been carrying around, the property I now owned in Galveston. There was a large marina, owned by D&D Properties. The marina mostly rented slips to boat owners but it also housed several boats belonging to D&D Charters and / or D&D Rentals. A hundred and forty slips that would fit up to a fifty-footer, and a dozen that would accommodate those a hundred feet up to one-twenty. Anything larger would have to rent two slots but, if needed, they could accommodate one up to two hundred and seventy feet.

The Marina leased space to a yacht sales company, a restaurant, a concierge boat service that handled cleaning, victuals, entertainment and even fuel and last, but not least, a fishing and bait shop.

The house in Galveston was just a couple of places down from the Marina, past the non-profit Sea Star Base and a smaller marina that catered to that organization and its members. The house wasn’t ostentatious, at least not compared with the neighbors, but was three floors and about twelve thousand square feet. It had a pool, a private dock and a boathouse that held a forty-five-foot motor catamaran. The boathouse had a three-bedroom apartment on the top two floors for the crew.

The headquarters for Deckhouse Designs Inc. was in Houston, in the Wedge International tower. It wasn’t that far, less than fifty miles as the crow flies.

We landed at Scholes International Airport, a bit of a grandiose name for an airport that had seen better days. It wasn’t bad sized, but there were maybe a dozen small, privately owned aircraft on the apron and three helicopters, two of them looking like they were being cannibalized for parts. There looked to be some activity down at the far end, but it was too far away to be seen clearly through the heat waves coming off the tarmac.

We were met by a big Ford Excursion and a team of four men. The trip from the airport to the house and Marina would have taken a whopping ten minutes but we had to circle around Offat’s Bayou, the bay that the marina was on, and the circuitous route added twenty minutes at this time of day.

The Pelican Rest Marina was kind of cool to see. There were about forty-five boats ranging from one that was huge, over a hundred feet, down to a small, two-person sailboat in one of the slips. It was cool to walk down the big piers and check out the boats, though a security person came out and would have stopped us, had Dave not pulled him aside.

There were some folks on their boats, one guy washing down the deck, another older guy with a houseboat was sitting there with a cooler, just watching the one working. He waved as we walked by, but nothing was said. By the time we made a circuit and were heading back, the security guard was standing there with a silver-haired guy who just screamed salesman.

“You folks have a boat you are thinking about docking here? If not, you thinking about owning a quality watercraft? Don’t let the name Galati Yachts fool you, we sell everything from Jet Skis to super yachts! We can help you find the right boat for your budget.” He called out as we drew nearer. I saw Jake rolling his eyes and had to grin.

Terry muttered, “Let me, please?” and I nodded, almost laughing as Terry strode forward, shaking the man’s hand and taking him by the elbow, moving him gently aside as we passed by. I could hear him talking to the salesman as we passed and almost laughed when I heard, “ ... not thinking about buying a boat, he is thinking about buying the marina, and you know how it is, he...”

As we got back near the offices, I smelled something heavenly and my stomach rumbled loud enough to get a grin from Dave and an outright laugh from Jake. The Number 13 Prime Seafood restaurant was doing good business considering it was a weekday and just barely noon. We didn’t have to wait, but there were a fair number of customers inside.

We placed our orders and, while we were waiting for our food, Terry brought out a folder on the Marina and the nearby house.

“The place is profitable. You own the land and the buildings free and clear, no encumbrances on the property at all. Taxes seem a little high for the area, but we can have a bookkeeper and the tax attorney take another look at the corporate books, see if everything is copacetic. The big boat you saw, the Eternity, is yours, as are five forty-footer cruiser types, three of them with dual duty as fishing charters. There are smaller fishing boats, six ski boats and it says here that the two cigarette boats belong to the company too. Of that list, I only saw about half of the big boats in slots out there, though both of the cigarette boats and most of the small ones are there.”

“Boating is a weekend thing, mostly, and vacations.” Jake said, nodding his head.

“Until you decide if you are keeping the company, I wouldn’t suggest bothering with the charter office here, unless you want a boat ride?” Terry left that as a question, raising an eyebrow to see what I wanted. I just shook my head. Not today.

“Okay then, the house. There is a small staff there that keep the house up, but there is no one in residence right now, or shouldn’t be, beyond that staff. Can I assume you want to go there next?”

I glanced over at Jake, but he was looking at me, to see what I wanted. Why do ... oh yeah. I guess I own that too. Well, we are doing this so I can see what I own, and to get away from the paparazzi in San Antonio. For a moment, I wondered if the Anthony Weiner thing meant it was safe to go back, but recalled that the Carvers would still be gone. Rene had her own life and work. If she had wanted to be saddled with me, she could have done it years ago since she was my legal guardian.

“Sure. Let’s check it out. The boathouse sounds cool if nothing else.”

The food was awesome, the steak perfectly cooked and they had these garlic mashed potatoes that were killer! When I finally pushed back from the table, there wasn’t a scrap left on my plate except for this little sprig of parsley. I stuck my tongue out at the silly green thing.

It took just a couple of minutes to get from the Marina to the house. We could have walked there in ten minutes but would have had to either cut across the Sea Star base or walked along the side of I45 where there were no sidewalks. Not a smart idea in the best of times, that.

The landscaped section of the lot made the whole thing look deceptively small. The hedges that separated one part from the next made it look like the property were really three long and thin parcels. In reality, the three sections were all one piece of property but you could see where it could easily be subdivided into smaller parcels that would sell for a nice amount.

There must have been sensors on the long driveway because by the time we arrived at the front door, there was a man in slacks with a white shirt, gold-colored vest and a bright red bow tie, waiting on the front steps. When we all climbed out of the big SUV, the man walked down to the lowest step and waited for us to approach.

“Mister Reilly, welcome. When we learned that the house was no longer the property of the previous master, we never thought we would see you visit.” the man said quietly, his eyes roving over the group of us. I could see him consider, then dismiss, each of the security guys though he lingered on Dave for a moment. He also paused on Terry but seemed to spend the longest time, though it was merely a second or three, on me.

“I am here as a guest of the new owner, Jack McCoy.” Jake said, resting his hand on my shoulder.

“I see. Welcome, Mister McCoy. Please, gentlemen, do come inside. The temperature and humidity on the bayou is much easier to deal with when in an air-conditioned space.” he said with a smile, then turned to lead us up the stairs and usher us into the house. “I am Dennis, the butler. I oversee the property for you, Mister McCoy, and maintain the house and grounds so that they are always ready for you to visit.”

The entryway was huge, large enough that you could have put a small band in one corner and still had enough room for twenty dancing couples. There was a grand staircase sweeping up on either side and a pair of doors at the base of each set of stairs. On the left, the door led to a formal sitting room while on the right, there was a formal dining room with a table that would easily seat forty people.

In the middle, below the twin staircases, was a set of double doors that led deeper into the house, though I could already see a wide set of windows or something that looked out on the bay.

“This house is the oldest structure on Offutt’s Bayou. It is rumored to have been owned by the French pirate Jean Lafitte in 1818 and rumors of a great treasure hidden somewhere on this bayou still brings out treasure hunters every few years. In 1836, a Canadian by the name of Michel Menard bought this house and it remained in his family until it was bought in 1865 by Pendleton Murrah, the Governor of the great state of Texas, as a vacation home.”

He led us through the double doors under the stairs, and deeper into the house. He showed us to a very comfortable looking living room, as wide as the entryway but not as deep. On one side was obviously the kitchen, but on the other side, towards the far end of the formal sitting room, was a library or office.

“The home remained in the Murrah family for generations until it was finally sold in 1985 to a gentleman of exquisite grace who had something to do with making movies out in Los Angeles. That gentleman passed on and his estate liquidated his holdings, Pelican’s Rest among them. The home has been in a succession of hands since then, never staying with a single owner longer than five years. She was retro fitted in 1924, again in 1968, 1997 and was updated to current technology in 2014.” Dennis continued, showing us through the house as he gave his spiel.

The back of the first level was a complete wall of windows and French doors looking out onto the pool, the boathouse and the bayou beyond. It was a very nice view. On the wall that separated the living room from the entryway, the one that was now at our back, was an ancient, but well cared for bar complete with a bar back and a mirror. It looked as though it had been taken whole from some English pub!

“May I offer you gentlemen a libation, or perhaps a cold soft drink? We have iced tea, various colas and fresh-squeezed lemonade for those who do not wish an alcoholic beverage.” We all declined and he just nodded.

He walked over to what I mistook for a closet and opened the door, showing us a small elevator that would fit three or four people. More if they were really close friends.

Jake, Dave and I got in with Dennis and we rode up to the second floor. When we stepped out, I saw two security guys coming up the stairs, one on each side, Terry following one of them but huffing and blowing at the unexpected exercise.

“We would have sent the elevator back down for you, Terry.” I said with a laugh, patting him on the back as he bent over, trying to catch his breath. He just grinned up at me and shook his head.

The second floor contained a huge, and I mean ‘half the house’ huge master suite. There was a sitting area with a couch, love seat and chairs. There was a lady’s area with a huge makeup mirror and desk. A walk-in closet bigger than any bedroom I have ever had, now empty except for some new, but generic slippers and a robe. The bathroom was huge too, with a shower that would fit half a dozen, a Jacuzzi tub for the same number and even a small sauna.

On the other side of the second floor was a two-bedroom suite, each of the bedrooms and the walk-in closets were smaller, but no less opulent. The third floor held two additional rooms for guests that shared a very nice sized bathroom, and two rooms that Dennis said were for staff. Each was, in fact if not in name, an efficiency apartment with its own bath, a small kitchen area, living room and bedroom.

Dennis took us out to the boathouse and showed us the apartment for the boat crew.

“There is no crew, currently. The previous owner let them go because he never used them,” he told us, taking us down to the boathouse itself. In the bay below the apartment was a sweet looking catamaran that looked fast just sitting there. It didn’t have any masts, so it was all motor driven and the sleek, fiberglass hull was painted in a blinding white, accented along the waterline with two blue stripes.

We walked down a ramp to the boat itself and it was set up like a baby yacht or something. It was all fancy wood and leather furniture, crystal and gold, or probably brass, fixtures. The pilothouse looked like a cockpit and Jake, after looking things over, said a single person could easily run this boat, though more than one would be better.

Below decks was a very nice kitchen, a small dining room plus three cabins, two smaller and one big one. There was a half deck further down where we found the motors, generators, a water purification plant, washer and dryer and all the rest of the machinery to actually run a boat like this. This really was like a little yacht!

Back up on the top deck, I watched Jake wander around, opening up bench seats and showing me fishing tackle, life vests and an inflatable emergency raft. Every nook and cranny had something cool in it.

I don’t think I had ever been on a boat and I was fascinated! Every time I looked around, I saw something else cool. Whoever designed these things was a freakin’ genius!

“Like this, huh Jack?” Jake said with a grin, seeing the fascination in my eyes and the big smile on my face.

“No, I love this! I never knew boats were so cool! Look, they put a little storage area right here, like, hidden and stuff. If I hadn’t been looking, I would never have noticed it. Heck, I only saw it because it was open a bit.” I reached down and swung a small door open and closed. It was tucked up under a railing and, when I knelt down to look, it would be invisible if closed tightly.

From my kneeling spot, I could see something in there so I reached in, grabbed a hold and came out with a rifle. I almost dropped it I was so surprised. I lay it on the deck and scrambled back from the open compartment.

“Jake?” I called out.

“What the...” Dave was there in a second, picking up the black, military style rifle and flipping it over. He did something to drop the magazine and then pulled back on something to make a bullet go flying. Pulling the rifle closer to his face, he shook his head and looked over at Jake.

“Semi. Probably just for safety. Not a lot of piracy around Galveston, not like down in the keys or closer to Panama, but hell, I would have a few around too.”

That was the most I had heard Dave say since I met the man. He was kneeling down, investigating the slot where the rifle had been hidden and playing with the concealed door.

“Show me, Dave. I’ve never held a gun and don’t know anything about them. Show me so I don’t, I don’t know, shoot myself in the foot?”

Dave grinned at me and nodded. “Sure thing. It’s good info even if you never have to use one. Let me just check something first though.”

He walked into the helm area, flicked on the overhead lights and studied the control panels. Not finding what he was looking for, he started looking around the room and smiled when he spotted something. Over near the door where he had come in, he looked closer at the wall opposite the light switch. There was a blank switch panel there and he prodded it a couple of times, discovering that it slid sideways if depressed first. Inside the cavity was a red button.

Dave looked outside the door and pressed the button, then laughed when there were a half-dozen clicks all around the rear deck area. The boathouse was well lit and it was easy to see six hidden compartments, just like the one where I had found the rifle. There was a seventh, but it was a square door a couple of feet on a side.

We all grabbed the nearest compartment and within seconds, everyone was holding up either a rifle like I had found or a shotgun. In the square compartment were a half-dozen pistols, spare ammo in magazines for the rifles and pistols and even a couple of bandoleers of shotgun shells.

“Dave, smuggler or just a gun nut?” Jake asked, shaking his head.

Dave shrugged. “We can get a dog out here to find out, if you want. I bet if you look though, this is a Florida boat. Someone bought it and brought it across or, more likely, around the top of the gulf. This isn’t uncommon for a boat in the keys. This thing is a day sailor. Okay for overnight, or maybe a couple of days tops, but not for extended stays.”

He walked over and put the magazine back in the rifle, chambered a round and put the loose round back in the magazine. He put the rifle back where I found it and then went around and closed up all the hidden doors.

“We’ll do some firearm training, but we’ll use our weapons, not these.” he told me quietly.

On the way back up to the house, Jake looked at his watch. “It’s almost four now. You want to stay here for the night? We can go to headquarters tomorrow or, if you prefer, skip it and check out the penthouse in Dallas. Or we can go to Deer Creek in Utah or to the beach and marina in San Diego. Whatever you want, Jack, this is your trip. I am having fun just bumming around with you.”

“Let’s stay here, but I really want to check out that big boat over at the Marina. That should be okay, right? Either now or in the morning before we head out?” I asked, wondering how much plusher that big one had to be.

“It’s your boat, Jack.” Jake reminded me with a grin. “Terry had a point about not rocking the boat, if you forgive the metaphor, so we will just tell them we would like to see it with an eye towards a future charter. I think my credit rating should make them pliable.” Jake said wryly, causing Terry to snort.

“Oh, damn. What about you, Terry? Did you have, like, clothes and stuff? Can you stay?” I asked, wondering if he had come prepared for more than a day trip.

“I’m good, Boss, thanks. I came prepared for a couple of days. Besides, you are my only client right now and my firm will surely be billing the trust for the time I spend with you.” he said with a grin.

I looked over at Jake, alarmed. Lawyers were expensive, right? Would they bill me for every hour Terry was with us?

Jake was shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “Don’t sweat it, Jack. Yes, they are going to bill you for Terry’s time, but they are going to be very reasonable since they let that jackass get his nose into all of my accounts and I could, if I were unreasonable, own that firm for that oversight.” He was talking to me, but looking at Terry, when he said that. Terry was grinning and pretending to be looking at the ceiling.

I just shrugged. If what Jake told me was true, I had more money that I could even imagine in the other trust, not even counting the money in this trust, so ... fuck it, right? Speaking of the other trust...

“Jake, I just remembered that you said the other lawyer was going to be meeting us here in Galveston. Do we have a time and place?”

Jake looked thoughtful for a moment. “You know, he was supposed to call when he gets in, so I suppose he hasn’t made it yet. Let me call and see what they know at the office before it is too late.” he pulled out his phone and stepped away.

I was looking at the cool bar when a lady walked in. She was wearing a black dress with a small white apron. She looked every bit the matronly servant from some movie.

“Mister McCoy, I am Elsa the housekeeper and, when needed, the cook. Will you be dining here this evening?” she asked, though I could tell she was hoping I said no.

“Do you think it would be difficult for us to get a reservation at the Number 13 place over by the Marina? We had lunch there and it was very good. We could have dinner there too, since we showed up unannounced.”

“I can take care of that for you, sir, and thank you. Six, sir?” Elsa asked and, when I nodded, she turned and disappeared back into the kitchen.

After she had gone I had a thought. I hope she meant six o’clock and not six people. Ah well, we will know soon enough. Heck, I’ll invite Dennis and Elsa to go with us, they can fill us in on the history of the area.

I was examining the carving along the back of the bar when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I don’t know why, or what, exactly, triggers it, but sometimes, just sometimes, when someone startles me, it totally freaks me the fuck out. It hasn’t happened in a couple of years, but after the week I had, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised to see it flare up again.

When I felt the hand on my shoulder, my mind went blank and, in that instant, all I wanted to do was to get away. I don’t remember taking off or running and I certainly don’t recall tripping on a rug runner knocking myself out when I hit a door jamb.

I just remember waking up in a huge bed, in a strange room, with a killer headache and my heart pounding in my chest so hard, so fast, that I thought for sure it was going to explode.

When nothing happened, when no one jumped out or attacked ... I think I managed to take a breath and get a hold of myself. It took me several long moments before I figure out where I was. It helped that Elsa was there, sleeping in a recliner in the sitting area.

I don’t know how long I sat there, trying to reconstruct the previous day, but eventually my bladder made me get up. I was more than a little freaked out that I was naked except for my underwear and, despite my bladder, it took me a minute to make sure that I was ... um ... intact? Unsoiled? Untouched? You know, not fucking raped.

Okay, so it may not have been a reasonable thought for anyone else, but I thought it so ... whatever.

I closed the bathroom door and locked it when I saw a fluffy robe hanging on the back of the door. Into the shower I went and let the hot water beat me up until I couldn’t stand it anymore. When I got out, the entire room was full of steam because I had forgotten to turn on the fans or open a window first.

My clothing was folded neatly on a chair beside the huge, marble sink and I was surprised, but very happy, to find that it had been laundered. I still hadn’t gone shopping for clothes! This would be the third day wearing the same clothes and I was kind of skeeved by the idea of wearing them again or would have been had they not been obviously washed.

When I came out of the bathroom, Elsa was gone, but a tray was on the small table at the foot of my bed. On the tray was a carafe of coffee, another of orange juice and even one of milk. There were two biscuits and toast, with butter and jam, plus some scrambled eggs, sausage links, bacon strips and some hash browns, all steaming slightly in the cool morning air.

I was starving! I grabbed the tray and took it to the small table in the sitting area, sat in the seat that faced the door and dug in. I had obviously missed dinner last night after whatever happened, happened. It was as I was eating that I recalled someone grabbing my shoulder when I was looking at the bar. Everything else was a blank!

Was I knocked out? Drugged? Was I drugged? Is this food drugged? I sat there, my heart beating fast again and a half-chewed bite of food in my mouth as my mind sorted through possibilities. Without even realizing it, I must have finished chewing because I was drinking some orange juice and it was pretty good, cold and sweet.