Chapter 6: Threats

I checked in with my office and the lawyer every few days. There was nothing going on that wouldn't keep. Susan tried to re-open the custody thing, but since the twins turned 17, they could go where they wanted to—and they didn't want to go with her. Ed was still in jail—apparently making threatening noises, but no one took his bluster very seriously.

At home, we quickly dropped into a new routine. Rachael, Ben and Leah were permanent residents. Rachael moved into my room, but kept her own room 'for show' until we could marry. The twins slept together, but in either of their rooms, as the mood struck them. I never did figure out how they decided which room to use on any given night. Ben and Leah each had a private room, too, and there are lots more rooms in the house, so they were happy with the arrangements.

Rachael went to the school and registered her two for the next school year. The twins included the younger kids in most of their activities, making them heroes in their eyes. Also, the children, among themselves, parceled out most of the chores: The girls vacuumed and did the dishes and laundry, though the boys helped out sometimes. The boys kept the cars washed and split wood for the fireplaces (the house has five) and promised to keep the wood boxes full during the winter. We all worked on the yard, mowing and weeding—even though dad designed the place to be 'low maintenance', there is still some yard work.

With the help of our lawyer and a good insurance agent, we put a chunk of the kids' money into college endowments. The rest was invested, using short-term trusts through the bank. We wanted them safe from coercion in any form.

Rachael's money went into an investment account that took both our signatures to access. The lawyer could act for one, but not both of us, in an emergency. Again, it was as coercion-proof as we could make it.

We found that money was still coming into the original accounts in the names of Rachael and the kids. But we couldn't find out where it was coming from. We arranged for the money to be automatically transferred to the accounts we'd set up in Oregon. With our permission, our lawyer quietly made contact with a friend who worked for the FBI. The lawyer made a point that any money we had was clean. It was in our name and its provenance was not in issue. The money coming into the accounts was gift money and not taxable to Rachael or the kids.

The government agreed to that in writing before the lawyer gave them any details on which to work.

It turned out that this was a tax avoidance scheme. The deposits all came from a company that, after many layers were stripped away, Ed owned. Money was 'invested' into the company, or 'payments for services' were made. This was then deposited into the accounts. The checks for the deposits were made payable to the account number, and 'trust deposits' were marked in the memo section on the checks. Thus, the banks receiving them thought they were payments from a bank trust account.

By the time he was released from jail, Ed knew he was in trouble. His scheme was busted. He needed, desperately, to get back whatever he could from Rachael and the kids. IRS was after him and he needed all the cash he could get his hands on.

First, he started a string of legal actions in Washington, to regain custody of the children and to reopen the divorce issue itself. We managed to get them all thrown out, but were running up a substantial legal bill. Finally, in federal court, we got a declaratory judgment that the Oregon divorce was valid and that the Oregon courts had jurisdiction to decide the custody issues. If Ed wanted to go after us in court, it had to be in Oregon.

Next, we were faced with a small flurry of similar things from Susan—same result. Of course, Ed was the instigator and financier of these nuisance actions. We just stepped up collection activities on the old judgment against Susan. That got her to pull her head in fast.

Then I started to get threatening phone calls and e-mail messages that the children would be hurt if we didn't turn over what wasn't ours. We taped all the calls and I made copies of the e-mail. That didn't do much good, since they all came through an anonymous service.

There wasn't a whole lot we could do. We informed the school that we'd received threats against the children. When we got the usual school shrug of the shoulders, our lawyer went to the superintendent. The children were not to be out of sight of an adult staff member at any time. They would remain in the building until picked up by Rachael or myself. Much better. We all hoped that this would soon be over, but the school had better do its part—they did a lot more for 'special education' baby-sitting than what we were asking.

(Once a stranger tried to engage the adult looking after the kids in a nonsense conversation. The teacher became suspicious of his manner. When she saw another adult approach the kids, she cut the conversation short and asked the intruder what he wanted. He left at once. We all knew this was an abduction attempt.)

The twins couldn't even date. (No one knew that they didn't want to.) They couldn't go out without a responsible adult who would be with them all the time. High school juniors don't have much fun on dates under those conditions. We tried it once—each of them, with a date, went with Rachael in her van to the drive-in. Rachael did her best, but the kids felt she kept them from having fun.

Of course, the word got around the school. The other kids were, mostly, OK about it. They kept an eye out for our kids—the herd gathering 'round to help keep them safe from predators. They understood the problem and didn't worry that the twins couldn't be involved in the weekend dating scene.

For the younger two, it was tougher. They didn't know anybody in their new school, and the kids they normally would have gotten to know avoided them, to avoid putting themselves in danger.

In spite of all the hassle and frustration, it worked to Ben's benefit. A very pretty, but very shy girl in the class behind his came up to him at lunch, where he was eating alone at a table. Looking as if she'd bolt any second, she said, "Ben?"

He looked up and didn't know who she was, except that he'd seen her around. Very quiet and shy, was the impression. "Yes?"

"I ... I just ... want you to know ... I'm ... really sorry ... you're having all that ... trouble ... That's all." She turned to leave.

"Hey," Ben said, quickly. "Will you tell me your name?"

Blushing, she said, "It's ... Beth."

"Hi, Beth. I'm Ben. You know that. I'm happy to meet you Beth. Will you sit with me? Please? Have you had your lunch yet?" Ben was flustered. He didn't know what to do, or say. But he knew he didn't want this shy, blushing girl to go. "Please sit with me, if you have time," he said. "I don't know anybody here and with the threats and all, nobody talks to me. They're polite enough, but everybody avoids me."

With a shy smile, still blushing, Beth sat and opened her lunch bag. That was all Ben needed. He proceeded to charm her as only a 13-year-old can. Apparently, he succeeded, because before we knew it, Elizabeth ('Beth' not 'Betty'!) Sommerset was spending a lot of time at our house. Ben was in the throes of 'first love' and it was obvious Beth worshipped him.

Rachael and I were amused, though careful not to let it show. All the kids liked Beth and enjoyed having her around. On any given afternoon, you were as likely to find her in the sewing room with the girls, as you were to find her in Ben's room, studying. We just assumed we'd feed her, unless her mother called to tell us she wanted her home. And even that didn't keep her from coming over later. She lived only a block away and would walk over in the evening to 'study.'

We thought we had things under control.

Then the office caught on fire.

We lease part of a cinder block building, all sprinklered, so the damage wasn't too severe. But it hurt. And I was worried.

I was even more worried when the Fire Marshall called the next day to confirm that the fire was definitely arson. I told him about Ed and asked him to coordinate his investigation with the police—but quietly. I also suggested that he'd probably try again, next time in the warehouse, or at my home.

I hired a security service to provide watchmen at the warehouse and office and to send a patrol by my house at frequent, but irregular intervals. Expensive, but a reasonable precaution. And I contracted to have both home and business wired for break-in and fire.

As I feared, two nights later, while a guy asking for directions distracted the watchman, another fire was set. The next night, our house was firebombed. No one was injured and minimal damage was done in either fire. But we were getting really tired of this!

We needed to go on the offensive. But how? We knew, and the authorities knew, that Ed was behind it. But how to prove it?

Two days after the last fire, I was walking down the street to the bank when Ed suddenly appeared on the sidewalk in front of me. He pushed me in the chest and demanded, "What makes you think you can steal from me? You haven't seen anything yet! I'll toast you all! Give me back my money!" And he took a swing at me.

Old training took over. I slipped the punch and, stepping in, gave him a quick one-two into the stomach. That bent him over for an uppercut. He was game though, and punched back, even landing one to my jaw. But my blows to his wind had taken the steam out of his arms. With a smoky taste in my mouth, I waded in and finished him off quickly. Two more to the midsection, one overhand right to the nose and a left which almost missed, but tore up his ear, and he was wobbling. I stepped back and measured him with jabs for another overhand right, which connected with the middle of his face. The left uppercut that followed didn't really do any more damage. He was out before he hit the ground. I went into the bank and asked that someone call the police, that I had been assaulted. But he came around and fled before they got there.

The feds said they were ready to move.

Ed's assets were seized.

In spite of restraining order, prudence, common sense, and any other civilized virtue, Ed was on the phone, ranting and raving. We were using the recorder to screen calls, because I didn't want the kids to have to deal with any threats or weirdos themselves. We recorded everything. 'Give a man enough rope... ' Ed really hung himself. He asked how we liked the fires and said they were only the 'warm up.' He said he was going to enjoy beating some 'respect' into Ben and Leah. He said he was really going to enjoy marking Rachael. She'd never step out on him when he finished with her, because she'd be so ugly, no one would be caught dead with her. And of course, he'd get all that money back from them. He was looking forward to fixing me with a length of pipe. And on and on, with curses and scatological references in every sentence. By the time he finally hung up, both his kids were scared to death and mad clear through simultaneously. Ed certainly managed to kill whatever feeling for him they had.

The following evening, when I walked across the parlor in the front of the house, the window shattered as a bullet went by, inches from my head. Other shots followed, but I was already on the floor. I was getting really pissed off!

Telling Rachael to call 911 and to make sure everybody stayed down and at the back of the house, I got my old deer rifle and climbed up to the 'widow's walk' on the top of our house. From there I could see most of the neighborhood, while remaining hard to see myself, as long as I stayed low enough that my outline was broken up by the wrought iron railing.

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