Chapter 2
Angel Island... later
Bearing a tray of freshly buffed silver, Dominick Fitzgerald backed through the dining room's swinging door. As he turned, ready to lay the table, he stopped in horror. Demons, ghosts, and witches were one thing... to be expected in a Legacy House... but paperwork spread over his gleaming, mahogany table and a frazzled precept sitting cross-legged atop was quite another.
"Hrmmm...," he cleared his throat. "Is there some reason you've suddenly found the library unsuitable for such endeavors?"
Bleary-eyed, Nick looked up in surprise. He'd been oblivious to the majordomo's arrival. "Dom... Sorry... I didn't hear you," he said, as he glanced around at the chaos... folders piled high on chairs... files, calculators, spreadsheets scattered over the table. The silver candelabra had been shoved rudely aside to make room for his laptop. "Change of scenery. I couldn't think up there any more," he explained, unwinding his legs and climbing down.
"Is there anything I can do to help, sir?" the old man asked as Nick quickly cleared a space for him to set his glistening burden.
"I wish...." The former SEAL breathed a weary sigh. "I doubt it... unless you've got a MBA in financial bullshit."
"I see...." Dominick disdainfully removed a stack of papers from a chair and sat down beside the young man. "You're trying to complete the accounts."
"Complete!" There was a note of panic in Nick's voice. "I'm trying to understand 'em!" In despair, he ran both hands through his mussed hair.
"Look at this crap!" he exclaimed, picking up an inch-thick manila folder. "The first form should be completed in triplicate only if the grant in aid requisition is to be funded from the unapproved benefit form referenced in Part B of Requisition Form A. Dammit!..." he groaned. "Why don't they speak English!"
"And have you asked for help?... From Mr. van der Linden, for instance," Dominick gently questioned.
"No... I thought I could handle it," Nick confessed, giving his sweatshirt sleeve an irritated push. "They'd all think I was an idiot... and what if they put Cross or one of their cronies in here? Derek always sailed through this stuff. I thought I could, too."
"Perhaps so, sir." The old man withheld a smile, remembering the many times he had taken his employer a pot of coffee in the wee hours, whilst the former precept had wrestled with the bureaucratic nightmare of funding.
"Remember that Dr. Rayne had many years of preparation before he undertook these duties. As your father groomed you to assume the position of Dr. Rayne's right hand... so he was groomed for this position. He slowly assumed the burden... and could call upon the skilled guidance of his fellow trustees, if necessary." He placed a comforting hand on Nick's shoulder. "Even so... don't forget those times when he locked himself in his office or his room... and the red flags went up... and we all knew to stay away?"
"Yeah, I guess...." Nick was slightly mollified. "But he never got two quarters behind. For all I know, we won't get paid this month.... You might not get paid."
"Well... sir... that will never do," Dominick agreed. "If I might make a suggestion.... Pack all this up... take it to Dr. Rayne's office... set the files aside and reread the various memos from London.... Find out precisely what they want.... Then call Mr. van der Linden... just talk to him for a while. He's a very old, very agreeable soul."
Nick nodded, recalling the quiet, pleasant voice of the man who had handled complex foundation matters while Derek had lain in his coma. He had never met Derek's cousin in person, but knowing that Derek had trusted him completely was enough.... He was family.... "You think he'll help?"
"Absolutely, sir," the butler replied, already stacking the papers into a pile. "He's still Dr. Rayne's financial advisor, is he not?... And if worse comes to worse, I have independent control over my household budget... so we won't starve."
< < + > >
Derek's Office...
Trying to make himself comfortable, Nick leaned back in the precept's chair. Every lump and bump was a misfit. This was a place he had tried to avoid during the past few months. He felt an intruder in this small room with its broad, sleek desk. The austerity and lack of ornamentation seemed at odds with the rest of the house, yet so right for Derek Rayne's sanctum sanctorum. As he spun the chair about to look out the window, across the darkening bay towards San Francisco's twinkling lights, his eyes rested momentarily on the photos that occupied a nearby shelf.
They were all of happier times.... Sometimes it was hard to remember that there had been happy times.... There was Derek with the team of a few years ago... all smiling... Julia, Philip, Nick, himself, with two fingers protruding above Philip's head, Alex laughing, Derek with a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then there was one of Derek and Ingrid as children, straddling the knees of their proud, happy parents.... Derek on Barbara Rayne's lap, Ingrid on Winston's. Beside that there was the later Legacy team.... Again Derek was surrounded by his "family"... Nick, now tickling Kat... and receiving a frown from Rachel, Alex, and Kristin. Next came a photo of Derek and his mother, taken in London at William Sloan's home.... It was Christmas and Sloan's daughters were gleefully opening their presents. Behind all the others, there was a photo that never failed to touch Nick in unpredictable ways. It was of a much younger Derek Rayne, to his left was William Sloan, to his right Nick's father. All three were dressed in formal, cutaway coats with yellow rosebuds in their lapels and inane grins plastered across their faces. It was all there... in that photo... past, present, future.
Nick shook himself and dragged his eyes back to the window. The fog was coming in. Finally, he looked at the number on the pad, picked up the phone, and dialed.
"Ja?..." came a voice from the other end of the line.
"Hello... Mr. van der Linden?... It's Nick Boyle... in San Francisco. I'm sorry to be calling so early, but...."
"Not at all," said the voice. "I'm an early riser.... Must check those Tokyo and Hong Kong prices before their markets close, you know.... But, please... call me Willem, and... if I might be so bold... I shall call you Nick. How are you?" The familiar, Dutch accent, with its European politeness, brought memories to the surface and un-nerved the former SEAL.
"I'm good," he replied hesitantly. "Well... I'm... OK... but... well... you know about the situation here." He heard the other reply with a non-committal grunt. "I sorta got stuck doing the books... and... well... I wondered if you'd give me a crash course on Luna funding?"
"A crash course?..." Nick heard the humour in the cultured voice. "Very well...." He then heard a deep breath taken. "You are aware that the Luna Foundation has its principle account in a Swiss bank... and that, in many ways, it functions as a blind trust. Whilst the Board of Directors are publicly known and function rather like 'overseers' for their own specific areas of interest, the Board of Trustees are known only to each other and a few select individuals outside their circle, but not to the beneficiaries of the various funds... nor to the foundation's general bureaucracy."
"That much I know," Nick murmured. "So even though Rachel... Dr. Corrigan... is on the Board of Directors, she's concerned with the medical aspects of the different charities... but she doesn't know who's above her... in the hierarchy... other than Derek?"
"Precisely so...." the financier responded. "There are trust funds established which provide the main funding for the various charities. Those I'll skip over for now... and trust funds for the Legacy. These Legacy funds are disbursed both via the Ruling Council... and to each established House via annual beneficial grants."
"Yeah...," Nick replied slowly, making a note. "I'm with you so far.... The Ruling Council gets a cut... and each House gets a separate cut. "
"Goot.... First, each House must submit annual estimates of anticipated expenditure for the next fiscal year, which will begin in July. Those estimates form the basis of the trust grant. These incomes are used to meet day-to-day expenses... like utility bills. Pensions, salaries, and discretionary payments are met from a separate trust via London House. Beneficiaries under this trust are treated as members who do not have the right to take actual possession of the trust property...."
"O... K...," Nick mumbled. He slowly made another note... "Ldn Hse Trst... like Social Security, etc."
"Secondly... expenditure for capital goods is treated differently from revenue expenditure for both accounts and taxation purposes. I'm speaking here... typically... of long term investments... perhaps to replace... let me see... helicopters?... These should be covered in separate capital estimates to be submitted each quarter... and, of course, there are the five-year business plans...."
Nick groaned and waited for the other man to draw a breath. Jesus, he realized, he really likes all this crap. "'Scuse me...." He seized his moment. "Uhhh... I need a 'high-level' view... not so detailed."
"This is the high-level view," came the somewhat huffy response.
"Right.... OK... I need to know enough to keep all the money balls in the air... for... later...." The young precept's eyes dropped to the photos once more.
There was a lingering silence. "I understand.... You are a goot friend, Nick Boyle."
"It's been...." Nick stopped abruptly. He breathed a weary sigh, unable to voice how it had been... for him... at the House. "How's Der...?"
"Tell me...," van der Linden interrupted, before the young man asked the question he couldn't answer. "Is there something about the foundation's finances that's causing you particular concern?"
Nick's heart sank. Willem had pointedly disrupted the question with a question. "It's Cross," he replied, "and the bookkeepers in London.... They want this return and that return... and... well... all kinds of returns. They keep prying... asking about papers... files... passwords. They want to send an accountant from London, when we really need a field person.... They say the Luna financial stuff needs proper control... skilled handling... and that I'm not up to it." The younger man paused, from what was, for him, a long speech. "...And they're right. I'm not up to it... but I've got to be up to it.... Can you understand?... I've got to handle this right."
"I understand.... So, it's Cross, ha!" The venom was evident. "That gestoorde gek
...." He stopped to bring his temper under control. "Your analogy of the juggler was a goot one. My illustrious cousin was born into and groomed to bear that double role of Legacy precept and the Chairman of the Luna Foundation.... He walked a fiscal tightrope... with some skill... balancing the needs of the museum, his House, the Legacy, and the foundation, but he had the advantage of his 'Sight,' which he was not above using for monetary gain or strategic advantage... and... he seemed to have an unlimited capacity for work.""Yeah...." Exhausted, Nick sighed, leaned back in the chair, and rubbed his eyes. "Right now, I've got two outstanding reports for the House to complete.... One set of foundation accounts to authorise... and a grant to arrange so the museum can buy some...." He glanced incredulously at the document. "...Marbles!"
"Two things... Nick.... First.... I'm leaving for my New York office in a few hours.... I'll be there for at least a week, so forward the reports and the accounts to me there. I'll do them for you. That will be our secret. The grant for the purchase will arrive for the curator within twenty-four hours. I believe the 'marbles' concerned are part of a Roman frieze."
"Second... leave Cross and those London bureaucrats to me. I suspect they're trying to take advantage... trying to gain control of the Luna piggy bank. Well... we have friends in high places, Nick.... They'll make sure no dirty tricks are played. Frankly, Cross and his backers aren't up to unraveling the tangle of off-shore accounts, blind trusts, and age-old secrets, which safeguard the Luna Foundation... and the Legacy."
"Friends?..." The younger man was interested. "You don't mean Sloan."
"No.... I fear Mr. Sloan is a spent force... for the moment. There are
others... 'custodians'.... They will insure that the Legacy is protected... even
from itself."
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