1 The Reluctant Dick - The Case of the Not-So-Fair Trader by Jim Stevens Page A

he got a dime, sits on the opposite side of the table, briefcase in front of him, Blackberry in his ear, spouting instructions to an unseen subordinate. Christina sits next to where she figures Conway will read the will, since there are stacks of paper, being lined up by a paralegal, three f ee t across the desk. I’m surprised wallets are not sitting open on the table waiting to be filled.
    There is enough tension in the room to power a generator. The principals fidget, their eyes pretending to read , or they stare at their fingernails. No one is speaking. No eye contact made. Each must be imagining they are the only one at the table. I try to picture this family living in the same house together; what a sitcom that would be.
    Norbert stands in the far corner of the room next to the coffee service, sampling the Danish. He is the only one who acknowledges my presence with a wave and a burp.
    Conway Waddy enters the room, reading glasses precariously balanced at the end of his nose. He carries a plastic file folder with numerous colored tabs sticking out of the side. Before sitting he hikes his pants, adjusts his suspenders, and unbuttons his suit coat. “Welcome,” he says. “I’m glad you all could be here.”
    I can’t believe anyone in this crowd cares about pleasantries at this point; it’s more like s hut up and show me the money.
    Conway opens the folder to the first tab and beg ins to read. “Alvin J. Augustus of Kenilworth Illinois… being of sound mind, sound body…” and blah, blah, blah boilerplate of what everyone in the room knows and could care less about.
    “Can we cut through the legal eagle crap?” Clayton asks during a slight pause in Conway’s rendition.
    “No,” Christina says. “He has to put it all on the record for it to be legally binding.”
    “It’s a reading of the will, my dear,” Doris drips in sarcasm, “not a Supreme Court decision on gay marriage.”
    “Come on, get on with it , ” Brewster says. “I want to catch post time at Arlington.”
    The bickering Bickersons.
    “By the way, dear,” Doris asks Christina calmly, “that girlfriend of yours, are you her bitch or is she yours?”
    “It takes one to know one, Step-mommy.”
    “Can we eliminate the comments, please?” Conway intervenes.
    “She started it,” Christina says.
    “Did not,” Doris snaps back.
    Tiffany pokes me. “I love this stuff.”
    This is just like my house on a kid weekend.
    “You should be thankful she’s gay, Doris,” Clayton says. “If she was married with kids, that’s more people to have their hands in the pot.”
    “May I continue?” Conway asks.
    “Yes, hurry up,” Brewster answers.
    Norbert looks over to me and shakes his head.
    “The assets are as follows: home in Kenilworth, appraised at a current value of four-point-two million.”
    “That’s all?” Clayton says it, but anyone would have asked this question.
    “Current housing values have decreased substantially across the area,” Conway explains, then quickly continues. “The current outstanding mortgage is four-point-three million at seven-point-three percent.”
    Conway couldn’t have stopped the conversation in the room any quicker than if he farted. The family is stunned.
    Doris recovers first. “We’ve been in the house more than ten years. We bought it for less than a million. I remember when the mortgage was paid off.”
    “The first mortgage was retired,” Conway says, “but since numerous equity loans have been taken out on the property.”
    “I didn’t see any of that money , ” Doris says in defense.
    “Then where the hell is it?” Clayton asks.
    Conway shrugs his big shoulders.
    “You’re telling us the house is worth less than the mortgage?” Brewster asks.
    “Underwater?” Clayton adds.
    “Yes.” Conway points to the next section on the page and reads. “Augustus Enterprises Incorporated, which is the holding company, is currently valued at sixteen-point-nine million