people from a
thousand miles away, but by the citizens of the island—then Nevisians could
truly benefit from tourism,” said Meg.
“That would be something,” replied Davis, “but there wouldn’t
be any way the government, or even a private citizen, could outbid a foreign
source of capital for land to complete such a project.”
“—unless the seller recognized the significance of
such an endeavor,” said Meg.
“I love your optimism,” said Davis. “Waiter, another drink for the lady.”
The table toasted each other and continued their
feast. The party dispersed at 11:30 , and Meg was home and sleeping
soundly by midnight .
The
cell phone woke her up. She ignored the
first call when she saw that it was only 6:30, but by the third round of rings,
Meg knew something must have been important.
Brian.
“I’m sorry to wake you, but there’s a problem.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I just got a call from Howard.”
“Dad’s lawyer?”
“Yeah, he said he needed you to call him right
away—something about the estate.”
“Did he mean 6:30 right away, or as soon as possible?”
“Right now. He sounded awful.”
“My God, I wonder what it could be.”
“I don’t know, but he left his number at home—said
you could call him there.”
It
was worse than Meg could have imagined. Simply put, Richard Owen was a thief. Meg’s father had been a
stockbroker and financial planner for forty years. He had a loyal, distinguished, and enormously
wealthy client base, and had been stealing their money for eighteen years. With so many clients worth so much money,
they had never even noticed. It was a
young lawyer Richard recently hired who discovered what Richard had done, and
who had no choice but to report it. He
had tried to be discreet about it, but it didn’t take long for the local papers
to stumble upon the information. The
young lawyer called Howard to explain that the Owen estate would probably be
sued by numerous sources for at least as much as Richard had stolen from
them. The sum of the stolen money that
he was able to track down already totaled in the tens of millions of
dollars. Meg was shaking so violently by
the time Howard was able to relay the information that she had to sit on the
floor.
“Meghan, I can’t tell you how sorry I am to have
to tell you this. Your father was a good
man. There must be some explanation for
this.”
But there wasn’t any explanation—none that would
explain it away, anyway. Meg began
running over her father’s—no, her—estate. One waterfront home in Annapolis,
a restored, historic row-house in downtown Annapolis (where Meg currently
lived,) a beachfront house in North Carolina, two boats, three luxury cars, a
Monet, and the land in Nevis. Howard had
said he would look into the matter and fight it if he could, but he did not
sound confident. He sounded defeated.
Meghan had thought her father the kindest, most
generous man she had ever met. The
charity work, the entertaining, the family vacations—Richard was always doing
something for the assistance or enjoyment of others. That is why he had encouraged Meg to pursue
her interest in politics. He had told
her she could be a public servant, and change the world.
But he was a liar. He had used his best friends’ money to host dinner parties in their
honor, to fund his charitable campaigns, and to take his family on several
vacations a year.
And did Anne know? Had Meg’s mother known what was going on? Did she know why she never had to work
outside of the home—that her husband was a crook?
Meg didn’t think it possible that her mother could
have known. She was a devout Catholic—a model
of moral behavior. Anne had always
thought herself a failure because she was unable to have more children. She had devoted all her energy to helping the
underprivileged youth of the community succeed in and
thousand miles away, but by the citizens of the island—then Nevisians could
truly benefit from tourism,” said Meg.
“That would be something,” replied Davis, “but there wouldn’t
be any way the government, or even a private citizen, could outbid a foreign
source of capital for land to complete such a project.”
“—unless the seller recognized the significance of
such an endeavor,” said Meg.
“I love your optimism,” said Davis. “Waiter, another drink for the lady.”
The table toasted each other and continued their
feast. The party dispersed at 11:30 , and Meg was home and sleeping
soundly by midnight .
The
cell phone woke her up. She ignored the
first call when she saw that it was only 6:30, but by the third round of rings,
Meg knew something must have been important.
Brian.
“I’m sorry to wake you, but there’s a problem.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I just got a call from Howard.”
“Dad’s lawyer?”
“Yeah, he said he needed you to call him right
away—something about the estate.”
“Did he mean 6:30 right away, or as soon as possible?”
“Right now. He sounded awful.”
“My God, I wonder what it could be.”
“I don’t know, but he left his number at home—said
you could call him there.”
It
was worse than Meg could have imagined. Simply put, Richard Owen was a thief. Meg’s father had been a
stockbroker and financial planner for forty years. He had a loyal, distinguished, and enormously
wealthy client base, and had been stealing their money for eighteen years. With so many clients worth so much money,
they had never even noticed. It was a
young lawyer Richard recently hired who discovered what Richard had done, and
who had no choice but to report it. He
had tried to be discreet about it, but it didn’t take long for the local papers
to stumble upon the information. The
young lawyer called Howard to explain that the Owen estate would probably be
sued by numerous sources for at least as much as Richard had stolen from
them. The sum of the stolen money that
he was able to track down already totaled in the tens of millions of
dollars. Meg was shaking so violently by
the time Howard was able to relay the information that she had to sit on the
floor.
“Meghan, I can’t tell you how sorry I am to have
to tell you this. Your father was a good
man. There must be some explanation for
this.”
But there wasn’t any explanation—none that would
explain it away, anyway. Meg began
running over her father’s—no, her—estate. One waterfront home in Annapolis,
a restored, historic row-house in downtown Annapolis (where Meg currently
lived,) a beachfront house in North Carolina, two boats, three luxury cars, a
Monet, and the land in Nevis. Howard had
said he would look into the matter and fight it if he could, but he did not
sound confident. He sounded defeated.
Meghan had thought her father the kindest, most
generous man she had ever met. The
charity work, the entertaining, the family vacations—Richard was always doing
something for the assistance or enjoyment of others. That is why he had encouraged Meg to pursue
her interest in politics. He had told
her she could be a public servant, and change the world.
But he was a liar. He had used his best friends’ money to host dinner parties in their
honor, to fund his charitable campaigns, and to take his family on several
vacations a year.
And did Anne know? Had Meg’s mother known what was going on? Did she know why she never had to work
outside of the home—that her husband was a crook?
Meg didn’t think it possible that her mother could
have known. She was a devout Catholic—a model
of moral behavior. Anne had always
thought herself a failure because she was unable to have more children. She had devoted all her energy to helping the
underprivileged youth of the community succeed in and
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