Trust And Treachery Part 1

Trust and Treachery.

by Peter Friend.

The whole family had to meet at the solicitor's office just an hour after Adam's funeral. Clause 26(c) of the Halderson Trust Deed demanded it, and whatever that ridiculous doc.u.ment demanded, it got.

Right after a funeral, before the grave had even been filled in? It seemed disrespectful.

Still, it had been a tedious marriage and Rachel had spent the last three months wishing Adam would hurry up and die. Not that she'd hated her husband -- she wouldn't wish cancer on anyone -- but to be practical, his death meant she'd soon be several million dollars richer.

She hadn't been to the solicitor's office since Adam's great-uncle Benjamin Halderson died three years ago and she'd inherited her own trusteeship and shareholding in the Halderson Trust. The place hadn't changed - it was still dusty and gloomy and reminded her of a funeral home.

The reception area was deserted. Someone pale lurked down a dark corridor, but disappeared when she blinked. A small tarnished bra.s.s bell was mounted on the reception desk; she was about to ring it when the elderly Mr Calshaw shuffled into view.

"My personal condolences, dear Mrs Halderson," he greeted her, looking mournful. He'd said exactly the same thing three years ago, although she'd never even met Adam's great-uncle. Mr Calshaw specialised in wills and trusts, so she supposed he greeted every client the same way.

In the conference room, Victoria and Florence Halderson were already waiting. The spinster sisters clucked and twittered and patted her hand, just as they had at the funeral. Rachel was glad she'd gone for the traditional widow's veil so no one could see her smile.

As she'd arranged, Adam's brother Taylor arrived several minutes later. She and Taylor didn't want to be seen together too much just yet.

Dan, Adam's twenty-year-old son from his first marriage, wandered in. Late as always. He'd worn an embarra.s.singly scruffy suit at the funeral; now he'd changed back into his usual hand-knitted jersey and patched jeans and looked like a tramp.

"Hi, aunties. Hi, Uncle Taylor. Hi, Mum," he beamed.

She winced inside. It was bad enough being stepmother to this bearded tree-hugging bran-munching hippy without him calling her Mum all the time. She was only eleven years older than him, after all.

Victoria and Florence thought the world of him, of course, just as Adam had. The sisters fussed over him now, pretending great enthusiasm as he showed them photos and babbled on about his latest loony scheme -- saving some endangered grey-crested robin. It looked to her like a dead budgie wearing stilts.

Mr Calshaw came in, carrying a thick ribbon-bound sheaf of papers, and everyone sat down. Just as last time, six chairs were set out around the long table, one for Mr Calshaw and one for each of the five trustees, dead or alive. As a non-trustee, Dan was banished to a small battered couch at the back of the room.

On the table in front of each chair was a leather-bound copy of the Halderson Trust Deed -- rather pointless, since everyone in the room had read it dozens of times, but the deed said things must always be done this way and today would be no exception.

"As you are all aware," droned Mr Calshaw, "I have called this meeting in accordance with the conditions of the Halderson Trust Deed of 1903, as set out by your ancestor Bartholemew Everett Halderson. Clauses 26 and 27 control the succession of a trusteeship and shareholding upon the death of any trustee - Adam Bartholemew Halderson in this case.

"Clause 27(j) now requires me to ask whether any person here has knowledge that the deceased did ever commit arson, adultery, divorce, murder or real estate fraud, did ever join any circus or any Communist organisation or the Mormon Church, did ever enter the country of Portugal or any of its colonies, did ever fail to give any Halderson descendant the second Christian name of Bartholemew, did...."

Clause 27(j) always infuriated Rachel. Bartholemew Everett Halderson had been quite mad. What he had against Mormons or the Portuguese, for example, was a mystery to everyone. As was why all the children had to have Bartholemew as their middle name -- even the girls -- that was presumably no more than vanity. Thank G.o.d she'd only married into the family, so that clause didn't apply to her.

Mr Calshaw was still reading the same clause three minutes later: "...did attempt or commit suicide, was executed for treason, did die of leprosy or syphilis or tuberculosis or heart attack or murder, or did ever perform on stage in a music hall theatre." He took a well-deserved sip from a water gla.s.s.

"Nay," everyone chorused, Florence giggling and trying to sound like a horse. Honestly, the woman was fifty-four -- wouldn't she ever grow up?

Mr Calshaw glared at her. "I would remind everyone of Clause 19(e), which allows any trustee to immediately resign should they not agree with any conditions of the trust deed."

"Sorry," mumbled Florence, red-faced. Even she wasn't stupid enough to risk her twenty percent of the trust's million dollar annual profits.

"The trustees' confirmation of the deceased's adherence to the trust deed's conditions is therefore a matter of public record as per Clause 27(m)," Mr Calshaw continued, "and unless repudiated within one calendar month from this date as per Clause 27(p), the deceased's trusteeship and shareholding shall transfer in full to the person deemed eligible under Clause 27(q).

"The trust deed does not require me to read Clause 27(q) aloud" -- there was a sigh of relief since everyone knew it was seven pages long -- "but as previously advised, Adam's trusteeship and shareholding goes to Rachel, in addition to that which she already holds."

"It doesn't seem fair," said Rachel, doing her best not to sound smug. "I already have one share, and that's enough for anyone. Dan deserves it far more, Adam and I agreed." Actually only Adam had thought so, but she had to pretend to like Dan. For a little longer.

"Dan is a fine young man," nodded Mr Calshaw, "but his poor mother had the misfortune to die of a heart attack -- Bartholemew apparently considered heart disease to be a sign of moral laxity, since he included it in Clause 27(j). Sadly, the trust deed is quite inflexible in such matters. Although a most eccentric doc.u.ment in many respects, the courts have repeatedly confirmed its validity, and we are all bound by its constraints."

Indeed. Halderson descendants and their lawyers had been arguing over the deed for most of the last century -- especially in the twenty years since some fortuitous investments in computer technology increased the trust's value a hundredfold.

"Some cash would come in handy," said Dan, brandishing his bird photos again. "Not for myself, of course -- I've rejected the dehumanising capitalist system -- but if the grey-crested robins' breeding rate continues to fall --"

"I'm sure we'd all love to help your grey bobbins," interrupted Rachel, not interested in hearing any more about his stupid birds, "but it may have to wait a few months. Adam's business affairs were quite complex."

"One mustn't rush these things," agreed Mr Calshaw. "Very well, I wish you all a good afternoon. We meet in a month's time for the formal trusteeship and shareholding transfer."

"You look exhausted, Rachel," said Taylor, sounding the perfect concerned brother-in-law. "Today must have been a terrible strain for you. Can I give you a lift home?"

"Thank you, Taylor, you've been a great support," she said with a brave widow's smile, not meeting his eyes in case one of them started giggling.

As they filed out through the gloomy corridors, she caught another glimpse of the pale figure, but again it flitted away when she turned to look.

Taylor's hand was on her thigh before he'd even started the car.

"Someone might see," she hissed, slapping his hand away.

"But it's not adultery any more. You're a widow now -- unmarried, eligible, free to carry on with anyone you like. Including your dear brother-in-law."

"Not yet," she sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you? If anyone finds out we've been sleeping together for two years, Clause 18 would chuck us both out of the trust instantly -- old Bartholemew was obsessed over adultery. We have to do this slowly. Chaste public appearances together for a month or so, dinners and concerts and the like. Then we fall madly in love and marry before Christmas, telling everyone how much Adam would have approved."

Taylor's smile returned. "Just in time for the annual general meeting, when our combined sixty percent shareholding lets us vote in a new investment strategy, regardless of what old Calshaw or the sisters think. Six months later, the trust will be bankrupt and our fake investment companies will be twenty million dollars richer. Spin in your grave, Bartholemew."

Money always cheered Taylor up, Rachel noticed. That and annoying the rest of the Halderson family. She sympathised on both counts.

He kept his hands to himself the rest of the way home, then helped her inside, offering his strong arm to support her in her widowly grief.

Then they made love on the coffee table. And again on the floor of the master bedroom. He was quite insatiable. Such a change from Adam, whose idea of fun in bed had been a good book -- usually some drivel about poltergeists or seances.

Afterwards, remembering the expensive bottle of wine she'd bought especially, she went to the kitchen in search of a corkscrew.

But stopped in the lounge. There, in Adam's overstuffed armchair, was the same pale figure she'd glimpsed twice at the solicitor's office. Adam himself.

She shrieked and ran to the bedroom. "It's Adam! In the lounge!"

Taylor stared at her, half-smiling as if waiting for the punch line of a joke.

She dragged him down the hallway and into the lounge. Empty.

"It was Adam. He was a ghost. I saw him. I did, I really did."

Taylor hugged her. "You're just tired. Big day and all that. A good night's sleep and you'll feel much better."

"Yes. Suppose you're right. You go back to bed. I'll get that corkscrew; now I really need a drink."

After rummaging through the kitchen drawers, she found the corkscrew and turned to leave. And there was Adam again. She squealed, but forced herself not to run.