Free Jake's 8 by Howard McEwen Page A

sure how. Capitalist karma maybe? Either way, while Ms. Nichols wasn’t a client, helping her girl go to college would establish some good will that could spread to potential clients. That’s what I told myself.
    I got an email reply from Mr. Carmichael on Sunday afternoon. It read, “If it needs to be....”
     
    “Your nine a.m. is here,” Mrs. Johnson told me through the intercom.
    “Which conference room she in?”
    “They are in the front one.”
    “They?”
    “Ms. Nichols is joined by her three daughters.”
    I sighed and clicked off the intercom. I wasn’t wanting to see this woman as mom. I did some quick math. I was closer to Sheila’s age than her oldest daughter’s. Not by much. I don’t know why that mattered, but it did.
    When I glided in, Mr. Carmichael was shaking hands with Ms. Nichols and her three daughters. Sheila was dressed in a tailored pants suit that showed off only a hint of what I’d enjoyed for several hours two nights ago. The oldest two daughters had their mother’s pale white skin, dark hair and were beta versions of mom’s body. The youngest was fair-skinned but was strawberry blonde and pig nosed. They were all dressed like suburban teenagers. They wore brands. Mr. Carmichael sat them down and took his place at the head of the table. I took my usual seat to his right.
    “Mr. Gibb has briefed me on the issue and we’ve both researched it but let me summarize,” he said then stopped and looked to Ms. Nichols. “Is it alright to speak freely in front of your daughters?” Ms. Nichols nodded yes.
    “Your ex-husband, father of your daughters, is the custodian on several Series EE bonds totaling four-hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Each girl is the owner of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars each, but the father is the custodian.”
    “Yes,” said Ms. Nichols. She pushed some papers toward us. I picked them up. It was a listing of the bonds and their registration. They were what Mr. Carmichael said. I told him so with a nod.
    “I’m sorry that you had to come into the office since it’s very straightforward. In the state of Ohio, the age of majority is twenty-one. At that time, each girl will be allowed to control those assets, but until then, it’s in the father’s control.”
    “But it’s my money,” said Lindsay, the oldest daughter. “Grandma gave us those bonds.”
    “It doesn’t matter who gave the funds. What matters is that your father was named the custodian.”
    “But I’m going to miss college,” said Lindsay
    Her mother spoke up.
    “Is there no way?”
    “No.”
    “What if we reported the bonds stolen or lost? Could they re-issue them?”
    “Are they stolen or lost?”
    “He could have lost them. They could have been stolen. Maybe that’s why he won’t turn them over to me.”
    “If they are lost or stolen he would have to sign an affidavit and the Treasury Department would re-issue them in the same way—with him as custodian.”
    “What if we said he’s dead,” Ms. Nichols said. Her voice betrayed a desperation.
    Mr. Carmichael didn’t answer her.
    “What if we just signed his name to that affidavit?”
    He still didn’t talk. The room was still. Ms. Nichols started to speak to fill the void when Mr. Carmichael cut her off.
    “I’m not sure what Mr. Gibb has told you we can do for you, but we’re not criminals.”
    “I didn’t mean,” she started.
    “Maybe if we try a different approach,” he said. “You’ve talked to him?”
    “Several times,” she said.
    “Let’s take some of the emotion out of it. Instead of you speaking to your ex-husband why doesn’t Mr. Gibb here visit with him. Perhaps Mr. Nichols isn’t saying no to turning over the bonds, but no to turning over the bonds to you. Maybe Mr. Gibb can reason with him.”
    I sighed a second time that day.
    “Would you?” asked Ms. Nichols looking to me. She leaned in and put her hand on top of mine and left it there. “He won’t speak to me,” she said.