Ferdinando

One was from an outfit called Heart Shaped Events and it was a very professionally produced video of Ellie and Brandon's elaborate wedding. The florist bill alone was probably more than my dad made as a full professor at K State. I watched it all the way to the bitter end, but there was nothing unexpected or amazing to be found. Ellie looked good and Brandon looked bewildered. All the parents looked old and rich.

The other file was another matter entirely. It was from "CFNM Party Productions" and featured fully clothed bridesmaids and other female friends of the bride with some fully unclothed male strippers. Some very well exposed, in every sense of the word, HD footage likely taken with something like a Go Pro with some kind of image stabilization was intercut with lots of jumpy and erratically lit iPhone video segments. The key feature seemed to be the strippers swinging their dicks in circles like I had seen the dancers do with their teats at the bachelor party in Tampa. But all these circles were inscribed around the faces of Ellie's wedding party, and none of these girls were the least bit shy. As she told me she would, Ellie looked on from a respectable distance with an uncomfortable expression while her friends ate the whole thing. There was a long sequence of her friends Muffy and Becky tag teaming a black guy with a cock a little bigger than mine and giggling as he shot his seemingly endless load all over their drunken faces. Not something their families would enjoy seeing on You Tube or TikTok, although I doubted any of these girls would be vetted for a cabinet slot or questioned by the Senate for the Supreme Court someday. Becky also appeared in several other sequences as she grabbed other girls' heads and forced them up and down on the stripper's dicks. Becky seemed to enjoy that more than anything else.

But the final scene made me proud. Becky, face covered with goo, drunkenly asked Ellie if she was going to do this for Brandon. Ellie smiled and said no, he is my husband, so I suck him dry and swallow it all, then tell him I love him! Becky was speechless, which was certainly her most attractive state.

* * * * *

Biff my trainer worked my ass off the next morning. He said I was ready to "step it up to get in game shape" so he had come up with a whole new routine for me, and a set of torture devices called kettle bells. I knew CFL guys were tough, but this was ridiculous! I barely made it up the steps to my third-floor walkup and took a hot shower. I was starving, but I didn't have time to eat anything, because Payton Preston had insisted on picking me up, with her driver, at 6:45 AM so we could get an early start on our journey to Palm Beach. I figured it was a six-hour drive, and I hoped I didn't fall asleep or starve to death before we got there, and who knows how long it would take to go through all the records.

Instead of heading for the turnpike like I expected, the driver took us to the back road to the airport and dropped us at a place called, no kidding, "Million Air" where a plane was waiting for us. I guess Payton was billing the client, so she was sparing no expense. I decide to kid her a little to see how she reacted.

"So, Payton, a little twin-engine turboprop is so hoi polloi. Are the other, more important partners using the Gulfstream?"

She actually looked embarrassed! Sounding defensive, and through clinched teeth she said, "They are going to Seattle and this little plane makes more sense for our short hop. It will barely reach top speed before we have to go back down for a landing."

I could tell she desperately wanted to command that Gulfstream someday soon, and she was very conscious of her status in the pecking order. Ambition doesn't begin to describe it. I later looked the aircraft up online -- the little plane was called a "King Air" and went for mid seven figures minimum, but I figured this one went for more, given that it had a custom interior with the law firm's colors and logo incorporated into the upholstery, and what looked like seven flat screen monitors across the instrument panel. At least two engines, and two pilots were always required for the firm's aircraft, she said. At least the pilot's uniforms were color coordinated with the interior.

It took less than two hours for us to get to Palm Beach, and another limo picked us up. We drove along Ocean Boulevard and then turned into what looked like a little service alley. The driver stopped in between two swinging steel gates back-to-back like an airlock and had to enter a separate code into each gate. Then we drove through a narrow drive just big enough for one car, with tall palm trees on each side, to a huge pink stucco three story house that looked bigger than Goodnow Hall, a big dorm at K State. It was surrounded by pink oleanders and palm trees and had a red tile roof that looked as big as a football field. It took a while to navigate the big circular driveway. A footman opened the car door for Payton and left me to fend for myself.

They led us into an entry hall with windows that looked 22 feet high and looked out into a courtyard with a giant swimming pool. The water was blue, but everything else was pink or green. The maid sounded like an Englishwoman who had been in Florida too long.

"Mizz McQuillan is not available right now. She suggests you start in the fallout shelter and she will join you later." We followed the maid into a hallway, and down a long set of stairs. I was surprised to find a basement in Florida. The maid unlocked a giant metal door so heavy that I had to strain to push it open. She threw a loud switch, and we beheld a huge dusty low-ceilinged room with a buzzing fluorescent light fixture about every two feet. She turned and went back upstairs, and Payton began to talk.

"Welcome to the hoarder's hidey hole, Nando. The house was built in the 20's then rebuilt in the 50's to include this fallout shelter, which is below the pool to add radiation shielding. The old lady never throws anything away, she just 'files it' down here. Each box could be trash or bearer bonds, old magazines or Picasso's, old wrapping paper or bundles of Benjamins. We won't know until we open them."

She swept a hand across my field of view. There were at least two hundred Banker's Boxes, stacked eight to ten high, filling the space. We would have to turn sideways just to get around in the narrow aisles in between them.

"Divide and conquer!" I offered. "We eat the elephant one bite at a time."

Payton snorted, pulling a skinny laptop from her messenger bag. "We have to open each box together, and thumbprint each inventory listing to confirm we both certify it. Then when it is all done, we get polygraphed."

Polygraph! "Trust but verify. Why don't they just videotape everything we do?"

Payton pulled a Go Pro from her bag and smiled.

I did a quick mental estimate: two weeks, at least. Oh well, I have never been to Palm Beach before, so I might as well enjoy it. Maybe I could recruit some helpers?

Payton already had. Four summer interns (like me really) would arrive tomorrow, after we had devised a plan to use them. She also found the box shipped previously that contained more Banker's Boxes, colored permanent markers, sealing tape and evidence tags like the cops used.

"At least Danny Ditsch isn't here." I just realized I said it out loud.

"Who is Danny Ditsch?"

"One of Tallahassee's finest. I'll tell you the story when we take a break."

Payton sighed. "Wow, something to look forward to!"

Around 2 PM, the maid brought us lunch on a tray. Little finger sandwiches: both pimento cheese and shrimp salad, on white bread with the crusts cut off, with some baby carrots, sliced cucumbers, and something that looked like watercress. I was hungry enough to eat it.

Before I could talk about Ditsch, Wendy showed up. She was not her normal devastatingly attractive self. She was dressed in khaki pants and a collared shirt. She looked like she needed to spend a month in rehab, but I inferred she already had. She shielded her eyes from the buzzing lights and looked pained.

"Nando Cannon! You must have misfired to end up here!" She guffawed.

She must still be drunk and high if she thought she was being witty. The temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees. Payton looked ready to take a scalp. I realized I was about to witness a main event. Bitch on bitch, down and dirty to determine the alpha dog!

But Payton's expression softened. I could almost hear the wheels turning in her lawyer head. Don't get mad at a client, just get paid. Bill this snooty bitch like there is no tomorrow. Payton did faux obsequious very well, and Wendy didn't catch the undertone.

"We are going to spare no effort in getting things wrapped up for you as well as is humanly possible, Miss McQuillan!"

I notice she didn't say fast. Bill the hours and spare no line item you mean, I thought to myself. Layer on the overhead and 'true up' those expenses! Override the override! If anybody could pay the freight, it was Wendy.

Wendy tried to assert herself immediately. "Be sure to examine everything! There's no telling what Mom has in here. I know there are old contracts and bills of sale, and bank books. She didn't trust banks, and she also said "never keep all your eggs in one basket" so she had accounts at lots of different banks. She also said we owned stock in lots of old savings and loans, but I never heard which ones. I expect you to be very thorough! Do you understand?"

I could see Payton stiffen and then relax. Visualizing the amounts she could bill made her eyes glaze over. It was like meditation for her. "I will be very thorough, Miss. I will leave no stone unturned!"

And no minute unbilled, I thought.

"Very well, I will leave you two to your chores. By the way, there may be some personal stuff in here that my mother saved. No monetary value."

"We will inventory and preserve it all, Miss!" Wendy looked uncomfortable, for just a second.

Wendy went back up the stairs, and she looked a little shaky making the climb. She had been trying to keep up appearances, but I wondered what she would do when she got back in her room.

I looked over at Payton, she was gritting her teeth to stay in control, her face almost white. I tried to sympathize.

"Wendy was a child of privilege from the day she was born. I don't think she even cares that that little performance for you probably cost her six figures worth of additional billing!"

Payton looked at me and then she beamed the first genuine smile I had seen from her. She actually chuckled. "I may frame the billing summary and save it!"

The first few boxes we went through were completely unremarkable junk. We got some practice writing up the summaries, started a box numbering system, and learned how to put our thumbprints on with the little sensor on the skinny little LG laptop. But then we found a box with a copy of Wendy's grandfather's will, and the divorce decree from Wendy's mother's first divorce, the guy she married after Wendy's father died. There was also a printed report from a private detective.

Payton smiled. "Legal research time. I need to have some of our junior associates game this out. Was anything overlooked in the administration of this will? Can anything be re-opened now?"

"That sounds expensive." I laughed.

"No stone unturned!" Payton smiled.

We took a break and talked about how to process the rest of the boxes. We came up with a positional notation system in addition to the serial numbers, and a plan for the interns. We both thought it would take two weeks to finish it all. The interns were booked two to a room at a Best Western out by the outlet mall, with a rental car that made my Camry look good.

"I have dinner reservations for us at eight, Nando. We are staying in guest rooms here tonight, and we will plan the rest of our time at supper. What commitments do you have back in Tallahassee?"

"I have a standing client commitment on Wednesdays which predates all this, for some old friends of the firm, so I have to be back no later than noon Wednesdays. I can come back here Thursday mornings. I have some non-client plans on most Saturday nights" I hoped. I hadn't heard from Brandi lately, and she hadn't returned my messages.

Payton looked curious but just said "I'll schedule the little plane. I will probably go back with you to catch up in the office on Wednesdays too."

Dinner was at a place inside the Breakers Hotel. Pretty tall corn for a kid from Kansas.

Tuesday, we went through another bunch of boxes. We found a whole box of Wendy's press clippings that her mother Wilsie had saved: newspaper stories about street racing and crashes, letters expelling her from several private schools, and letters from merchants expecting to be paid for things Wendy had shoplifted or vandalized. Payton looked them over and said the law firm already had all of these in their files. Wow. Then we found another box of police reports. It was a collection of the actual police folders on arrests complete with booking photos and (empty) evidence bags, lots of them. Payton was alarmed. "We don't have any of these, and no charges were ever filed. There is no record of any of these arrests."

I smiled. "Thank you, Detective Boyce!"

Payton recoiled. "How do you know Boyce?"

"I thought everyone knew he was in the McQuillan's pocket?"

Payton stared at me. "We need to have a long talk, Nando!"

Tuesday night as we were driven to the little airplane to go back to Tallahassee, I got a text from the burner that Brandi had used before. "THIS IS BRANDI'S SISTER JENNA. OUR DAD SICK. BRANDI IN NEBRASKA." That was short, but hardly sweet, and that burner was the only way I had to get in contact with her. I assumed it was in Valdosta. When I tried calling it, I got the message about "the subscriber has not activated the mailbox for this account." I guess Brandi had effectively deactivated me.

Payton looked over at the pained expression on my face. "Did your Wednesday appointment cancel?"

"No, another matter entirely. What did you want to have a talk about?"

"Wait until we get in the plane."

Thirty minutes later we were climbing out. I had to assume Payton's firm had known about Boyce, and probably a lot of cops like him, all along, so I wondered what else she wanted to talk about. I soon found out.

"Nando, there are some records I have been warned that we might find. We will not find them. That is to say that if and when we do, we will not video the box nor inventory it, we will empty it into my bag, and I will shred them personally. You do understand that sometimes we learn things about our clients that have nothing to do with our jobs, but that we still have to keep confidential?"

"Of course. The abortions, or something else?"

Her eyes jumped just like Detective Boyce's had. I only knew about one abortion from Renee Wilson, but Payton just confirmed there were at least two. Her eyes shifted, and I knew there was something else she wasn't telling me besides the abortions. But then after a pause, she continued. "That's it. If we find anything about that, we don't officially find it. Okay?"

"I'll keep it in mind." Now I would be curious to see what else we might find.

We landed without further conversation. It felt good to be back in my little place. It was not as fancy as the McQuillan estate, but it was home. I slept decadently until 6:30 the next morning, since I wasn't meeting with Biff at 5:00, but no sign of Bonnie Bedard. I drove by Mel's Place on the way to work and the sign had been taken down and a city building permit was posted on the door. I literally whistled on my way up to the office. It felt good to be back there, too.

I said hello to Lucy Lowry on the way past her desk and then tackled my paper inbox. It was almost fun. Mostly routine stuff from clients about filing deadlines and newly acquired assets that might qualify for tax credits or accelerated depreciation, my tuition bill for the fall semester, and a note from Wallace Watkins asking me to drop by his office at noon. I responded to the client requests and turned in my scholarship voucher with the tuition bill, and by then it was time to see Wallace.

"Come in, Nando. First, we just got paid for all the work on the purchase of Hal and Shirley's latest dealership, so congratulations for a job well done." One of Wallace's accounting maxims is that the job is not finished until you get paid.

"Second, can you go to lunch with me now to talk about the McQuillan project?"

Wallace was much more frugal than Payton Preston. We went to a crab place over by Florida A&M, and I was impressed, because the prices were reasonable, and the food was good.

"I heard good feedback from the law firm. You are considered smart and discrete. And before you ask, I am giving you a raise today to what a graduate new hire makes, with a review and a bump 90 days after you pass your CPA."

Wallace knew just how to motivate me, plus I was billing at least 4X what I cost him, even at the new rate of pay.

"I also hear that the McQuillan project may turn into a quagmire, so be prepared for some turbulence. I can't reveal my sources, but I have been led to believe that BDBC&B will be billing many times more than they ever hoped for, and the project could go on for years. I want you to keep us right in the middle of everything. Learn everything you can and make yourself indispensable to everyone involved."

I considered what to tell Wallace, then decided I needed his advice. "Payton Preston has already asked me to ignore and conceal any evidence we find of Wendy McQuillan's abortions, and I get the idea there is something else important she is not telling me."

"Go along with her but try to get some concessions of your own, like her commitment to your continuing as the accountant on the deal. Do you have any idea what she is hiding?"

"No, but she tried to make me think it was only the abortions, but I'm pretty sure there is something else, too."

"Okay. Learn all you can. By the way, you may be able to find out more here in Tallahassee on Wednesday that you can in Palm Beach." He actually winked.

When I met Renee Wilson as the condo that afternoon, I held off pumping her for information until I had pumped her twice just for fun. I thought it was a fair trade. She must have too.

"Oh, I am sure there a dozen problems Wendy and her family have been concealing for years, and they have lots of helpers in law enforcement to help them. But there are some things that even they cannot suppress forever, especially after a lawsuit is filed. Wendy is the primary beneficiary of her mother's estate, and officially the executor, but ask yourself what happens if she can't inherit or serve."

I thought about that. "She was alive when her mother died, so * * * * *" Then it struck me: something even I had heard of. "If Wendy killed her mother* * * * *"

"It may not matter if she did or didn't, but only that someone alleges that, makes a stink, and tries to have her removed as executor. The family may settle to avoid a public battle, and that settlement could be a big payday for a plaintiff's attorney, or whoever was appointed to administer the estate, or some of the other designated beneficiaries if Wendy is bypassed. I remember a big estate a few years ago that ended up going to a university endowment as the final back up beneficiary."

Food for thought all right. I would think about while I made Renee Wilson food for fun for a while. She had me for dessert. Accounting is the career for me, and I am devoted to my clients!

The little plane landed in Palm Beach late Thursday morning. Payton was strangely silent. We got through about ten boxes that had old address books, calendars, and ads the old lady had torn out of magazines. Then we stirred up a problem: a box full of old-style savings and loan passbooks. About the size of a passport, these things went out of favor in the 1970's, along with more than half of the savings and loans that failed or got acquired by bigger banks. I soon discovered a pattern: there were 23 of them, and they all listed a single $100,000 deposit made in the 1960's, totaling $2,300,000 excluding any interest earned. My billing just took a jump. Lucy and I would have to research each one of these and discover if any were still in business and if any of the money could be recovered.