Contraband

15

Max showed up downtown at Spottswood, Spottswood and Spottswood the following morning at ten and was shown into Jack’s office. He shook her hand and didn’t waste much time with chitchat. He opened a file on his desk and extracted three sheets of paper. “Your aunt Maxine left you her house and two rental houses, both currently rented and bringing in, together, about four thousand dollars a month.”

“That’ll come in useful,” Max said.

“She also left you two more rental properties on Duval Street, both rented, that bring in about twenty-seven thousand dollars a month.”

“Holy shit!” Max said. “I’ve got thirty thousand dollars a month in income, just like that?”

“Thirty-one thousand dollars. Your aunt didn’t use a rental agent, so that’s all yours. Oh, there’ll be some estate tax to pay.”

“How much?”

“Ballpark, ten to fifteen million.”

“Jesus, why so much?”

“Well, the two Duval Street properties are probably worth a lot, together, maybe twenty-five million; the two rental houses, maybe three million; and your aunt’s house another three million. Oh, and there’s another eleven million in her brokerage account. You’ll need to talk with her accountant, William Kemp, about filing a final tax return, and an estate tax return.”

“I had no idea she had that kind of money!”

Jack poured her a glass of ice water from a pitcher on his desk. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. “You don’t look so good.”

Max sipped the water and felt better. “I think I had a moment of depression when you mentioned the taxes. I’m better now that I’ve got the whole picture.” She drank the rest of the water. “That is the whole picture, isn’t it?”

“Well, she’s got that old Mercedes that she was driven around in, and the furnishings of her house. I’ve no idea what that’s all worth. You’re going to need some cash to pay the taxes, of course. I’d suggest you sell the larger of the two Duval properties. The renter of the larger one is a client of this office, and I’m sure he’d like to buy it. Shall I see what he’s willing to offer?”

“Yes, sure. Do that.”

“Oh, and your aunt’s body is down at the funeral home. You might want to give them a call about arrangements — a funeral, and all.”

“She has a cemetery plot,” Max said. “The whole family is there. As for a funeral, all her family and everybody she knows is dead, so who’d come?”

“Talk to the funeral director.” Jack handed her a card. “And you ought to call William Kemp to get him started on the tax returns.” He gave her another card.

“Thanks, Jack, I’ll do that. Oh, I almost forgot. You hear about the plane crash out at Fort Jefferson?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I heard somebody took away the wreckage, too.”

“We think we might know where it is, but we need a search warrant, and for that we need probable cause to think a crime has been committed. Any ideas on what crime could be involved?”

“Was the airplane stolen?”

“Good question. I’ll have to find the answer.”

“Get the owner to report it stolen and your problem will be solved.”

Max stood up. “Thank you, Jack. I’ll give William a call, and the funeral director, too.”

She walked outside into the sunshine and took a few deep breaths. Life has just changed, she thought.