Found Money - James Grippando [43]
“What do you mean?”
“You’re the executor of the estate, right? That means you have ethical and legal obligations of your own. For starters, where did the money come from?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Where do you think it came from? Be honest with me.”
Ryan still couldn’t say it—he couldn’t call his father a blackmailer. “I’m afraid it may turn out that Dad wasn’t entitled to this money.”
“All right. Just so we can have an intelligent conversation here, let’s say your old man cheated somebody. I presume he didn’t pay income tax on the money.”
“Definitely not.”
“There’s problem number one. The IRS has absolutely no sense of humor about these things.”
“So I suppose I’ll have to report the money on some kind of estate tax form.”
“Not just that. The probate court requires you to file a schedule of assets. And you have to give legal notice to potential creditors, who then have the right to file a claim against the estate. If your dad did cheat somebody, I suppose the victims would be considered creditors. In the strictest ethical sense, you would be obligated to send them a notice so they could get their money back, if they wanted to make an issue out of it.”
“What if I don’t know who they are?”
“You’re the executor of the estate. It’s your duty to find out. Within the exercise of reasonable diligence, of course.”
The mention of a legal duty only heightened Ryan’s sense of moral responsibility—not to mention his curiosity. “I just can’t believe my dad would be involved in anything…unsavory. I always thought he was such a good person.”
“That’s what we always want to think. We think that about ourselves. Then one day, opportunity knocks. And that’s when we find out. Are we truly honest? Some people are. Some people are hardcore crooks. Those are the extremes. Most of the people I defend are in the middle. They’ve done the right thing all their life, but only because the fear of doing time outweighs the rewards of the crime. For them, morality boils down to simple risk analysis. The thing is, you never know which way those people will turn until the right opportunity comes along.”
“I’m afraid my dad may have flunked the test.”
“It’s not a test, Ryan. At least not the kind you can cram for the night before, like we did in college. It’s a question of what you’re made of. Now, I don’t know where your dad got that kind of money. Maybe it’s totally legitimate. Maybe it’s not. But maybe he still had a damn good reason for doing what he did.”
“I don’t know the complete picture yet.”
“Then you have a couple of choices. You can go down to Panama and open the box. Or you can ignore it. My hunch, however, is that if you go down there, you’re going to find out what your father was made of. Can you handle that?”
“Yeah,” he said without hesitation. “I have to.”
“Okay. That was the easy one. Here’s where it gets complicated.”
“What do you mean?”
“Once you start chasing the money trail, you might well find out what you are made of. So before you hop on an airplane, you need to ask yourself: Can you handle that?”
Ryan looked his friend in the eye. “I brought my passport,” he said flatly. “That question was answered before I got here.”
20
On Sunday morning Amy called Ryan Duffy again. An elderly-sounding woman answered, his mother. Amy hadn’t realized that the doctor she had found so interesting had formally moved in with his mother, but she quickly cut him some slack. She knew better than anyone what a divorce could do for your living arrangements.
“He’s not here,” said Mrs. Duffy.
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“He had to go out of town on business. Can I take a message?”
“I can call again. You think he’ll be back tomorrow?”
“Probably not. He called me from the Denver airport last night and said he’d be away for a few days. Are you a friend of his?”
“Yes, sort of. Thank you for your time, ma’am. I’ll check back later.” She hung up before the next question.
Amy sat on the edge of her bed, her thoughts churning in her head. It was a bit unnerving to hear Jeanette