The Eden Effect (8 page)

‘Look, Martin,' Arthur said. ‘There is a Limo parked in front of the dairy. Are you expecting someone?' he joked. Martin had seen the car too. A black, shiny, stretch Ford Fairlane, parked just outside the dairy. Martin had never seen a car like that in Eden before. Even the Donati brothers, with all their wealth did not own a car like that.

As their van passed the car, Martin looked back and saw the VHB number plates. It was a chauffeur driven, luxury hire car. It must be someone important, he thought. The windows were tinted and any occupant of the vehicle could not be seen. Arthur turned the van into the drive, parked it, and both he and Martin went into the house. Neither gave the car any further thought.

‘Coffee, Arthur?' Martin asked.

‘Yes please, Martin.' Arthur replied.

This was their ritual. After the morning delivery run, they would sit down, have a coffee. Arthur a black and Martin a latte. They would then change out of their white clothes and would part ways, each going about their business, whatever that ­happened to be that day.

‘I'll make it, Martin,' Arthur said. ‘Sit down, I'll bring it in.'

Martin sat in the lounge. Arthur headed off to the kitchen, turned on the Nespresso machine, filled the reservoir with water and waited for the light to stop blinking to signify that the machine was ready. There was a knocking sound. The front door, thought Arthur. He knew Martin was closer and would open the door. He proceeded with the coffee making. It took less than a minute for the two coffees to be ready and he carried them into the lounge. Martin was not in the lounge. Arthur set the coffee down and followed the sound of voices to the entry hall. Martin was there, the front door open and two men, in what looked like in very expensive suits, standing on the porch.

‘Yes, I'm Martin Brophy,' Arthur heard Martin say.

‘How can I help you?'

The taller of the two men pulled out a card and handed it to Martin.

‘We are from Bentley and Muir. I'm Adrian Stubbs and this is Austin Scott. We represent Bentley and Muir, we're lawyers.'

Martin took the card that Adrian Stubbs has handed him. The card was white; it looked expensive with embossed black lettering. It read simply, ‘Bentley and Muir, Santa Monica, Los Angeles, USA.'

‘I'm sorry. You must have the wrong address,' said Martin. ‘I've never heard of Bentley and Muir, I don't know anyone in L.A. How do I even know you are lawyers?'

‘Please accept our apologies for coming unannounced,' said the one who Austin Scott was. ‘We had this address, but no contact number so we could not call ahead. You are Martin Brophy?' he enquired.

‘Yes, I am Martin Brophy. I've already told you that. You still haven't told me what this is all about.'

This time it was Adrian Stubbs's turn. He pulled out a wallet from his jacket pocket, removed a card, which he handed to Martin. It was the Californian driver's license attesting to the fact that he was indeed Adrian Stubbs. This was followed by a second card, which simply read, ‘Adrian Stubbs, Legal Counsel, Bentley and Muir.'

‘Please, Mr. Brophy, we really are who we say we are. If you permit me, I can show you our firm on Google. I would be happy to call in for you to verify, but its 4am in L.A at the moment.'

Martin hesitated. ‘Okay, come in. I guess I believe you are who you say you are. So again, how can I help you?'

The two men followed Martin to the lounge and sat down. Arthur could see the two coffee cups that he had deposited there and asked, ‘could I get you gentlemen a cup of coffee?'

‘That would be great, ‘Adrian replied. ‘We both take it black, no sugar.'

‘No problem.' Arthur headed back to the kitchen. The Nespresso was still on; he put in the coffee pods and made two coffees, one after the other, and headed back to the lounge.

‘Here we are, black, no sugar,' he said, handing each man a cup.

He was about to sit down and have his coffee when Adrian said, ‘I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but the business we have with Mr. Brophy is private. I'm sorry, I don't know your name, but I hope you don't mind leaving us for a little while.'

‘I'm Martin Fromm, and I don't mind at all.'

Arthur picked up his cup and headed back to the kitchen, sat down and tried to drink his coffee, which by now had cooled down and was barely drinkable. He could hear voices in the lounge. He could not hear what was being said, but intermittently heard Martin's voice rising above the other voices. He thought Martin sounded excited or agitated. He hoped he wasn't in any sort of trouble. Arthur made himself another cup of coffee, a hot one this time. He was half way through the cup when he heard Martin's voice, very loud this time.

‘Arthur, could you come here, please?'

Arthur put his cup down and hurried into the lounge room. The three men were sitting, on the coffee table was a black folder, opened. A few other official looking papers were strewn over the surface of the coffee table.

‘Sit down, Arthur,' Martin said. ‘You need to be sitting down for this.'

Arthur sat and waited. He had a bad feeling about what was to come. Martin turned to the two men.

‘Arthur is my friend and colleague, and he is also my accountant, so, I would like him to sit in on this meeting, if that is okay with you.'

‘No problem,' both men replied in unison.

His accountant, Arthur thought. First time I've heard of that. But he said nothing. Martin now addressed Arthur. ‘Let me give you the abridged version. Adrian and Austin can fill in the details later and answer any questions you might have.'

Arthur waited. Martin continued. ‘It seems, Arthur that I have come into an inheritance.'

Arthur felt a sense of relief. Martin was not in any trouble after all.

‘You recall me telling you about my father. The father I never knew. Well, it's seems he knew me. Go figure, he kept track of me all those years. From
afar
. Never made contact. Anyway, he's dead. Died in a plane crash, six months ago. His plane, he was the pilot. Bentley and Muir are his lawyers. It seems that my father, his name was Warwick, err.'

‘Warwick Preston,'
Adrian chimed in.

‘Yes, Warwick Preston. Well, he never married. Had no family and it turns out I am his only living relative.'

Martin paused for a moment. He took a sip of coffee, which by now must have been stone cold and continued.

‘Now, pay attention, Arthur. The next bit will blow your mind. It did mine. My father, Warwick was into computer software. The boys here know all the details. Not important now. He built up his company from scratch. And twelve months ago sold it. He was fifty six and wanted to retire and travel the world, which was what he was doing when his plane ploughed into a side of mountain in Peru. He had a will, which named me as his sole beneficiary. Remember the business is sold and his assets are all in cash, which now, it seems is mine, or soon to be.'

‘I don't know what to say, Martin. I'm sorry about your father dying, but I guess you never knew him anyway. At least he left you with something. Doesn't quite make up for not being there for you, but still.'

Arthur stopped. He could see a strange smile on Martin's face.

‘That's the kicker, Arthur. The ‘something' as you call it, is a lot of something.'

Arthur felt it would not be appropriate to ask, but he didn't need to. Martin volunteered.

‘Are you ready for this, Arthur? The sum is eight billion dollars US. That's billion with a ‘b', Arthur. What do you think of that?'

Arthur did not know what to think and didn't know what to say. In his former life he was used to dealing with large sums of money, with wealthy clients. But eight billion U.S. He made a quick mental calculation that was just under nine billon Australian. That figure was right out of any ballpark Arthur had ever been in.

‘That's a shitload of cash, Martin, if you pardon my French,' Arthur blurted out. ‘Jesus, what are you going to do with all that?'

Before Martin could reply, Adrian interjected. ‘Gentleman, I suggest that this information does not go beyond this room. Once all the paperwork is completed, the money will need to be transferred to your bank, Martin. You don't mind if I call you Martin? I'm sure Eden is a lovely town. I know it has a bank, but if I could humbly suggest, I don't think that the Eden branch or Bendigo Bank should be the destination of that money. For a start, the manager is likely to have a heart attack, and in a small town like this, the word would go out in no time.'

Martin has not yet thought of the logistics of actually receiving all that money. He waited and Adrian continued.

‘Could I suggest a more appropriate bank? Our firm banks with Citibank, which as you know, is here in Australia, head office in Sydney. We have already made preliminary enquiries on your behalf and an account can be started for you there. It would be in complete confidence. Only the manager would be aware of it and you would deal directly with him. But please, Martin, that is a suggestion only. It is your money and you can bank it and deal with it, whatever you please.'

‘Thank you, Adrian. I appreciate your suggestion. I'm still trying to get my head around the whole thing. Can I have a day or two to think about it? I'm sure Citibank would be fine. Can I get back to you on that? By the way, are you guys staying in Australia, or heading back to the U.S?'

‘We thought we would spend two or three days in Melbourne before we go home,' Adrian replied.

‘We are staying at the Westin. You can reach us there. All that remains to do is get a few signatures, Martin. Arthur, you can witness and then we're done. And we'll get out of your hair.'

Austin pulled out a gold Cross pen, handed it to Martin. He signed in the three spots where Austin was indicating. Martin handed the pen to Arthur who witnessed where he was shown, and handed the pen back to Austin.

‘Here is your copy, Martin,' said Austin. ‘Keep it in a safe place. We are done here. Thank you for the coffee. Remember, we are available to talk to you at any time. We would be happy to come back here if you needed us to.'

The four men stood up, Martin and Arthur shook Adrian and Austin's hands, intern, saw them to the front door, stood there as they got into the limo and drove off.

‘Arthur, I think this calls for something stronger than a coffee. I know it's just noon, but have you got any of that single malt you are always going on about?'

‘Sure, Martin.'

Arthur headed for his room and came back with a half full bottle of a 10-year-old Talisker. He took two glasses from the buffet and poured a generous measure of whisky into each.

‘Cheers, Martin,' he said, raising his glass.

Martin raised his, they clicked glasses and both downed the Talisker in two long gulps.

‘Arthur, consider yourself promoted. You are now my accountant. I can't think of anyone I would trust more to advise me. Eight billion U.S, what's that in Aussie dollars, Arthur?'

‘It's about, nine billion, give or take a few million.'

‘What the fuck am I going to do with that much money, Arthur? What am I going to do with nine billion dollars? I wouldn't know how to spend one million, let alone nine billion.'

Martin's voice was pleading. He looked genuinely distressed. Arthur did not reply immediately. After a pause he answered, slowly, deliberately.

‘With this much money, there is almost nothing you cannot buy. You could actually buy Eden, all of it. Lock, stock and barrel.'

Martin did buy Eden. Not actually all of it and it was not Martin himself who did the buying. The money, 8 billion, 730 million was tucked away in a Citibank account which the lawyers had helped set up and which was in Martin's sole control, although not in his name. Beyond that, Martin knew he was out of his depth. This is where Arthur came in. Newly promoted to the position of Martin's accountant, Arthur Fromm, was back in his element. While Martin was out of his depth, Arthur felt right at home dealing with vast sums of money, although admittedly never before quite so vast.

Arthur took charge. The disgraced partner of the prestigious firm of Lowe and Brown, accountant to the wealthy was back in the game. His new position and the challenges ahead invigorated Arthur. He had not felt this good for over two years. With newfound zeal and determination, he set about his task. The project he was about to embark on could not be accomplished alone. He needed to bring in the big guns. And Arthur knew them all. In matters of the money and how to spend it, Martin had given him a free hand. To get in the talent he required he had to buy it. Arthur had a saying in the old days. Money talks. And if it talks loud enough, everyone will listen. No exceptions. He knew that to make things work he needed lawyers. One lawyer in particular. Robert Mackie, senior partner of Mackie and Sloan, Melbourne's premier commercial legal firm. Arthur had dealt with Robert on quite a few occasions when he was back at Lowe and Brown, and there was no one better to coordinate and run the project. Arthur had known Robert personally as well as professionally and Robert Mackie was one of only a handful of people who actually sought Arthur out after his downfall and offered help.