To Barbara, Andrew, Alexander and Jordan,
Thank you for your love and support.
We have been blessed to live in a period where patriotism is experienced through the envious dreams of non-Americans.
Our greatest challenge will be keeping those dreams alive.
PDM
Prologue
Sam Peterson saw the meter change twice while the vehicle appeared to be halted. He knew the thieving cabby was after his assets. His anxiety subsided when the clicking of the meter stopped. A verdict of $32.60 was announced when the metal arm was raised to signify the journey’s end. He grabbed the worn billfold concealed in his front pocket and handed the extortionist a wilted twenty, one crumply ten, and four crisp singles.
Peterson could not hear the driver’s expression of gratitude as he struggled to exit the taxi on Michigan Avenue. “Up yours” at 80 decibels blended with the normal street sounds of most big cities.
It had been some time since he visited Chicago. He paused to glance in all directions, marveling at all the commerce being transacted. High-end merchants occupied the lower levels of every high-rise. Apartments disguised as overpriced condominiums were methodically placed above the stores. A one-inch strip of gray mortar separated the tall buildings from one another. A single six-inch nail could fasten two hanging pictures in adjacent buildings.
It was a warm day for Peterson to be walking in a wool suit. The sight of all the MasterCard, Visa, American Express, and Discover Card decals prominently displayed on the merchants’ doors and windows made him smile. Whatever Novus was didn’t seem to matter to him or anyone else.
He was amused by the irony of not affixing credit card decals on the elaborate glass entrances of the private residences guarded by decorated doormen. The results would always be the same whether the residents used a credit card to pay for razor blades or their mortgage payment. He tried to calculate the effects of $8,400 of credit card debt owed by every imbecile he saw. He knew an American using a credit card would spend 12% more than if he or she paid with cash. And $8,400 of debt at 18% would take over twenty-five years to pay if only minimum payments were made. Better yet, the interest charges would be twice the principal during the payment period.
Sam Peterson prided himself at being an encyclopedia of consumer behavioral knowledge. His understanding of debt was a study in modern American history. J.P. Morgan would have blushed knowing the amount of money earned from the 20% of all Americans who had reached their credit limits.
The adrenaline from his racing mind caused him to accelerate his pace until something unusual caught his eye. He stopped at a large storefront window of an elegant home furnishings store displaying a sign that read:
ONE-DAY ONLY SALE
No Interest for 60 Months
No Sales Tax Today
Dozens of smartly dressed customers hoping to attract a sales clerk’s attention were on the other side of the glass. The employees appeared to be tired. He imagined their lethargic movements resulted from the previous night’s late routine of replacing the old price tags with new tags hiding a 20% price increase.
Sam Peterson could literally bank on the fact that over half of all American families spent more than they earned. Similarly, the rapid expansion of credit and debit cards across the world would quickly cause his wealth to double again.
The nation gained a person every twelve seconds, Peterson knew. The formulation of a birth every eight seconds, a death every thirteen seconds, and more importantly, an immigrant every twenty-six seconds would yield an increase of five people every minute. That meant the United States would grow by 300 people every hour, 7,200 a day, or 2,628,000 persons per year. He figured this growth rate would increase his income next year by over $900 million.
He glanced at his watch and realized it was approaching noon. It was time to meet his only two surviving relatives for lunch at Portillo’s on Ohio Street. Sam quickened his pace in anticipation of having his two hotdog lunch with his nephews, Jack and Nick. He wondered if he would recognize his nephews after a decade of change. He could not remember if fries were included; if not, he didn’t need the calories anyway.
His soaking shirt reminded him of how humid the Midwest could be. He looked forward to returning to Montreux. He realized something was wrong with only two more blocks to go. His chest felt like three gold bars had fallen upon it.
Sam Peterson remembered one of his favorite sayings, “You’re dead a long time.” He seemed to take comfort in knowing he would soon be able to quantify the duration of a long time. His thirteen seconds of fame had arrived.
He had hoped to give his nephews the heads-up, but now it was up to them to figure it out.
__________________
My brother Nick and I waited until nearly twelve-thirty before ordering dogs, fries, and two vanilla shakes for lunch. We both realized our uncle was a no-show.
Nick asked, “Do you know what Uncle Sam wanted?”
I just shook my head. Nick ranted, “The hell with him; we haven’t seen him since Dad died. He shouldn’t expect anything from us! When he dies, I’ll be late to his funeral.”
I interrupted my brother, “Hey, calm down! We may not be invited to the funeral.”
We finished our lunch around one o’clock. We each knew there was no way to contact our distant uncle.
Nick hoped the meeting was not about any changes to the annual distribution he was receiving from the family trust. Last year’s check for $127,326 was only partially spent on frivolous things.
Nick asked about the possibility of the money stopping. I just shrugged. Even ten years after Dad’s death, I had limited knowledge of our family’s business affairs.
“I’ll see you Sunday,” I reminded Nick. “Same time, same place.”
PART ONE
“Don’t get the idea that I’m knocking the American system”
Al Capone
Chapter One
My life changed ––and so did my brother’s––about ten years ago.
Our dad, Dan Peterson, had a fatal heart attack while reading his mid-October issue of Forbes in his den. He was only fifty-four. I was thirty and Nick was twenty-seven at the time.
Sam, my dad’s only brother, was our only known living relative. He lived most of the year in Switzerland and had just flown into Chicago for the funeral.
I remember my brother telling Uncle Sam, “I always felt there was more to my old man than he let on.” Nick wasn’t complaining. Dad had never showed much emotion, even when our mother took a hike when we were little. He explained her disappearance as an act of mercy. She could not resign herself to a maternal role. Her instincts consisted of taking us to the nearest saloon while she attended to the welfare of pleasing herself.
We were raised in a middle-class neighborhood twelve miles north of downtown Chicago. Our 1950’s house was a typical two-story red brick residence with a finished basement barely fitting on the width of the 5,000-square-foot rectangular lot. I could not remember being deprived of any of the necessities of life, nor do I remember ever being overindulged, except for the New York trips.
My brother and I were very close while growing up. We were raised in a neighborhood where age did not make a difference concerning who played with whom. The older kids watched out for the younger ones and everyone knew we were protected by this unity. Almost all of the neighborhood kids played softball, basketball, football, army, and bombardment. Everyone participated despite the ages spanning from six to fifteen, with skill levels ranging from substantial to none.
Playtime began immediately after school and continued until dark with an hour break at six o’clock for dinner. On the weekends, playtime included meals where everyone would head to numerous neighborhood joints for prized Chicago junk cuisine.
My relationship with my brother Nick began to change when I entered my senior year of high school. This change was more attributed to differences in priorities than our three-year age difference.
I prided myself on leadership and academic successes while my brother, a freshman at the same school, didn’t participate in any academic venue including gym. Nick was constantly in trouble for bad grades, truancy, and guilt by association.
About the time I was accepted into the University of Chicago, Nick was initiated into the junior gangster wannabe club. Nick’s days and nights were filled with poker games, boozing, and drugs. The girls Nick hung with would have thought the movie “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” was a story about a talkative whore in the witness protection program.
During my first year at college, Nick began to dress in silk and leather clothing covered with plated gold chains and bracelets. His wrist was adorned with a chunky watch inset with real fool’s gold and fake diamonds. The average person would have wanted Nick to surrender his Home Shopping Network membership when his faux gold jewelry exceeded his body weight.
There are few accolades for being viewed as average. The extreme of being either on top or the bottom was desirable to my brother. Nick knew everyone seems alike when you’re in the middle. Nick could have been an average student if he had wanted to work at it. In fact, he was somewhat above-average in math. Ironically, his ability to calculate odds, percentages, and complete math teasers helped him prepare for the challenges he would soon face.
To say that Nick was not a chip off the old block does not do justice to the poor soul swinging the ax. My dad went to the University of Chicago and so did I. I never gave much thought to Nick’s pain when he sat with Dad at my graduation ceremony. The obvious father’s pride of watching the prodigal son follow in his footsteps had to be uncomfortable for Nick. My dad never hassled Nick to finish college.
We are all complicated people but, like everybody on this earth, I’m a product of all my past experiences. Frankly, I’m comfortable with who I am; I know my brother thinks I’m a clone of our father. I have no excuses to give Nick because I cannot remember a time when I did not want to be like Dad. I tried to emulate my father for years. I never really understood how Dad must have felt. He must have felt like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. And now, so do I.
I could hear Nick saying, “I always knew the old man had more to say—I only wish I could have heard it from him.”
CHAPTER TWO
When I was about seven, my dad told me he owned several apartment and office buildings in Chicago and New York. I was informed the business had been handed down to him from my grandfather. I always assumed our family’s income came from real estate.
I have no memories of my father going to work on a regular schedule. When Nick and I were little, we sometimes accompanied Dad to his office located in a three-room nondescript suite on the sixteenth floor of an old gothic-style building on Madison Street in Chicago’s aging downtown.
The office contained several old wooden desks loaded with antique ledger books, adding machines, NCR bookkeeping printouts, and thousands of rubber bands, paper clips, and memo pads. The telephone system was a throwback to the parents of the Baby Bells. A couple of dozen locked four-drawer metal file cabinets lined the military green walls. I believed the old cabinets contained the tenant and landlord property files. I could not remember any other employees, secretary, or assistants working in the office.
I always stared at the hand-painted lettering on the opaque glass entrance door to the office, Peterson Bros. Realty Investments. When I was ten, I remember asking Dad, “What’s a Bros.?”
One week before every Labor Day, Dad would take Nick and me to Manhattan on a non-stop coach flight. We were always treated to the finest hotels, restaurants, and amusements while we were chauffeured around the “Big Apple” in a black limousine by a middle-aged male babysitter. We accompanied our father on the trips until I was sixteen and Nick was thirteen. Neither of us could remember seeing our father much during the “Big Apple” visits.
When I was almost twelve, Dad explained the reason for our annual trips to New York. He was required to attend the annual meeting of the CRA and indicated the royal treatment was a reward for the volunteer work he did for the association each year. I remembered a plaque in Dad’s office commemorating his dues paying effort to the Commercial Realtors Association of Chicago.
We finally met Sam Peterson, our only known living relative, at Dad’s funeral.
Throughout the years, whenever either Nick or I would ask our father about other relatives, his answer was always the same, “There are no other living family members except for Uncle Sam.” Eventually Dad told us he lived in Switzerland and was a bachelor.
Several dozen quiet strangers in dark suits attended Dad’s small service. Before we left the cemetery, Uncle Sam asked Nick and me if we could meet him at eight o’clock sharp for dinner at his hotel. We nodded while he gave us instructions to the Cape Cod Room and reminded us to wear a tie and jacket.
We arrived at the hotel by seven-fifty and approached the maitre d’ asking for Mr. Sam Peterson’s table. We were quickly escorted to a table toward the back and asked if we wanted a cocktail while we waited. Nick ordered a Jack Daniels straight-up and I ordered a decent merlot.
Uncle Sam arrived at the table at precisely eight o’clock. The waiter approached with the drinks and asked my uncle, “May I get you a cocktail?”
“Water would be adequate with a wedge of lemon,” replied my uncle.
The waiter asked Uncle Sam, “Would you prefer bottled water, and if so, carbonated or non-carbonated?”
Uncle Sam said, “No bottled water—regular tap water will suffice.” My uncle seemed to peer out of the window and glance toward Lake Michigan.
He was about two inches shorter than Dad’s six-foot frame. His facial appearance and voice were very similar to my father’s. Unlike Dad, Uncle Sam’s grey hair was slightly balding and I noticed that his complexion was a little more tanned and his build slightly larger.
Nick was certain our uncle had not missed many meals. He appeared to be about thirty pounds overweight. The custom-made suit, woven from a shimmering light grey pinstriped wool fabric, did not hide his lack of conditioning. Nick thought he knew fine clothing and admired the expensive fabric.
Uncle Sam indicated his sorrow for the loss of our father and his beloved brother. He asked us questions about our lives, our education, and how we earned a living.
I discussed my job as an officer of a large bank holding company. Nick indicated he was between jobs but his prior experiences included being a private assistant for a well-known businessman in Chicago. Nick proudly stated, “I held that job for almost two years.” Nick failed to mention that his former boss was doing five to ten years for fraud.
I briefly mentioned my college days where I earned my master’s degree in accounting at the University of Chicago. I boasted, “I passed the CPA exam and after obtaining six years of experience in public accounting, I switched to private industry.” Nick kept quiet about his education experiences.
Our uncle inquired about any women in our lives. In Nick’s words, “The pickings are too good to grab just one piece of fruit from the orchard.”
What we didn’t know was that Uncle Sam had regular reports forwarded to him from his employees concerning the day-to-day activities of his two nephews. He knew all the answers to any of the small talk questions his nephews expected him to ask.
After about five minutes of obligatory banter, the waiter finally approached the table and announced two specials. The rehearsed speech made the description of a crustacean sound like a Victoria’s Secret model.
The waiter turned to Nick. “I’ll have the blood rare ahi with a house salad, seafood soup, and bring a shrimp cocktail— we can all share some of it.”
Both Nick and I thought we saw our uncle wince before the waiter turned to me.
I ordered, “A swordfish steak with a house salad.”
And Uncle Sam ordered, “Just the halibut and nothing else.”
After the waiter left, Uncle Sam expressed some regret that he had never met us before. “It’s a shame it took a loved one’s death to get us together.”
I asked, “When was the last time you saw our dad?”
Uncle Sam hesitated for a minute. “Last September, at the annual meeting in New York.” He went on to say, “I never miss the annual meeting and always looked forward to the week I shared with my brother.”
Uncle Sam asked, “Do you mind if I discuss your dad’s finances?”
“Dad never wanted to discuss what would happen to the real estate or other assets after he died,” Nick indicated.
Uncle Sam slowly unfolded the papers he removed from the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and presented a nine-page document. “This is the business agreement between your father and me.”
He told us, “I have copies of the agreement for each of you. If you desire, you may contact the family lawyers in New York or London with any questions. Their contact information is on the last page. I would like to explain the agreement and the finances between your dad and myself in a simplistic manner.”
Nick and I eagerly nodded our heads in anticipation.
He told us about a partnership owned equally by Dad and him. The partnership owned all of their material assets and the agreement stipulated that all of the net assets of the deceased brother were to be bequeathed to the surviving brother. We were told the partnership controlled other assets held by various partnerships, corporations, and trusts, and as such, the holdings became quite complex and difficult to explain.
Uncle Sam started to speak a little softer when he said, “This was the same arrangement the Peterson family has had for generations. The surviving brothers would receive the family assets to perpetuate the family fortune. When there are no more surviving siblings, the family assets would pass equally to the surviving male children of the siblings.”
Uncle Sam chuckled when he said, “You’re both lucky I shoot blanks, and you’re fortunate your father was not the most prolific lover in the world!”
My brother and I stared at each other as Uncle Sam passed us copies of the agreement.
I said, “Let me understand what you’ve said! You’re telling us you get everything and we don’t get anything until you die. And when you die, we get everything.”
Our uncle smiled. “I think you get the picture. This is how the Peterson family operates and it may be good for both of you to know that when I die, each of you will become quite wealthy.”
Nick was listening to his uncle. He was probably thinking of asking him about the condition of his health. If the answer was good, maybe he could find out if Sam enjoyed any fun sports like skydiving or mountain climbing. Instead, Nick said, “So, you think it’s alright for us to get fucked until you die!”
Uncle Sam looked sternly at Nick and whispered, “Be careful with whom you are speaking. In a gay conga line, everyone can get screwed—so don’t try to dance with me!”
After a long pause, he continued “One more thing. Your father established a little separate trust fund in case he passed before me. I am the trustee of the fund, and the fund will distribute to each of you $75,000 a year. Your annual payment will increase 3% every year until I die. Upon my death, you will no longer need the distribution since all the assets will become yours.”
Uncle Sam quickly asked, “How much would you get a year in twenty years with seventy-five grand compounding at 3% per year?”
I eagerly answered, “About $100,000” and Nick said, “A little over $130,000. And in the future, let me know if there’s a prize before I answer.”
Uncle Sam ignored Nick’s sarcasm and blurted out, “A little under $136,000, an 80% increase in twenty years. And to think that’s only at 3% per year. I hope you understand the power of compounding because it’s the key to the Peterson family business.”
Nick and I looked at each other and could not decide if our uncle was as excited as he appeared to be. Nick reminded his uncle, “I wouldn’t be satisfied with 3% if I managed the money.” Uncle Sam thought for a moment and just smiled.
Our uncle handed each of us a cashier’s check for $75,000 from an envelope he removed from his other breast pocket. My job at the bank was paying about $80,000 per year plus decent benefits including a 15% retirement plan contribution. In Nick’s peak of his varied and limited career, he made about $700 per week. We each took our check and said, “Thank you.”
Nick asked our uncle, “Can I have your mailing address? I would like to keep you informed of my whereabouts.”
“I will always know the address of the proper location to send the check,” Uncle Sam assured us.
As the bus boy was clearing the table of the main course dishes, the waiter approached and asked, “Would anyone like dessert, an after-dinner drink or coffee?”
Uncle Sam sternly said, “No” and asked for the check.
Nick and I glanced at each other and realized our dismissal had been ordered. We saw our uncle reach into his front pocket when the dinner check arrived. He unzipped his wallet and carefully removed a new $100 bill along with a $50 and two $20s. I could not help but glance at the $180.60 total circled on the bill. A $9.40 gratuity was only 5% of the bill.
I left the table with my head down. I hoped the waiter would not pick up the currency before we were downstairs. Nick was still staring at the cashier’s check before he placed it in his breast pocket while following me to the elevator.
Uncle Sam said good-bye by shaking our hands and letting us know he would try to keep in touch. Nick and I waited for his elevator door to close and we caught the next elevator down.
Chapter Three
On Sunday, August 21, Nick and I were having our usual Sunday visit at the delicatessen. I ordered a lox plate with coffee and Nick ordered a well-done omelet with a side of hash browns, bacon, a bagel with extra cream cheese, and a Diet Coke.
After we ordered, a small man dressed in a fine beige silk suit walked up to the table and asked, “May I sit down for a minute to discuss something that will be of interest to each of you?”
We looked at each other and nodded. I removed the newspaper from the extra chair at the table and motioned for the man to sit. The man introduced himself as David Dusenich. He handed each of us a sealed envelope with our first and last names neatly hand-printed in fancy calligraphy.
Mr. Dusenich told us, “Before you open the envelope, I have some information about your uncle, Sam Peterson.”
“Did my uncle send the message?” Nick asked the stranger.
“Indirectly he did,” Dusenich replied
I became agitated and told Nick, “Let the man speak.”
“Your Uncle Sam died of a heart attack about three weeks ago,” Dusenich said before he quickly offered his condolences, stood, and left the deli without looking back.
Nick and I looked at each other as if we just witnessed an illusionist using dirty mirrors. The messenger could not have realized our lack of emotional reaction to the news. Few tears are shed when meeting a relative only once in your life after burying a father. This lack of emotion remained even if the meeting consisted of partaking in good food and the receipt of our first trust fund check.
I said to Nick, “Let’s open ’em.” I thought the envelopes would contain some instructions concerning the reading of the will or a brief mention of the inherited estate. If this was a movie, a video recording of our uncle’s wishes would seem appropriate. Instead, the envelope contained a fancy invitation printed on thick ivory stock in black ink:
Messrs. John and Nicholas Peterson
Your presence has been requested at the annual meeting of the CRA held at the Plaza Hotel located on 768 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York on Monday, September 6th at 9:00am
Please call Glenda Jameson at 910/868-8900 for travel arrangements
J.K. Abdoul, Chairman
I did not have to ask Nick if we were going to New York. I volunteered to obtain the itinerary for the trip and told my brother I’d call him later with the details.
“Do you know about the CRA?” Nick asked.
I replied, “Yeah, it’s the same organization that sponsored our trips to New York when we were kids.”
Before Nick exited the restaurant he turned to me and asked, “Ya think we should get a shyster lawyer to represent us concerning our inheritance from Uncle Sam?”
After a brief discussion, we both thought we would wait until after the New York trip. We had recently received our annual trust fund check and we believed someone must be looking out for our uncle’s business interest. I knew complex estate matters could take a while to get organized.
I dialed the phone number on the invitation after arriving home. I heard a recorded message from Glenda Jameson asking the caller to leave a message. I realized it was Sunday and told the recorder, “This is Jack Peterson, I’m calling as directed to receive the travel itinerary for the CRA meeting on September 6th. Please call me at 312/525-7855.”
Within five minutes, my phone rang and Glenda thanked me for calling. She informed me of the arrangements to have Nick and I chauffeured to the Aurora Municipal Airport to board a private jet at 10:00a.m. on Sunday, September 4th. She requested my e-mail address to forward a copy of the itinerary.
She asked what foods, appetizers, and drinks I liked while traveling and what reading materials I preferred. She apologized for the inconvenience and asked, “Would you happen to know what your brother would enjoy?”
I replied, “I know, but I think you would get in trouble for giving it to him. He likes the same food and reading materials as I do.”
Glenda added, “You are departing from Aurora versus O’Hare to avoid any potential delays or inconvenience caused by traveling so close to the busy Labor Day weekend.” The Aurora Airport was a one-hour drive from my downtown Chicago condominium and a forty-minute drive from my brother’s house. My brother continued to live in the old house where we grew up. A driver would pick me up at nine o’clock and Nick’s car would arrive at nine-fifteen.
I called Nick to inform him about the travel arrangements. He was looking forward to the CRA trip. He made a wager with me on whether the plane would be a Cessna, Lear, or Gulfstream. Nick took Gulfstream for $100. I reminded him of my five-day business trip to the West Coast to work on a pending acquisition for my employer. I told Nick to contact me on my Blackberry or at the Fairmont Hotel if anything came up.
I worked long hours in San Francisco. The bank’s due diligence team included two savvy financial services analysts, another accountant, a workout specialist, and two lawyers from the large Chicago firm of Goldman, Harris and Nesbitt. The team spent considerable time with the senior management of the company being acquired. I was assigned the task of focusing on the representations concerning the adequacy of the reserves established for potential losses.
During the course of my work, I befriended a lawyer named Morris Solomon from Goldman, Harris and Nesbitt. Morris was about fifty years old and had considerable experience in mergers and acquisitions. His experience included representing several wealthy dealmaker clients.
One night over drinks, I asked Morris, “You have any experience with estate matters?”
Morris replied, “My experience with estates is somewhat limited, but my firm has several attorneys specializing in estates, trusts, and wills. “Why the question?”
I revealed the story about Uncle Sam’s business arrangement with my dad and the annual distribution my brother and I received. It was a four-scotch night. We volleyed questions across the table and the answers continued to strike into the net of the unknown.
Morris finally inquired, “Do you have any documents concerning the arrangement?”
“I have part of the business agreement between my father and uncle,” I volunteered. “I’ll fax you the agreement when I return to Chicago.”
I returned to Chicago on Thursday, went through my mail, ordered some Chinese delivery, and went to bed. On Friday morning, I went to my office at the bank. I had a series of meetings with my bosses and associates concerning the acquisition and presented some preliminary findings.
The balance of my day on Friday and Saturday was spent sorting through my in-box and determining what items could be moved to the out-box by attaching another routing slip. I telephoned Nick at around three on Saturday afternoon. Nick was at a Cubs game so I left a message reminding him of tomorrow’s airport pick-up.
Prior to leaving the bank, I prepared a fax cover sheet and hand wrote the message, Morris, here’s the agreement we talked about. Please review and maybe we can discuss when I get back from New York. I hope your return trip went well. S//Jack.
I loaded the document and dialed Morris’s fax number. The machine emitted the familiar high-pitched scream prior to the first page entering the secret territory between the in and out trays. I printed a copy of the transmission receipt and returned the documents to the aging envelope my uncle had handed me the night of my dad’s funeral.
I stepped into a white pearl Lincoln limousine at nine o’clock the next morning. The limo driver introduced himself and offered me the Sunday paper, some coffee, juice, and assorted pastries. I knew the one-hour drive would be enjoyable.
At 9:14a.m. Nick saw his black Lincoln limousine approach the curb adjacent to his house. Nick noticed his neighbor’s garage door opening so he delayed getting into the limousine until the neighbor could get a clear view of his ride.
My brother and I entered the executive airport terminal within one minute of each other. I asked the receptionist to notify our arrival to the pilot. The receptionist welcomed us with a warm smile and a knowing peek at her cleavage. She grabbed her handset and contacted the captains’ lounge asking for Captain Jameson. In less then thirty seconds, Captain Jameson was greeting us and we were escorted to a GulfstreamV. Nick immediately asked for his C-note.
Jameson introduced us to the co-pilot, flight attendant, and executive assistant who would accompany us on the flight. We were provided a quick tour of the aircraft while being informed of the plane’s cruising altitude of 50,000 feet traveling at 575 miles per hour.
The co-pilot added, “We will be traveling a distance of approximately 4,000 miles and expect to arrive in about seven hours.” I foolishly nodded as the co-pilot continued, “Customs will only take a few minutes since arrangements have been made to have you expedited as VIPs. With the six-hour time difference, you will probably get to your hotel about 11:30p.m. London time.”
Both Nick and I quickly yelled, “London!” and I spoke loudest, informing the pilot, “We were told the meeting’s in New York.”
Geoff, the executive assistant, immediately dismissed the crew while walking behind us to explain, “Mr. Abdoul, the head of the association, resides in London. He has requested a private meeting with you before you travel with him to New York the following day.”
The captain walked through the cockpit door. “Get comfortable, we’ll be on our way shortly.” I chose to sit on the overstuffed leather reclining chair; Nick chose a cushioned buckskin couch. The flight attendant appeared to be forty years of age and introduced herself as Gloria. She proudly informed us of the available food and beverage choices. She added, “Once in flight, I will set up the buffet. I can mix almost any drink, just ask.”
Gloria showed Nick and me where the telephone, DVD, and videogame players were stowed. She opened a cabinet near the cockpit bulkhead to indicate where all the magazines, newspapers, and games were stored. After we were comfortably seated and buckled, Gloria strapped herself down in a seat near the rear of the plane.
We did not know exactly what the executive assistant did. Geoff seemed to be concentrating on editing several documents placed on the table before him. Eventually, Geoff looked up and nodded his head in my direction and remarked, “Not bad, hey!”
I volleyed back, “Not bad at all,” and saw Geoff return to his document pile.
After a few brief announcements from the co-pilot and the sound of various chimes, the plane quickly launched itself toward London. A large plasma television screen near the front of the plane became illuminated with various colored screens revealing a map with our route, altitude, air speed, and estimated arrival time.
My brother and I waited for the buffet table to be set up before attempting to act like we knew what we should be doing. During the first three hours of the flight, I spent my time listening to music and sampling the plentiful cold meats, cheeses, hors d’oeuvres, salads, and shellfish assembled at the serving table. I was drinking an exceptional 2001 Velich Tiglat chardonnay. Periodically between chews and self-imposed etiquette, I glanced at many of the magazines and newspapers carefully placed on the plane.
Nick spent his time watching the movie “Casino” on the DVD player. I knew Nick had seen the movie about a dozen times. He avoided making more then one trip to the buffet by filling two plates and a bowl with salads and food. He almost finished one bottle of a fine 1997 Cristal champagne.
After about three hours, both of us closed our eyes and rested.
Nick quickly sat up as he heard the captain announce we were only about forty-five minutes from landing at Heathrow. Gloria handed us each a hot towel and asked if we would like to take a shower or have a shave before we landed. She indicated the lavatory had disposable razors and was stocked with numerous soaps, cosmetics, lotions, and hygiene products. I proceeded to go to the lavatory to shower, shave, brush my teeth, and freshen up. Nick decided to sample some pastries from the serving table.
After we landed, Geoff stood in the middle of the plane and said, “Your customs forms have been completed; just sign and date where indicated.” Geoff handed each of us the forms accompanied with an expensive gold pen. Geoff said he would be escorting us off the plane and into a waiting limousine.
Ten minutes after the engines stopped, the customs agent left and we were bused to a special area where a 2001 Silver Cloud Rolls Royce was waiting with the trunk lid and passenger side door open. Geoff carried our two pieces of luggage to the trunk while motioning us to sit in the back
Geoff sat next to the driver and turned to informed us that we would be at the Claridges Hotel in about twenty minutes. Traffic was light on the highway and side streets and we arrived at the hotel shortly after eleven. Upon reaching the hotel, the bell captain rushed to our Rolls, opened the doors, and greeted the three of us with a dignified welcome. I saw the bell captain hand Geoff the key cards with a palming method worthy of DeNiro’s role in “Casino.”
Geoff informed us of ordering a wake-up call for 7:30a.m. He would meet us at 8:30 in the lobby for breakfast and a special meeting with Mr. Abdoul. He handed Nick and me our electronic keys to two adjacent fourth floor suites and asked, “Is there anything else that you may require?” He returned to the Rolls without waiting for an answer.
We were promptly greeted by the floor butler as the small bronze elevator door opened on the fourth floor. He asked, “Would you like to be shown to your rooms?”
Nick shook his head in a “No” to the butler and I was glad the British understood universal noggin sign language. Other countries like Mexico, Italy, and Spain require the utterance of the word “No” before “No” means “No.” We each said goodnight and entered our rooms. I noticed my luggage was already opened and placed on the bench near the closet.
I got up the moment my wakeup call came. The phone rang in Nick’s room at 7:31a.m. We were both anxious to start the day. Nick’s day began with the toilet, tooth brush, hot shower, shave, and dress in a pale blue silk shirt, light grey silk suit, silver tie, and a pair of soft calfskin black loafers.
My day began very similar to Nick’s except I wore a white cotton shirt, dark grey wool suit, red pinstriped tie, and Allan Edmonds wingtips. We reached the lobby a little after eight. As I glanced at Nick, I was amazed at how the same process could yield such different results; I looked like a banker and Nick looked as if he was a pit boss at the Tangiers.
I attempted to read the London Times while we waited. I casually glanced at the front page and financial section but my mind could not focus on any word, picture or sentence. I remained quiet while thinking about the various scenarios the day might bring.
Nick grabbed a cup of coffee from the lobby restaurant sans the saucer. He placed the cup on the carved antique coffee table next to his silk lobby chair.
At precisely 8:30, I noticed Geoff approaching with another gentleman dressed as either a banker or the grim reaper, depending on the degree of light the hand-stitched black suit reflected.
Geoff introduced the man as Mr. Jamil Abdoul, the chairman of the CRA. After we shook hands, Mr. Abdoul asked, “Did you have any breakfast yet?” Before we could reply, he added, ”We will have breakfast together in a small private dining area off the lobby. We can get acquainted with each other.”
Abdoul appeared to be of Middle Eastern descent due to his dark complexion, dark, straight hair, dark eyes, bushy eyebrows, and wide nose. His cologne was very overpowering and announced his presence whenever he moved within the currents of the air vents.
After we were seated in the private dining area, the hotel staff promptly brought a silver service filled with coffee, accompaniments, and a three-tier pastry tray. Five minutes later, the waiter presented us with translucent bone china plates bearing a carefully choreographed salmon benedict, bacon, and asparagus. Once served, the wait staff promptly left and Geoff stood near the entrance of the dining area.
“May I spend about fifteen minutes monopolizing the conversation?” Abdoul asked. “I would like to tell both of you why you are sitting at this table.”
Nick and I nodded our heads in anticipation. “Very good,” He replied, and then began the dissertation by telling us he had lived in London all his life. His family’s origin was Egyptian and his roots could be traced back many centuries. Most of his ancestors were bankers. He confirmed he was a banker but that he only handled the private banking transactions for his family and the members of the CRA.
Nick quickly interrupted. “What do the initials CRA stand for?”
Abdoul looked annoyed at Nick. “I will explain the CRA to you in just a few minutes; just be patient and listen.”
He continued, “You may be surprised, but I have substantial knowledge about each of you. Your late uncle and Geoff prepared a detailed dossier on your lives. The association maintains information on all its members and associates to avoid any problems and to rapidly offer assistance if any problems should occur.” He regarded us with a piercing stare. “Jack or Nick, do you know anything about the CRA?”
Nick and I looked at each other and, as if on cue, looked at Abdoul to proclaim, “Not really.”
Abdoul silently indicated his pleasure at our answer. “The CRA is meant to be very private and confidential. Unnecessary disclosure or information about the CRA could pose serious problems for many people. I’m happy to see your father and uncle kept their word.”
Chapter Four
Mr. Abdoul was determined to finish his soliloquy. “In early June 1776, one of America’s founding fathers, Richard Henry Lee, asked members of the Second Continental Congress to prepare a resolution of independence. Thomas Jefferson primarily did the drafting of this resolution with some minor revisions suggested by Benjamin Franklin and John Adams. Jefferson, Adams and Franklin were very astute businessmen. They rightfully believed access to capital was essential before any democracy could be established.
“Adams knew a wealthy Egyptian financier with connections throughout Europe who could provide the critical financing needed to establish the new democracy. This financier was my great-great-great-grandfather Nasser. Nasser was typical of most bankers and believed in sharing the risk. He elicited a partnership with a French financier, another Middle Eastern banker, an Asian trader, and your Irish great-great-great-grandfather who was involved with land ownership, mining, and shipping.
“Nasser and his partners established what they called Commonwealth Repository Accounts controlled by a partnership. The word commonwealth means an established democracy; repository is a place where things are kept for safekeeping; and, account is a record of the transaction.
“The CRA partnership agreement required each member to commit to contribute the initial sum of $100,000 comprised of various currencies or gold or silver. These monies were made available to the new democracy called the United States of America. Each CRA partner had committed to increase his annual $100,000 investment in the CRA account by 3% each year until the majority of the account holders agreed to no more additional investment. Eventually, the annual investment was limited to $1 million a year per account holder. But be patient, we’ll get to the numbers a little later.
“The partners signed an agreement of secrecy and non-disclosure. No member would purposely divulge the existence of the CRA without the permission of the managing director. Any breach of confidentiality could be met with possible account forfeiture or other penalties as agreed by the majority of account holders.
“Each account holder receives an annual cash distribution of any excess earnings over the average annual interest rate on long-term bond rates. For instance, if the twenty-year borrowing rate for 1819 was 5.9% and the CRA earned 6.2% that year, the excess earnings of three-tenths of 1% would be distributed to each account holder.
“The chairman of the CRA is also the investment manager. We have employees who help us invest in a manner which usually yields a slightly higher return than rates earned on long-term bonds. You should be proud of your heritage. Our CRA accounts were the first example of arbitrage in America’s early bond market. Always remember, the CRA funds could only be used to support the establishment and spread of democracy.”
Abdoul stopped talking for a few seconds before he asked us if we understand everything so far.
“I have many questions, but before I ask them, are you done explaining the CRA?” I asked.
“And how much is our CRA account worth?” Nick asked.
Abdoul ignored Nick’s question and said in answer to mine, “Not yet,” and continued with his tale. “Between July 4 and August 2, 1776, the date most signors signed the Declaration of Independence, the terms of the CRA loan fund was finally worked out. Shortly thereafter, the first CRA loan was disbursed to the newly formed U.S. Treasury. This loan financed the commencement of the American Revolution.”
“On August 2, 1776, Adams, and Franklin signed the CRA agreement and personally guaranteed 50% of the first $500,000 loan made to the newly formed commonwealth. Jefferson would not personally guarantee the CRA loans. He probably knew the definition of a guarantor is a fool with a pen, and Jefferson was definitely no fool. Your great-great-great-grandfather was astute enough, probably because of his Irish upbringing, to insist that any earnings or balances of the CRA accounts could never be taxed by the newly established democracy. A special committee of the Second Continental Congress signed a secret agreement in August 1776 granting this tax exemption.
“The irony of this ‘no taxation’ clause is worth mentioning. Taxation was the reason why the Colonies wanted to separate from England. Your ancestors knew taxation to be inevitable in almost every government and they sought to deal with it early on.”
Abdoul removed some papers from his leather folder and said, “These papers present a history of your family’s CRA account. You can review the original ledgers and accounts when we travel to my office.”
We were handed several pages. I started on the first page to try to comprehend the schedules. Nick went to the last page.
CRA INVESTMENT SCHEDULE-PETERSON FAMILY ACCOUNT #03
ACCOUNT ACCOUNT
HOLDER INVESTMENT HOLDER ACCOUNT
YEAR INVESTMENT INCOME WITHDRAWAL BALANCE
1776 $ 100,000 $ 100,000
1777 $ 103,000 $ 3,510 $ 206,510
1778 $ 106,090 $ 8,508 $ (558) $ 320,550
1779 $ 109,273 $ 14,874 $ (417) $ 444,279
1780 $ 112,551 $ 23,147 $ (1,466) $ 578,511
1781 $ 115,927 $ 29,562 $ (1,331) $ 722,670
1782 $ 119,405 $ 40,975 $ (3,252) $ 879.798
1783 $ 122,987 $ 46,717 $ ( 440) $ 1,049,063
1784 $ 126,677 $ 49,936 $ 1,225,676
1785 $ 130,477 $ 69,496 $ (3,187) $ 1,422,462
1786 $ 134,391 $ 74,679 $ (6,970) $ 1,624,563
1787 $ 138,423 $ 80,741 $ (13,159) $ 1,830,567
1788 $ 142,576 $ 93,725 $ (19,038) $ 2,047,830
1789 $ 146,853 $ 104,644 $ (22,526) $ 2,276,802
1790 $ 151,259 $ 110,880 $ (21,630) $ 2,517,311
1791 $ 155,796 $ 104,720 $ (6,545) $ 2,771,282
1792 $ 160,470 $ 114,177 $ (14.965) $ 3,030,964
1793 $ 165,284 $ 109,721 $ (8,790) $ 3,297,180
1794 $ 170,243 $ 135,844 $ (5,275) $ 3,597,992
1795 $ 175,351 $ 158,311 $ 3,931,654
1796 $ 180,611 $ 177,711 $ 4,289,976
1797 $ 186,029 $ 223,508 $ (17,589) $ 4,681,924
1798 $ 191,610 $ 296,834 $ (20,600) $ 5,149,768
1799 $ 197,358 $ 319,801 $ (13,904) $ 5,653,023
1800 $ 203,279 $ 331,833 $ (45,224) $ 6,142,911
1801 $ 209,377 $ 482,833 $ (56,515) $ 6,778,606
1802 $ 215,659 $ 436,543 $ 7,430,808
1803 $ 222,129 $ 486,718 $ (39,383) $ 8,100,272
1804 $ 228,793 $ 503,027 $ (4,050) $ 8,828,043 1805 $ 235,657 $ 568,526 $ (13,242) $ 9,618,984
1806 $ 242,726 $ 613,691 $ 10,475,401
1807 $ 250,008 $ 719,660 $ (76,470) $ 11,368,599
1808 $ 257,508 $ 695,759 $ (4,547) $ 12,317,319
1809 $ 265,233 $ 767,369 $ (33,257) $ 13,316,665
1810 $ 273,190 $ 873,574 $ (94,548) $ 14,368,881
1811 $ 281,386 $ 889,434 $ (53,165) $ 15,486,536
1812 $ 289,828 $1,071,669 $ (150,219) $ 16,697,813
1813 $ 298,523 $1,163,838 $ (141,931) $ 18,018,243
1814 $ 307,478 $1,282,899 $ (147,750) $ 19,460,871
1815 $ 316,703 $1,502,380 $ (81,736) $ 21,198,217
1816 $ 326,204 $1,636,503 $ (99,632) $ 23,061,291
1817 $ 335,990 $1,704,230 $ (32,286) $ 25,069,225
1818 $ 346,070 $1,566,827 $ (97,770) $ 26,884,352
1819 $ 356,452 $1,645,323 $ (59,146) $ 28,826,980
1820 $ 367,145 $1,821,866 $ (334,393) $ 30,681,598
1821 $ 378,160 $1,801,010 $ (398,861) $ 32,461,906
1822 $ 389,504 $1,606,865 $ (97,386) $ 34,360,889
1823 $ 401,189 $1,690,556 $ (68,722) $ 36,383,913
1824 $ 413,225 $1,830,111 $ (283,795) $ 38,343,454
1825 $ 425,622 $1,798,308 $ (141,871) $ 40,425,513
1826 $ 438,391 $1,972,765 $ (153,617) $ 42,683,052
1827 $ 451,452 $1,971,957 $ (106,708) $ 44,999,844
1828 $ 465,089 $2,191,493 $ (175,499) $ 47,480,926
1829 $ 479,041 $2,312,322 $ (175,679) $ 50,096,610
1830 $ 493,412 $2,419,667 $ (230,444) $ 52,779,245
1831 $ 508,215 $2,570,350 $ (252,785) $ 55,615,025
1832 $ 523,461 $2,530,484 $ (55,615) $ 58,613,355
1833 $ 539,165 $2,854,471 $ (169,979) $ 61,837,012
1834 $ 555,340 $2,887,789 $ (98,939) $ 65,181,202
CRA INVESTMENT SCHEDULE-PETERSON FAMILY ACCOUNT #03 (cont.)
ACCOUNT ACCOUNT
HOLDER INVESTMENT HOLDER ACCOUNT
YEAR INVESTMENT INCOME WITHDRAWAL BALANCE
1835 $ 572,000 $ 2,887,527 $ 68,640,729
1836 $ 589,160 $ 3,411,445 $ (212,786) $ 72,428,547
1837 $ 606,835 $ 3,708,342 $ (253,500) $ 76,490,224
1838 $ 625,040 $ 4,099,877 $ (650,167) $ 80,564,974
1839 $ 643,791 $ 3,883,232 $ (64,452) $ 85,027,545
1840 $ 663,105 $ 4,098,328 $ 89,788,978
1841-1850 $ 7,829,809 $ 60,542,127 $ (6,516,427) $ 160,501,563
1851-1860 $ 9,837,116 $ 95,998,096 $ (6,869,837) $ 259,466,940
1861-1870 $10,000,000 $ 194,819,332 $ (16,375,574) $ 447,910,678
1871-1880 $10,000,000 $ 303,725,685 $ (30,212,418) $ 730,973,945
1881-1890 $10,000,000 $ 376,275,685 $ (68,331,444) $ 1,048,939,179
1891-1900 $10,000,000 $ 519,233,724 $ (86,301,245) $ 1,491,871,658
1901-1910 $10,000,000 $ 692,527,215 $ (46,751,256) $ 2,144,280,324
1911-1920 $10,000,000 $ 1,299,763,582 $ (104,303,545) $ 3,349,740,361
1921-1930 $10,000,000 $ 2,205,330,786 $ (138,123,551) $ 5,426,947,596
1931-1940 $10,000,000 $ 2,677,891,377 $ (284,018,337) $ 7,830,820,636
1941-1950 $10,000,000 $ 2,896,949,772 $ (514,047,960) $ 10,223,722,448
1951-1960 $10,000,000 $ 4,797,087,697 $ (625,946,077) $ 14,404,864,068
1961-1970 $10,000,000 $ 10,745,809,513 $ (855,835,203) $ 24,304,838,378
1971-1980 $10,000,000 $ 34,214,838,059 $ (2,986,298,851) $ 55,543,377,586
1981-1990 $10,000,000 $111,844,653,541 $ (8,812,460,136) $ 158,585,570,991
1991 $ 1,000,000 $ 14,635,602,204 $ (728,401,627) $ 172,493,771,568
1992 $ 1,000,000 $ 15,539,796,719 $ (1,499,513,113) $ 186,535,055,174
1993 $ 1,000,000 $ 15,312,721,831 $ (1,845,479,246) $ 200,003,297,759
1994 $ 16,438,380,477 $ (499,950,744) $ 215,941,727,491
1995 $ 16,453,007,036 $ (64,775,618) $ 232,329,958,909
1996 $ 17,167,484,264 $ (46,461,392) $ 249,450,981,781
1997 $ 19,629,982,167 $ (1,496,567,891) $ 267,584,396,057
1998 $ 19,398,201,215 $ (1,926,442,052) $ 285,056,155,221
1999 $ 20,493,883,861 $ (399,046,417) $ 305,150,992,665
2000 $ 24,318,701,016 $ (1,067,947,974) $ 328,401,745,707
2001 $ 25,777,731,539 $ (2,528,516,342) $ 351,650,960,903
2002 $ 21,836,096,373 $ (2,742,698,095) $ 370,744,359,181
2003 $ 19,759,448,445 $ (1,742,390,388) $ 388,761,417,238
2004 $ 19,903,406,963 $ (310,990,734) $ 408,353,833,467
2005 $ 21,314,869,508 $ (898,327,834) $ 428,770,375,141
After about three minutes of silence, Nick said, “Oh, shit- I can’t fucking believe it!”
I nervously hollered, “Give me another minute,” and after a long pause, said, “I think I understand. You mean to tell us we have over $428 million in our CRA account?”
Jamil answered, “No, look again! The type is small and hard to read, those are billions not millions.”
Nick grabbed the water pitcher and trembled while pouring the water into his glass, attempting to comprehend what Jamil had just said. Finally he blurted out, “Oh, my God— Forbes has no idea!”
Jamil remarked, “The power of compounding is a wonderful thing, especially when you compound for almost 230 years.”
Jamil pulled two more pieces of paper from his folder. “I know the schedules are somewhat difficult to understand without giving you more time. I had my staff prepare some simplified summaries for you. Please forgive me if this seems redundant.”
TOTAL
# 0F PETERSON INVESTMENT DISTRIBUTIONS ACCOUNT
PERIOD YEARS INVESTMENT EARNINGS TO PETERSON BALANCE
1776-1800 25 $ 3,645,921 $ 2,723,855 $ (226,866) $ 6,142,911
1801-1825 25 $ 7,633,759 $ 29,159,519 $ (2,510,675) $ 40,425,513
1826-1850 25 $15,983,396 $ 112,342,174 $ (8,249,521) $ 160,501,563
1851-1875 25 $24,837,115 $ 441,627,031 $ (39,824,967) $ 587,140,742
1876-1900 25 $25,000,000 $ 1,043,297,222 $ (163,566,307) $ 1,491,871,658
1901-1925 25 $25,000,000 $ 3,017,496,217 $ (210,033,266) $ 4,324,334,608
1926-1950 25 $25,000,000 $ 6,701,722,643 $ (827,334,804) $ 10,223,722,448
1951-1975 25 $25,000,000 $ 28,076,540,954 $ (2,790,814,474) $ 35,534,448,928
1976-2000 25 $18,000,000 $ 312,026,028,940 $(19,176,732,162) $ 328,401,745,707
2001-2005 5 $ 108,591,552,827 $ (8,222,923,393) $ 428,770,375,141
TOTALS 230 $170,100,191 $ 460,042,491,384 $(31,442,216,434) $ 428,770,375,141
Although dumbfounded, I was beginning to understand the magic. Each CRA account holder invested $100,000 in 1776. The required investment increased by 3% each year. In 1854, the annual investment had exceeded $1 million and the majority of account holders agreed to limit the annual account deposit to $1 million. The account holders agreed in 1993 to eliminate any further investment because it did not make sense to add small coin to an overflowing vault.
From 1776 to 2005, each CRA account earned investment income of $460 billion on their deposits. The average account earnings rate during the 230-year period was only about 5.6%. For the last few centuries, long-term bond rates and rate volatility had been very similar to what we experienced today. England’s ten-year bond rate in 1776 was 3.51% and in 1800, the rate rose to 6.94%.
EXCESS CRA
AVERAGE AVERAGE EARNINGS
ANNUAL CRA ANNUAL LONG- OVER LONG-
PERIOD EARNINGS RATE TERM BOND RATE TERM RATES
1776-1800 5.0% 4.6% .4%
1801-1825 6.2% 5.9% .3%
1826-1850 5.2% 4.8% .4%
1851-1875 5.4% 5.0% .4%
1876-1900 4.3% 3.7% .6%
1901-1925 4.6% 4.3% .3%
1926-1950 3.9% 3.5% .4%
1951-1975 5.7% 5.1% .6%
1976-2000 10.1% 9.3% .8%
2001-2005 5.9% 5.5% .4%
Every CRA account holder received the distribution of any excess investment earnings the account manager earned over the long-term bond rates. These excess earnings were mostly the result of trading profits and simple strategies for taking advantage of rising and falling market conditions. Trading profits added a .5 % increase in the yield of the CRA investment portfolio. A shade over $31 billion was distributed to each account holder because of the extra 1/2% yield.
“To put it simply,” Jamil said, “each of our ancestors put $170 million in the fund, pulled $31 billion out, and now you still have $428 billion left in the account in addition to any other assets you own outside of the CRA.”
I knew this massive wealth accumulation wasn’t impossible or all that difficult to achieve. I remembered the old doubling of the penny story when I was young. A penny continuously doubled every day for a month would grow to over $10.7 million in a thirty-one-day month. Instead of pennies, the CRA was using $100,000. Instead of a month, they had 230 years. Instead of needing a 100% return a year, 5.6% a year was enough when my ancestors started investing with George Washington and were still investing with George Bush.
Chapter Five
“I warn both of you, it’s difficult to comprehend this kind of wealth,” Jamil cautioned. “You must get some perspective of your wealth before you make any decisions.”
A cashier at the bank once told me a million dollars in tightly wrapped hundred dollar bills would measure two feet high. So, a billion dollars in hundreds would be over two thousand feet high or taller than the Empire State Building. Somehow, Nick and I owned a stack of hundreds stretching the height of 42,800 stories.
“What happened to the $31 plus billion distributed to our family over the years?” I asked Jamil.
“I know your family bought real estate,” he replied. “Your uncle’s attorneys should be able to answer your question more appropriately.”
“Can we expect another billion or so distribution from our account again this year?” Nick asked.
“The distribution may be closer to two billion or maybe even three,” Jamil indicated proudly.
Three Empire States, I thought. It has been a good year! I now knew why Einstein had called the power of compounding the eighth wonder of the world.
“I’ve thrown a lot at you and I’m sure your heads are spinning,” Jamil said abruptly. “Let’s take a break for an hour and then visit my office before we fly to New York.”
Nick and I immediately rose from our seats. I thought my brother might be wondering if a high-five was appropriate in British protocol. We each headed to the restroom. Nick stood at the adjacent urinal whispering, “I didn’t understand everything Jamil told us, but I do understand that we are filthy, filthy rich.”
Geoff caught up to us by the sinks and informed us that we had been checked out of the hotel. He had personally supervised the packing of our belongings before they were placed in the limousine for our departure in about an hour. I told Nick I was going for a walk. Nick did not express any desire to join me.
After I turned the corner, Nick entered the jewelry store near the lobby breezeway. He quickly bought a gold Patek Philippe watch with a thin band and a diamond-encrusted bezel. He paid for the watch with his Gold American Express hoping the unknown credit limit threshold was not reached. He was flabbergasted that the gurus at American Express approved the $18,400 purchase after briefly confirming his identity on the telephone. He made a mental note to himself to apply for the Black American Express Card when he returned home.
When I got back from my walk, it was time to leave. Geoff closed the limousine door and sat next to the driver. Jamil, Nick, and I were seated in the rear waiting for the smooth Rolls ride to begin.
“So, how well did you know my uncle?” I asked Jamil.
“I grew close to your father and uncle through my involvement in the CRA,” Jamil replied. “My father died thirty-three years ago; so I would have first met them in 1962. It was too bad the CRA put such a strain on your dad’s relationship with his brother.”
Nick beat me to the punch, “What happened between them? My dad never said much about my uncle.”
Jamil recounted the New York meeting held about twenty years ago. “Your father believed the CRA had become too large and powerful. The account holders had all the money anyone could possibly need or spend. Your father tried to convince everyone to liquidate the CRA accounts over a ten-year period, but your Uncle Sam did not agree and blocked his proposal from getting any consideration. This disagreement became quite verbal, almost physical. Your father told Sam he washed his hands of the CRA.