“Von Klamer’s partner just died. He was concerned with a buy/sell agreement that they had.”
“Go on, why the concern? They’re usually straight forward, funded by an insurance policy. What’s he need an attorney for?”
“First, there’s no insurance policy. Von Klamer has to come up with five million dollars of his own money to buy out his partner’s estate. Second, the buy/sell agreements were signed in the early 1950’s and he was concerned that his partner’s son may contest the validity of the agreement.”
“Okay, let me recap. Von Klamer needs five million dollars to meet his obligations under the terms of a buy/sell agreement and second he’s worried about his dead partner’s son contesting the agreement.”
“Right.”
“Do you know if Von Klamer has the money?”
“No, I’m not sure, but I don’t think so.”
“What else did he ask you? Maybe that will give me a clue on what he wants with me.”
“He asked about the taxable consequences of selling his artwork.”
“That’s interesting, did he give you any idea as to the value of his artwork?”
“He really didn’t come out and say but I got the impression we were talking millions.”
“Interesting, anything else?”
“He mentioned in passing that he may need someone to review the company’s books.”
“Okay, now were getting somewhere. He needs a good financial man to review the tax issues on the sale of the artwork. That makes sense, and at the same time he needs someone to do a “due diligence” on the company. Now I’ve got a better understanding why he would want me. Tell me, how did my name come up?”
“He brought your name up and then he asked me if you were discreet. That’s when I started to get an uneasy feeling.”
“Let’s talk about that. I’ve never known you to be skittish before, there has to be more.”
“Well, he’s a rich German in his late eighties.”
“So he’s a rich German in his eighties, what’s so upsetting about that?”
“He has a lot of world war two memorabilia around his office. It made me a little uncomfortable. Call it women’s intuition.”
“Pray tell, what kind of memorabilia?”
“Well for starters he has a copy of Mein Kampf, personally signed to Von Klamer from Hitler.
Then there’s, the framed articles on the wall. They’re written in German from some magazine Der something.”
“Think back, were the articles up on the wall from a publication named, Der Angriff, written around the late 1920’s?”
“Yeah Fred, I’m pretty sure they were. How in God’s name, could you have known that?”
“Hitler’s Minister of Propaganda was none other than Joseph Paul Goebbels and in the late 1920’s he was the editor of Der Angriff. Hitler was able to use that publication as his own little e-Mail to the lumpenproletariat.”
“Lumpen-what?”
“It’s a German phrase, I’m not sure of the exact translation. To me, it means the dregs of society, the lower class.”
“Fred, you never cease to amaze me. I can’t believe you knew that.”
“Well I’m glad I could amaze you. You know, I’m far more than just a pretty face.”
“Please Fred, let’s not get carried away.”
“All right, at least now I’ve got a little better feel about Von Klamer and I’ve got to agree with you. It does appear that he could well be a Nazi sympathizer or at the extreme worst a war criminal. Neither of which, I might add is my personal cup of tea, but I am intrigued. Give me the directions, I’ll go over and meet with him. Just so we’re straight, if I get a bad feeling, I’m bailing out. There’s no way I am going to consult for him, if I’m uncomfortable. By the way, does he know what I charge?”
“I took the liberty of doubling your normal rates. I hope you don’t mind.”
“The money didn’t bother him?”
“Not in the least. He never batted an eye.”
“Well at that price, war criminal or not, he’s probably got himself a financial consultant of questionable talents.”
“Somehow I’m not surprised.”
“Now, what about the directions?”
“Just go up Monmouth Hills to the point, its number 1889, you can’t miss it.”
“I’ll give you a call after the meeting and let you know how I made out.”
“See you Fred, and be careful when you back out of the parking lot.”
“Why?”
“My cat, Trouble is outside and you never know where she’s going to turn up. She could be under your car, curled up fast asleep. So just be careful.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be extra careful. See ya later.”
“Good bye, Fred, and good luck with the meeting.”
“One more thing before I go.”
“What?”
“I strongly recommend you get rid of those oversized bunny slippers. They really don’t go with the robe.”
“Just get the hell out of here.”
“Alright Pam, I’m going.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
As soon as I left Pamela’s office I routinely checked my watch. It was a little after high noon, and I still had plenty of time to make the one o’clock meeting with Von Klamer. As I approached my car, I took, a quick look around for Pam’s cat Trouble. I found her, sunning herself on a chaise lounge in the backyard. Being a sucker for all animals, I just couldn’t resist walking over and petting her. She looked up with a contented gaze and purred. Why Pamela had ever named the cat, Trouble, was beyond me. Over the years I had observed that most pet owners named their pets after a common characteristic or personality trait. This cat was anything but trouble, she was the exact opposite, as sweet an animal as you could find.
Trouble would have been a far more appropriate name choice for my cat, Tuxedo. My wife was actually the one responsible for naming Tuxedo, she chose the name because of his physical appearance, it seemed a logical choice at the time. Tux had four white paws, a white nose, and a patch of white under his chin.
He was a dashingly good-looking cat, some might say even handsome. Who, would have ever thought that he would turn out to be such a fiend. Of course renaming the cats at this time was totally out of the question. It was too late; Tux was Tux and Trouble was Trouble.
I slid behind the wheel of the Triumph, it was time to get back on the road and stop day dreaming about cats. I turned the key and again the car purred. I pulled out of the parking lot, made the right hand turn and continued east on River Road. Von Klamer’s place was only fifteen minutes away.
Since I still had some extra time, I thought I’d shoot over to Briody’s for a quick bite.
The ride over to the restaurant was rather enjoyable, especially on a day like this. Rumson, for my money, is the most picturesque town in all of Monmouth County, for that matter probably in the entire state of New Jersey. As I drove down the road, it was one distinctive estate after another. The majestic houses