Jack and Nadine Moreau, a successful professional couple, are well nestled into the upper-middle-class success track. So are their two kids. Although financially battered, they were well on the way to a comfortable retirement while in their forties. The trouble was, their retirement plans informally included a future inheritance from Jack's widowed and cantankerous father Frank.
Frank does things his own way; always has. For the last four years, he's put his money in gold. Nadine, having well-researched ideas of her own, aims to set her father-in-law straight.
Showing posts with label cutandrun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cutandrun. Show all posts
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Preparation
“We have to do something about him,” Nadine Moreau insisted. “He’s endangering our retirement.” Her chin jutted out more than usual as she looked up. Surrounded by light-brown wavy hair drooping down to just above her shoulders, her body was buttressed by a cheerful printed dress that optimistically promised lightness and ease. She was, she told herself, thinking of her two children.
Her husband, Jack, had been a hard one to tame at first – but she had patiently gone to work. When she had first met him, he had been a heavy smoker. Her initial efforts to get him to quit hadn’t been of much use, until public pressure elicited by guiding laws had come to her aid. Once he could no longer smoke at work, he gave up and started relying upon nicotine gum. Her regaling had turned into encouragement. Eventually, he got off the nicotine habit entirely.
After that, it was easy. Relying on the media, she adjusted the diet of her flock according to what the press recommended as healthy. The shifts in the wind, she forgot.
Aided by the Internet, she had asked around about her father-in-law’s distressing habit of buying gold. They had no worries on the real-estate front now, although they got the frights when the recession bit and some time after. Jack had settled into accountancy, and had had good reason to fear for his job when the economy had crashed down. They weren’t sparing management like they used to. Through harder work, and toughening up, he had stayed employed and now enjoyed a measure of security. The house they now had, a so-called McMansion, he considered a bargain so he splurged. The decision proved to be one they both could handle, although it had been a squeeze at first. Two years had brought no disaster, despite Jack’s occasional nerves about the purchase: everything had worked out well on the real-estate front.
But not on the retirement front. Nadine trusted that their house would make up a substantial chunk of their retirement, but Jack wasn’t completely convinced. He kept his opinion to himself, as his wife needed to believe. Also, they had more pressing worries on the equities front. Their portfolio had been decimated a few years ago; many of the stocks they had jointly agreed to buy were slaughtered to the tune of 70, 80, even 90%. Nadine, after getting through the anguish with Jack, had turned to her favourite mode of redress. After reluctantly concluding she had no legal or arbitrative recourse, she had discovered asset allocation. Although the ride was less bumpy, they were nowhere near getting back to the peak of net worth they had enjoyed five years prior to now.
It was sad in its own way. She had come from a blue collar neighbourhood, but had never fit in. The boys cut each other too much slack, she found, and their destinies were often tragic. She being what she was, her now-passed-away parents had encouraged her to go into teaching. Thanks to good grades and a life lived according to plans, she had won an appointment to a charter school for bright kids. They were largely a pleasure to teach, their attitudes being a lot like hers.
Both she and Jack were in the living room of their house, with their two children away for the moment. The curtains were luxurious purple, gathered into folds by an extended ribbon in the same fabric. The house itself was more than four thousand square feet, with a 55 by 130 foot lot surrounding it. Granite tabletops were in the kitchen. Nadine had no qualms at all about them and the other luxuries to be enjoyed: she and Jack deserved every one of them. So did their kids, John and Helen.
The entire family fit the image of an upwardly mobile, upper middle class success unit. Their worldly gains reinforced her steadfastedness and self-regard. The difference between her and her old high school peers was easy to spot: she planned, she followed through, she took expert advice as received through the media, and she did not allow herself to deviate from her plans. In her own word, she showed self-discipline.
But her and Jack’s retirement was hampered by his father. Frank Moreau had a distressing similarity to the boys she had escaped from in her old neighbourhood. She had at first been relieved to see him, as he was a successful businessman who had the knack of encouraging people into his convenience stores. Despite his opinionated and somewhat anarchic nature, he must have been organized. There was no other way to run a business, so she believed. His take-life-as-it-comes orientation, she had dismissed as self-advertisement.
Until, well into her marriage to his son, she had finally seen that Frank was his persona. Ever since then, she had been watching him for irregularities. His success, she now chalked up to luck.
Granted that he had been right a few times. Retiring and selling out ten years ago, he had been cantankerous enough to insist that things would fall apart six years later. He sold his stocks and sat on his money for a while. Then, he began buying gold bullion.
Frank’s gold hadn’t escaped unscathed, but he wasn’t fazed. Jack had just shrugged it off with a smile, trusting his dad, but Nadine had insisted that there was something wrong. Not having been close to Frank in the way Jack had been, she believed she possessed the higher vista of disinterestedness. Nadine had looked at what the goldbugs had said; yes, she did. What she read - a combination of doomsaying, blaming the central bank, gloating over the collapse, anarchistic fantasies – had made her wonder about her father-in-law’s sanity. After being reassured by her husband that it was just his father being his father, she kept her doubts to herself. Until now.
“Don’t be an apologist again, Jack. You know very well that he’s fallen in with a bunch of very creepy people. Do you know what they write?”
Jack was now middle-aged, with a little insulation in his face and more in his stomach, but he still showed the fine-featured handsomeness he had as a young man. And also, a hint of his happy-go-lucky youthfulness, which his dad had been glad to subsidize. Although he was long resigned to growing up, a small part of him missed the good old days. He and his friends had had their own personal answer to the “Highway to Hell” back in ’80 or so. They had all grown up, fit in to the acquisitive lifestyle, and had made the sacrifices that came with it.
“Nadine, he tends to know what he’s doing.” She saw her husband’s face struggle between sadness and a grin. “Don’t you remember him telling us to get out of those stocks we were in? I should have been that crazy.”
“This is different,” Nadine pressed on. “He was lucky. He’s now fallen in with a bunch of doomsayers who think the world is going to end.” Spreading her hands out, she made it personal. “They think my job is illegitimate!
“And they’re taking advantage of an old man. Just think of it: he goes every week and buys an ounce of that yellow metal. He’s done it for four years! What kind of balance is that? He made it clear: he buys nothing else. That’s a bad sign; we both know that.
“If he were so clever, why didn’t he buy stocks two or three years ago? He could have.”
Her husband shifted in his plush black leather seat, in a manner that would suggest discomfort had he not been inured to it. He was worn down to fidgeting, like Nadine’ students fidgeted. For the inveterate fidgeters, she recommended Ritalin.
Guessing at her motive, Jack replied, “It’s still his money. We can’t take it from him.”
Oh yes we can, she thought, but the time wasn’t right to say it. The safety of her brood was part of her motive, but only part. The other part was a mild outrage. Her father-in-law had flouted rules meant for everyone’s safety. An attempt by her to blame the tobacco companies, he dismissed. He had paid for his habit with a case of lung cancer. Surely, that should have made him change his ways. He still acting in odd ways – didn’t it suggest mental illness? Non compos mentis?
“We can ask him. We can make him listen to reason, just the two of us. The kids, they’re busy. We won’t look as if we’re trying to charm him. Instead, it will be a sensible adult conversation.”
Her husband, Jack, had been a hard one to tame at first – but she had patiently gone to work. When she had first met him, he had been a heavy smoker. Her initial efforts to get him to quit hadn’t been of much use, until public pressure elicited by guiding laws had come to her aid. Once he could no longer smoke at work, he gave up and started relying upon nicotine gum. Her regaling had turned into encouragement. Eventually, he got off the nicotine habit entirely.
After that, it was easy. Relying on the media, she adjusted the diet of her flock according to what the press recommended as healthy. The shifts in the wind, she forgot.
Aided by the Internet, she had asked around about her father-in-law’s distressing habit of buying gold. They had no worries on the real-estate front now, although they got the frights when the recession bit and some time after. Jack had settled into accountancy, and had had good reason to fear for his job when the economy had crashed down. They weren’t sparing management like they used to. Through harder work, and toughening up, he had stayed employed and now enjoyed a measure of security. The house they now had, a so-called McMansion, he considered a bargain so he splurged. The decision proved to be one they both could handle, although it had been a squeeze at first. Two years had brought no disaster, despite Jack’s occasional nerves about the purchase: everything had worked out well on the real-estate front.
But not on the retirement front. Nadine trusted that their house would make up a substantial chunk of their retirement, but Jack wasn’t completely convinced. He kept his opinion to himself, as his wife needed to believe. Also, they had more pressing worries on the equities front. Their portfolio had been decimated a few years ago; many of the stocks they had jointly agreed to buy were slaughtered to the tune of 70, 80, even 90%. Nadine, after getting through the anguish with Jack, had turned to her favourite mode of redress. After reluctantly concluding she had no legal or arbitrative recourse, she had discovered asset allocation. Although the ride was less bumpy, they were nowhere near getting back to the peak of net worth they had enjoyed five years prior to now.
It was sad in its own way. She had come from a blue collar neighbourhood, but had never fit in. The boys cut each other too much slack, she found, and their destinies were often tragic. She being what she was, her now-passed-away parents had encouraged her to go into teaching. Thanks to good grades and a life lived according to plans, she had won an appointment to a charter school for bright kids. They were largely a pleasure to teach, their attitudes being a lot like hers.
Both she and Jack were in the living room of their house, with their two children away for the moment. The curtains were luxurious purple, gathered into folds by an extended ribbon in the same fabric. The house itself was more than four thousand square feet, with a 55 by 130 foot lot surrounding it. Granite tabletops were in the kitchen. Nadine had no qualms at all about them and the other luxuries to be enjoyed: she and Jack deserved every one of them. So did their kids, John and Helen.
The entire family fit the image of an upwardly mobile, upper middle class success unit. Their worldly gains reinforced her steadfastedness and self-regard. The difference between her and her old high school peers was easy to spot: she planned, she followed through, she took expert advice as received through the media, and she did not allow herself to deviate from her plans. In her own word, she showed self-discipline.
But her and Jack’s retirement was hampered by his father. Frank Moreau had a distressing similarity to the boys she had escaped from in her old neighbourhood. She had at first been relieved to see him, as he was a successful businessman who had the knack of encouraging people into his convenience stores. Despite his opinionated and somewhat anarchic nature, he must have been organized. There was no other way to run a business, so she believed. His take-life-as-it-comes orientation, she had dismissed as self-advertisement.
Until, well into her marriage to his son, she had finally seen that Frank was his persona. Ever since then, she had been watching him for irregularities. His success, she now chalked up to luck.
Granted that he had been right a few times. Retiring and selling out ten years ago, he had been cantankerous enough to insist that things would fall apart six years later. He sold his stocks and sat on his money for a while. Then, he began buying gold bullion.
Frank’s gold hadn’t escaped unscathed, but he wasn’t fazed. Jack had just shrugged it off with a smile, trusting his dad, but Nadine had insisted that there was something wrong. Not having been close to Frank in the way Jack had been, she believed she possessed the higher vista of disinterestedness. Nadine had looked at what the goldbugs had said; yes, she did. What she read - a combination of doomsaying, blaming the central bank, gloating over the collapse, anarchistic fantasies – had made her wonder about her father-in-law’s sanity. After being reassured by her husband that it was just his father being his father, she kept her doubts to herself. Until now.
“Don’t be an apologist again, Jack. You know very well that he’s fallen in with a bunch of very creepy people. Do you know what they write?”
Jack was now middle-aged, with a little insulation in his face and more in his stomach, but he still showed the fine-featured handsomeness he had as a young man. And also, a hint of his happy-go-lucky youthfulness, which his dad had been glad to subsidize. Although he was long resigned to growing up, a small part of him missed the good old days. He and his friends had had their own personal answer to the “Highway to Hell” back in ’80 or so. They had all grown up, fit in to the acquisitive lifestyle, and had made the sacrifices that came with it.
“Nadine, he tends to know what he’s doing.” She saw her husband’s face struggle between sadness and a grin. “Don’t you remember him telling us to get out of those stocks we were in? I should have been that crazy.”
“This is different,” Nadine pressed on. “He was lucky. He’s now fallen in with a bunch of doomsayers who think the world is going to end.” Spreading her hands out, she made it personal. “They think my job is illegitimate!
“And they’re taking advantage of an old man. Just think of it: he goes every week and buys an ounce of that yellow metal. He’s done it for four years! What kind of balance is that? He made it clear: he buys nothing else. That’s a bad sign; we both know that.
“If he were so clever, why didn’t he buy stocks two or three years ago? He could have.”
Her husband shifted in his plush black leather seat, in a manner that would suggest discomfort had he not been inured to it. He was worn down to fidgeting, like Nadine’ students fidgeted. For the inveterate fidgeters, she recommended Ritalin.
Guessing at her motive, Jack replied, “It’s still his money. We can’t take it from him.”
Oh yes we can, she thought, but the time wasn’t right to say it. The safety of her brood was part of her motive, but only part. The other part was a mild outrage. Her father-in-law had flouted rules meant for everyone’s safety. An attempt by her to blame the tobacco companies, he dismissed. He had paid for his habit with a case of lung cancer. Surely, that should have made him change his ways. He still acting in odd ways – didn’t it suggest mental illness? Non compos mentis?
“We can ask him. We can make him listen to reason, just the two of us. The kids, they’re busy. We won’t look as if we’re trying to charm him. Instead, it will be a sensible adult conversation.”
Execution
Frank’s house, the same one Jack had grown up in, was a bit smaller and more rococo in design. Despite subtle entreaties, he had refused to go live in a luxury nursing home. His son may be middle-aged, and he himself may be an old cruster, but he was damned if he was going to live in a hospital! He’d only go from his home if he were carried out. He may not be all that husky, but that didn’t make him weak.
He saw the year-old SUV pull in and wondered why his daughter-in-law would have allowed for it. Probably for appearances’ sake.
Since they had called ahead, he knew they were coming. Since he was he, he didn’t clean up. That was for the maid service. Besides: if someone wouldn’t cut Frank a little slack in the cleaning department, why would he want him around?
Although his son didn’t say so explicitly, he knew that it was about the gold. The kids couldn’t see it. They just didn’t see.
When the stock market cracked a few years ago, as he expected, he knew the game had changed. Having been burned in ’66, he had gone back in. Same thing with ’70 and ’74. Thankfully, he hadn’t counted on the stock market to put together enough money for his business: ’66 and ’70 had taught him that much at least. Frank hadn’t heard about gold until 1979, and the chart he saw had pained him. Had he known when he was floundering around in the stock market, he could have made some serious money instead of having his shirt flayed on a regular basis. He hadn’t shifted at the time, preferring to dawdle and see how it went, and was rewarded when he saw gold collapsing in the early eighties. Missing that slaughter had taught him another lesson: when everyone thinks an asset can’t go wrong, get out! That’s why he sold his stocks four years ago.
Since the subsequent crash reminded him of those old times, he had looked at gold again. This time, he liked what he saw; so, he began accumulating it. Sure, the fellows boosting it were a little off the rocker, but people should be. If everyone were on the rocker, what kind of a dull world would it be?
With that thought girding him, he got up when the doorbell rang. His own living room was less opulent than his son’s, with plain curtains and a green couch with a white love seat and blue carpet, but that’s the way he liked it. Moving more slowly than he wished he could, he reached the door.
Jack smiled automatically when he saw his dad behind the door. The old man, now a little shorter than he, had the same old grin on his good old hatchet face. The chemo-caused bald head didn’t detract from his old man’s cheerful welcome.
Frank had good reason to smile. His son may have filled in a little and gotten wrinkled a little, but he could still see the lad that booted off in a Chevy Camaro back in his good old days. He had taught his son to scoff at the people who had called it a “Gino” car, and scoff Jack did. Doing so had been good for his development, as it taught him that he could make his choices and not be swayed by the often-unconsidered opinions of others. It had helped immeasurably when the “Gino” had become an accountant.
Nadine was smiling too, but more deliberately. She was a little plump too, but it didn’t seem to slow her down any.
“Come in, both of you,” he invited. Standing aside, he ushered them into the living room. They sat down on the love seat, and Frank took his standard position on the couch with arms casually spread out.
“So what’s the bother?”
Jack started. His hesitancy said to his dad that he was more the transmission belt than the engine. “Dad, we’ve been talking about the gold you’ve been buying. We think it may be a bit excessive.”
The delight vanished from his father’s eyes. “So that’s what you say,” he replied to Nadine.
Not picking up on the hint in his eyes, she launched into her spiel. “I’m concerned about you getting into something that might not be good for you. That routine you’re in –“
“Alzheimer’s?” Now Frank was looking at his son, his eyes showing something that Jack either missed or ignored.
Trying to be diplomatic, he continued. “Nadine, I like you because you go your own way. I taught Jack that a long time ago, and he’s much better off for it.” She folded her hands waiting for what came next.
“But you also think your own way should be everyone’s. That’s something you never seem to get over.”
Upon hearing that, her eyes hardened a little. It wasn’t as if she had come up with plans on a whim! She researched carefully, selecting a path that took in more than her own special needs. Trying to be diplomatic herself, she replied, “Some people prefer to live a life guided by information that implies an objectively better path.”
Sighing, and not wanting to start up a confrontation, he turned to his son. “Remember how you used to jump on every band that came along? I admired it, because you showed you knew how to keep in the swim.
“But it’s not so admirable when you’re on the way to fifty. You’re not really grown up until you stop trend-chasing.”
That got the couple looking at each other. Frank already knew what the bond was between them; tweaking it was his way of getting the message across. They should lay off his gold!
“It’s a little more than that, Dad,” Jack said uncertainly. Nadine had gone quiet for the moment. “We look things over. It’s not like chasing the music.”
“Maybe,” Frank replied quietly as he sensed an impasse, “but I see the same kind of trend-chasing in your ‘research’. Remember when oat bran was the thing? What happened to that?”
“It was superseded,” Nadine jumped in, politely.
Frank now looked concerned, as indeed he was. “Nadine, it was debunked.”
Now not wanting to push, he put on a cheery face as he moved his arms forward. “Tell you what: I’ll make you two a deal. You’re bothered by my gold? Okay; you have a right to your own take on the matter.”
Pointing at his own chest, he continued. “Now, me. I’m bothered by your house. It’s too expensive, and I don’t see how you can squeeze it to get back the money you lost.” Nadine made a movement to object, but a look from the older man got her quiet.
“So let’s do a deal. I’ll sell my gold – all of it – if you sell your house. If you move to something half that monster’s price, I promise I’ll keep my money in certificates of deposit and leave it safe.” Both Jack and Nadine, each in their own way, knew Frank meant what he had just said.
Having finished his proposal, Frank let his arms spread on the top of the couch again. “You may not know, but there’s more. I do go to the coin shop every week because I like the clerk. But I’ve also ordered a few 400 ounce bars off the commodity exchange. They kill you on the delivery charge, but the price is better.”
His disclosure got Nadine shooting a side look at her husband: it was worse than they had thought. But, his words relaxed her once she had shuffled through her memory. No, his gold buying wasn’t a sign of Alzheimer’s after all. It was a lonely old man’s cry for help. Having categorized her father-in-law in this way, she conceded that he had a right to go his own path. Even if it jeopardized the future. The poor old man couldn’t help it.
“All right,” she said levelly, making a motion as if to get up, “you can keep your gold.”
“Why thank you,” Frank replied in a courtly manner. Only Jack picked up on the subtle mockery therein.
Now, Nadine got up. “Sorry, but we have to wait for John to get back from swimming practice.” It was necessary for their son so he could get into an elite college. Jack got up too, with a shade of disappointment on his face. Only his dad saw it.
They now in the car, Nadine let loose a little. “I can understand why a lonely old man would do something like that, but we’d better keep an eye on him. We don’t know what he’ll do next.”
“Nadine, he suggested selling the house. He didn’t ask us to move in with him.”
Yes, Jack had hit the spot. “It wasn’t appropriate from someone putting his money into a hunk of metal that no-one had any use for,” she said staring straight ahead at the oncoming road. “It’s awfully high.” Looking over at Jack got him supplying the figure.
“Yes, that’s too high. And we got a bargain on our house!” They had; her calculation and planning had paid off. “And we’re sitting on a profit now!
“I mean, opinions are one thing – but don’t you think he was back-seat driving a little?” Now showing her offence plainly, she looked over at Jack who didn’t reply for a moment.
It took a sigh for his brain to supply him with the right answer. “Don’t worry, sweetie, my dad will turn out all right. He usually does.
“Besides, why worry about him? We’ve got our own investment and it’s doing fine.” Bonding, he recited the reasons why a McMansion made sense for them. As she lightened up, his grin reappeared. Hearing a paraphrase of her own decision process with that grin melted her.
It was his coup de grâce that got her wondering how tight a fit her wedding dress was:
“And the best part is, the real-estate people are saying next year will be better than ever!
He leaned back in the driver's seat and smiled. “Yep, we’ll be rolling in the green come 2005.”
He saw the year-old SUV pull in and wondered why his daughter-in-law would have allowed for it. Probably for appearances’ sake.
Since they had called ahead, he knew they were coming. Since he was he, he didn’t clean up. That was for the maid service. Besides: if someone wouldn’t cut Frank a little slack in the cleaning department, why would he want him around?
Although his son didn’t say so explicitly, he knew that it was about the gold. The kids couldn’t see it. They just didn’t see.
When the stock market cracked a few years ago, as he expected, he knew the game had changed. Having been burned in ’66, he had gone back in. Same thing with ’70 and ’74. Thankfully, he hadn’t counted on the stock market to put together enough money for his business: ’66 and ’70 had taught him that much at least. Frank hadn’t heard about gold until 1979, and the chart he saw had pained him. Had he known when he was floundering around in the stock market, he could have made some serious money instead of having his shirt flayed on a regular basis. He hadn’t shifted at the time, preferring to dawdle and see how it went, and was rewarded when he saw gold collapsing in the early eighties. Missing that slaughter had taught him another lesson: when everyone thinks an asset can’t go wrong, get out! That’s why he sold his stocks four years ago.
Since the subsequent crash reminded him of those old times, he had looked at gold again. This time, he liked what he saw; so, he began accumulating it. Sure, the fellows boosting it were a little off the rocker, but people should be. If everyone were on the rocker, what kind of a dull world would it be?
With that thought girding him, he got up when the doorbell rang. His own living room was less opulent than his son’s, with plain curtains and a green couch with a white love seat and blue carpet, but that’s the way he liked it. Moving more slowly than he wished he could, he reached the door.
Jack smiled automatically when he saw his dad behind the door. The old man, now a little shorter than he, had the same old grin on his good old hatchet face. The chemo-caused bald head didn’t detract from his old man’s cheerful welcome.
Frank had good reason to smile. His son may have filled in a little and gotten wrinkled a little, but he could still see the lad that booted off in a Chevy Camaro back in his good old days. He had taught his son to scoff at the people who had called it a “Gino” car, and scoff Jack did. Doing so had been good for his development, as it taught him that he could make his choices and not be swayed by the often-unconsidered opinions of others. It had helped immeasurably when the “Gino” had become an accountant.
Nadine was smiling too, but more deliberately. She was a little plump too, but it didn’t seem to slow her down any.
“Come in, both of you,” he invited. Standing aside, he ushered them into the living room. They sat down on the love seat, and Frank took his standard position on the couch with arms casually spread out.
“So what’s the bother?”
Jack started. His hesitancy said to his dad that he was more the transmission belt than the engine. “Dad, we’ve been talking about the gold you’ve been buying. We think it may be a bit excessive.”
The delight vanished from his father’s eyes. “So that’s what you say,” he replied to Nadine.
Not picking up on the hint in his eyes, she launched into her spiel. “I’m concerned about you getting into something that might not be good for you. That routine you’re in –“
“Alzheimer’s?” Now Frank was looking at his son, his eyes showing something that Jack either missed or ignored.
Trying to be diplomatic, he continued. “Nadine, I like you because you go your own way. I taught Jack that a long time ago, and he’s much better off for it.” She folded her hands waiting for what came next.
“But you also think your own way should be everyone’s. That’s something you never seem to get over.”
Upon hearing that, her eyes hardened a little. It wasn’t as if she had come up with plans on a whim! She researched carefully, selecting a path that took in more than her own special needs. Trying to be diplomatic herself, she replied, “Some people prefer to live a life guided by information that implies an objectively better path.”
Sighing, and not wanting to start up a confrontation, he turned to his son. “Remember how you used to jump on every band that came along? I admired it, because you showed you knew how to keep in the swim.
“But it’s not so admirable when you’re on the way to fifty. You’re not really grown up until you stop trend-chasing.”
That got the couple looking at each other. Frank already knew what the bond was between them; tweaking it was his way of getting the message across. They should lay off his gold!
“It’s a little more than that, Dad,” Jack said uncertainly. Nadine had gone quiet for the moment. “We look things over. It’s not like chasing the music.”
“Maybe,” Frank replied quietly as he sensed an impasse, “but I see the same kind of trend-chasing in your ‘research’. Remember when oat bran was the thing? What happened to that?”
“It was superseded,” Nadine jumped in, politely.
Frank now looked concerned, as indeed he was. “Nadine, it was debunked.”
Now not wanting to push, he put on a cheery face as he moved his arms forward. “Tell you what: I’ll make you two a deal. You’re bothered by my gold? Okay; you have a right to your own take on the matter.”
Pointing at his own chest, he continued. “Now, me. I’m bothered by your house. It’s too expensive, and I don’t see how you can squeeze it to get back the money you lost.” Nadine made a movement to object, but a look from the older man got her quiet.
“So let’s do a deal. I’ll sell my gold – all of it – if you sell your house. If you move to something half that monster’s price, I promise I’ll keep my money in certificates of deposit and leave it safe.” Both Jack and Nadine, each in their own way, knew Frank meant what he had just said.
Having finished his proposal, Frank let his arms spread on the top of the couch again. “You may not know, but there’s more. I do go to the coin shop every week because I like the clerk. But I’ve also ordered a few 400 ounce bars off the commodity exchange. They kill you on the delivery charge, but the price is better.”
His disclosure got Nadine shooting a side look at her husband: it was worse than they had thought. But, his words relaxed her once she had shuffled through her memory. No, his gold buying wasn’t a sign of Alzheimer’s after all. It was a lonely old man’s cry for help. Having categorized her father-in-law in this way, she conceded that he had a right to go his own path. Even if it jeopardized the future. The poor old man couldn’t help it.
“All right,” she said levelly, making a motion as if to get up, “you can keep your gold.”
“Why thank you,” Frank replied in a courtly manner. Only Jack picked up on the subtle mockery therein.
Now, Nadine got up. “Sorry, but we have to wait for John to get back from swimming practice.” It was necessary for their son so he could get into an elite college. Jack got up too, with a shade of disappointment on his face. Only his dad saw it.
They now in the car, Nadine let loose a little. “I can understand why a lonely old man would do something like that, but we’d better keep an eye on him. We don’t know what he’ll do next.”
“Nadine, he suggested selling the house. He didn’t ask us to move in with him.”
Yes, Jack had hit the spot. “It wasn’t appropriate from someone putting his money into a hunk of metal that no-one had any use for,” she said staring straight ahead at the oncoming road. “It’s awfully high.” Looking over at Jack got him supplying the figure.
“Yes, that’s too high. And we got a bargain on our house!” They had; her calculation and planning had paid off. “And we’re sitting on a profit now!
“I mean, opinions are one thing – but don’t you think he was back-seat driving a little?” Now showing her offence plainly, she looked over at Jack who didn’t reply for a moment.
It took a sigh for his brain to supply him with the right answer. “Don’t worry, sweetie, my dad will turn out all right. He usually does.
“Besides, why worry about him? We’ve got our own investment and it’s doing fine.” Bonding, he recited the reasons why a McMansion made sense for them. As she lightened up, his grin reappeared. Hearing a paraphrase of her own decision process with that grin melted her.
It was his coup de grâce that got her wondering how tight a fit her wedding dress was:
“And the best part is, the real-estate people are saying next year will be better than ever!
He leaned back in the driver's seat and smiled. “Yep, we’ll be rolling in the green come 2005.”
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