Rough Trade

understand all the reasons you don’t want that to happen,” I explained, “but I also want you to realize that you’re playing a dangerous game the minute you start withholding information from the police—no matter how good the reason.”
    “So what do you think I should tell them?”
    “It’s up to you. But if you’re serious about keeping the L. A. offer under wraps I suggest you tell the cops that you and your father were discussing confidential team business. Period. Then be prepared to have them push you a little.”
    “Why?”
    “Because that’s their job,” I replied. “Don’t worry too much about it. You have other things to deal with.”
    “Like the bank.”
    “Exactly. I talked to Chrissy this afternoon while you were sleeping. If it’s all right with you I made an appointment to go to the bank and sit down with Gus Wallenberg tomorrow. I’m hoping that in light of what’s happened he’ll give us a little more time.”
    “Chrissy always tells me I’m not really good at saying thank you,” said Jeff, sheepishly, “but I want you to know how much I appreciate your help.”
    “You know I would do anything for you guys,” I said, meaning it.
    “I know it’s an awful lot to ask,” he began, slowly, “but I was wondering if you’d consider representing the team.”
    “You mean replace Harald Feiss as attorney for the Monarchs?”
    Jeff nodded.
    “What about Feiss?”
    “What about him?”
    “He’s not going to be happy about being replaced. Not only that, but he’s also in a position to make things difficult....”
    “Feiss has already made things difficult,” was Jeff’s reply. “He’s half the reason we’re in the mess we’re in. Not only is he a bad lawyer, but all he ever did was tell my father exactly what he wanted to hear. You know what I always ask Coach Bennato whenever we start talking about a particular player? Can he get the job done? If he can’t, then I don’t want him. That’s how I feel about Feiss. A lawyer who won’t tell you the truth can’t get the job done.”
    “Well then, I’m not going to lie to you. I’d be thrilled to represent the Monarchs, but you have to understand that with your father’s death, you’re in worse shape today than you were yesterday,” I said, watching his face carefully to see how he was handling it.
    “Worse in what way?”
    “The way I understand it, your father bought the team thirty years ago for the then-unheard-of price of $48 million. Since then he’s borrowed against absolutely every penny of that. In addition he’s mortgaged this house, and from what Chrissy tells me, you’ve borrowed against your personal property, as well. Not only that, but as a condition of the latest First Milwaukee loan, the in vivo trust that would have protected his assets from estate taxes was dissolved.”
    “Meaning?”
    “Meaning that while you don’t have a pot to piss in right now, as far as Uncle Sam is concerned, you’re sitting on an asset that’s worth $300 million. That means that even after you deduct your liabilities and stretch the payments out for as long as the law allows, you’re still looking at something like a $100 million tax bill.”
     

CHAPTER 8
     
     
    Chrissy and Jeff’s house was just inside the city limits, a historic landmark mansion erected at the turn of the century by one of Milwaukee’s early brewery barons. It was also one of the prettiest houses I’d ever seen. Perched on a high bluff overlooking Lake Michigan, it was set back from the street and flanked on either side by elaborate formal gardens. I parked my car in the circular drive and followed Jeff down the drive that led beneath the porte cochere to the side door that the family used.
    Inside, the kitchen was half-timbered and had been decorated by Chrissy in the country French style with hand-painted tile from Provence, glass-fronted cabinets, and an enormous fireplace where tonight logs blazed and crackled. Chrissy, dressed in a quilted velvet bathrobe, sat in an oversize rocker in front of the fire feeding baby Katharine her bottle. There was a glass of wine at her elbow, and another stood empty beside it, no doubt waiting for Jeff.
    I knew that there would be very few moments of privacy for the two of them in the days ahead so I did not linger. Pleading exhaustion and promising to talk in the morning, I kissed the top of my namesake’s head and made my way up the familiar broad staircase and down the hall to the suite