Death Benefits (8 page)

Werfel’s face seemed to harden. “You know goddamned well it has.”

Walker turned to Winters for help. Winters said hastily, “It’s a complicated matter. Lots of gray area. You see, the license and passport and so on that the man submitted were genuine. The check was made out to Alan Werfel. It was endorsed in the name ‘Alan Werfel.’ ”

“I don’t think I understand,” said Walker. “I had understood that we’d paid the money to the wrong man—an impostor?”

“It seems we did,” said Winters. “But the question that remains to be settled is, was this the fault of the company, or does Mr. Werfel also, through negligence, share in the fault? That is, we are responsible for recognizing false pieces of identification. If the identification presented is genuine identification, and the genuine owner has taken no steps to report its loss or theft, is McClaren Life and Casualty the one at fault? The only one? If not, is the company liable for a second payment of the full amount, or should some middle ground be reached?”

“So we’re here to discuss his claim,” said Walker. He tried to hide his fascination.

Winters looked at him evenly. “If Mr. Werfel was the victim of a theft of identity, then McClaren’s certainly has to deplore that. But if, for instance, the impostor had executed a bank instrument in Mr. Werfel’s name, and appropriated his bank account, who would take the loss? The financial institution? Of course not. Mr. Werfel would. The principle has been tested in California courts. If the impostor had used Mr. Werfel’s identification to secure a loan, who would be responsible? Mr. Werfel.”

Walker looked at Stillman, who was still immobile. His hands had not stirred from their position clasped across his belly. He did not blink, look at Walker, or show any sign that he had heard. Walker didn’t take his eyes off Stillman as he said, “Are you saying the company won’t pay the death benefit twice?”

Winters responded, “Certainly not the entire amount? Not twelve million dollars.”

Walker saw a slight twitch at the corners of Stillman’s lips. It could easily have been a tiny disturbance in the course of his dream.

Werfel could remain silent no longer. He spoke in a tight, quiet voice. “You can’t say that you paid money to me when I never saw it, never touched it, never knew about it. I didn’t think I had to bring my lawyers with me today, but—”

Walker surprised himself. He held up his hand quickly to forestall the threat. “Wait, Mr. Werfel.” He glared at Stillman, but Stillman looked as though he could be dead. “Mr. Winters, can I talk with you for a minute?”

“All right,” said Winters resentfully. He stood up and said curtly to the wall across from him, “Excuse us.”

Winters was twice Walker’s age, a head taller, and so broad that he seemed to fill the narrow hallway outside the conference room. He glowered down at Walker and waited.

Walker said, “I don’t think this compromise thing is working. I don’t think he’s going to let us hold back what his father paid for.”

Winters leaned forward a little, his face knowing and superior. “I can tell you that San Francisco is not going to let us pay out twelve million dollars on a clerical error.”

Walker could barely keep his eyes on the face. It was almost a snarl, the face of a cornered criminal—angry and full of hatred, but frightened, too. Walker felt sorry for him. He had probably been selling insurance from this office since before Walker was born, and he was afraid of being fired. Walker guessed from his first glance at Werfel that he was the sort of rich that would have made working a ludicrous activity. His suit was a breathtakingly expensive example of the latest cut, but he wore it with a kind of carelessness, as though if he passed a rugby match on his way to his car, he might join it without giving his clothes a thought. Walker said, “This isn’t your fault.”

Winters looked only slightly less hostile: now he was suspicious.

Walker tried to soothe him. “The arguments you were making were right. Your office had a guy come in who must have looked like Werfel and had Werfel’s identification. Your assistant manager had him sign the releases and quitclaims before she paid him. She followed the company’s procedures. The position you’re taking is correct: everything was done right. But the place for that conversation is inside the company, not with the beneficiary.”

Winters shook his head as though to clear it of Walker’s nonsense. “It’s twelve million. Suppose it was you. Suppose you could get a smaller amount—say five million, or six—today. Or, you could go to court for years, waiting and paying legal fees, and maybe never get a dime. Would you take the offer?”

“Yes,” said Walker. “I would. But the reason I would is that I don’t have five million, and never expect to. If I were Alan Werfel, I think I would sue for it.”

Winter smiled and raised his eyebrows. “Let him.”

Walker tried again. “The company will get its money back when this fake Werfel is caught. Maybe all of it, maybe just a big part of it. The company has a really good record of recovery in simple fraud cases. Seventy-six point eight percent last year.” He wished he had not said that. He was sounding like an analyst; high-level executives probably didn’t have statistics spilling from their memories into their conversations.

“That could be the compromise,” said Winters triumphantly. “McClaren’s will pay Werfel some portion—say, four million—and if we recover the first twelve million, Werfel will get his other eight.”

“We keep his eight million because he lost his driver’s license?” asked Walker. “It’s not fair.”

Winters leaned close to Walker and his voice dropped to an urgent whisper. “We’ve got to get something.”

“What?”

“You and me. Here and now. It’s our chance to cut this loss. If we don’t, we’ll lose our jobs.”

Walker thought for a moment. “Did somebody tell you that?”

“They don’t have to.”

As Walker stared at the face filled with despair, he considered. He said, with a confidence that he didn’t feel, “I’ll take the blame. We’ll say I made the decision. You’ll be in the clear, and I’ll take my chances. Okay?”

Winters was angry and desperate, his eyes bulging. “No. It’s not okay. Twelve million is too much blame for one person to take. The excess spills over on everyone. We have to get some of it back.”

“By holding back eight million from the legitimate beneficiary?”

“By negotiating!”

“It’s not right, and it won’t even work.”

“We’ll see,” said Winters. He stepped toward the conference room and reached for the door handle, while Walker took a deep breath.

“No,” he said sharply. “We won’t.”

Winters turned toward him. “What did you say?”

“Excuse me,” said Walker. He opened the conference room door. “Mr. Stillman?”

Stillman’s eyes rose from the spot on his belly that he seemed to be looking at. He silently pointed at his chest: Me? Then he stood and joined them in the hallway.

Walker kept his eyes on Winters. “Mr. Stillman, can you get Mr. McClaren on the phone for me, please?”

Winters’s face began to turn pale, but he let his features show no sign of surprise.

Stillman said, “Sure. I’ll get him.” He took his cell phone out of his coat pocket, turned it on, and listened for a dial tone, then punched in the numbers. His face showed no emotion. He kept the phone at his ear. “Hello. This is Stillman. Yes. Could you get Mr. McClaren for me, please?”

Winters made a grab for the telephone, but Stillman seemed to know it was coming. He half-turned his body quickly so that Winters’s involuntary lunge was stopped when it hit Stillman’s shoulder. Winters’s breath came out in a huff, and he stood gasping, clutching the space under his ribs.

Stillman’s voice was even and affable. “Wait, I think you’d better cancel that. I’m on a cell phone, and I seem to be getting interference. Tell him I may call later.” He switched off the telephone and turned to face Winters.

Winters’s own action had shocked him. His eyes were on Walker, but they seemed to be looking inward.

Walker said quietly, “Can you get somebody here to cut him a check?”

“All right,” said Winters.

“I’ll wait here.” He watched Winters walking toward the rear office, then noticed that Stillman had already moved off to the front of the building, where the support staff was working.

When Winters returned, Walker opened the conference room door. Walker sat down beside Daphne Pool and waited for Winters to speak. Werfel was up, staring out the window with his hands in his pockets, but Walker could see from the way the beautiful suit hung that the hands must be clenched fists.

Winters said, “Mr. Werfel, we apologize for the delay, and we thank you for your patience while we worked our way through the bureaucratic difficulties. We’ve received permission to let you have your full payment today.”

Werfel spun around, stared at Walker, and grinned. Walker didn’t smile back.

7

Stillman walked out to the car carrying an armload of papers in files and binders, put them into the trunk, and got into the driver’s seat. He had already started the car before Walker could slip in beside him. Then Stillman drove, maintaining his mysterious, peaceful expression.

“Aren’t you going to say anything about it?” Walker demanded.

Stillman seemed to consider the question for a few seconds, as though he were deciding not how to answer it, but whether it had been addressed to him.

Walker persisted. “Did you know about that—that Werfel was going to be there? Did you set me up to take a fall?”

Stillman’s eyes were cold when he turned toward Walker. “I don’t see anything wrong with having you all together in one room. You’re the insurance company, and he’s your client. If you end up taking a fall, it’s your fall.”

Walker was silent for ten minutes while Stillman drove along surface streets, accelerating at the start of each block, then coasting to a stop to wait for each interminable red light. His mind vacillated between hating Stillman and wondering why what he had said seemed perfectly true.

After a long time, Stillman said, “Don’t be so gloomy. What you got was worth the tuition.”

“It was?” said Walker bitterly.

“Sure. One day out in the real world and you got your freedom.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Walker. “They used to call it ‘at liberty,’ didn’t they?”

“Look at the dark side, then,” Stillman said. “Say in ten minutes McClaren calls. He’s got my cell phone number. He just heard you bluffed Winters into giving Werfel twelve million, and you’re fired. No, let’s make it good. You’re fired, he’s already having his secretary call other companies to make sure you never work in that business again, and he’s going to sue your ass to recover the twelve. You don’t have it, of course, but the story will be in the papers and you’ll never work anywhere again.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Walker thought for a few seconds. “Let’s see. I guess I’d lose the lawsuit, and go bankrupt. Then I’d learn to live without credit cards and try to start over someplace where all that doesn’t matter. Maybe I’d learn to do something—I know—I could go back to college for a year or two to pick up a credential, and try to teach. By then nobody in schools would remember I got sued, and they wouldn’t care whether I lost twelve million or twelve cents.” He paused for a moment, then said, “I wouldn’t make as much money, but at the end of my life I’d probably feel better than I do right now.”

“I doubt it,” said Stillman. “At the end of your life you’re dying. Probably feels like shit.”

“In the larger sense.”

“Not scared of it, are you?” asked Stillman.

Walker hesitated. “Not that I can detect, other than the dying part.”

“That’s freedom,” Stillman said. “You’ve set yourself free. If you’re doubting the value of that, go back and take a look at Winters—heart pumping, cold sweat, the taste of metal in his mouth. You should celebrate.”

“I don’t think I can afford it,” said Walker. He was quiet for a moment. “But I think you’re right. Maybe I’ll quit before they fire me.”

“Don’t be too hasty,” Stillman mumbled uncomfortably.

“I went to work at McClaren’s because it had a famous name and they wanted me. I went along doing my reports, and after a while, I thought I knew more than I did. McClaren’s is a fraud.”

Stillman frowned at him for a second, then said reluctantly, “Well, not entirely.” He looked at him again, then said, “I didn’t want to tell you this right away, because it might cloud the issue and deprive you of your full measure of freedom. But you aren’t going to get fired for what you did in there.”

“I’m not?” He felt the unmistakable jolt of a parachute opening and jerking him to a near stop. He floated down in amazement.

“No,” said Stillman. “They may even add five inches to your pen back in the stable.”

“How do you know?”

“McClaren’s is a peculiar operation. There are lots of bigger companies. They’re probably more efficient and their rates are cheaper. What gets people to do business with McClaren’s is the same thing that got you to work for them. It’s the name. If McClaren’s refused to pay that Werfel character on his father’s insurance policy—for any reason, legal or illegal—it would be the beginning of the end.”

“If enough people heard about it, maybe, but—”

“Of course they would. Rich people know other rich people. They go to the same two hundred private schools, then the same twenty-five colleges. They take vacations—more of them than other people do—in the same seventy-five spots on the earth, where they stay at the same seventy-five hotels. I’ll bet it’s sometimes hard for them to believe that the world contains six billion people, because they spend their whole lives bumping into the same six thousand. They won’t talk to anybody but each other. And they file lawsuits. If
Werfel v. McClaren
got filed, McClaren’s would have to settle quick and throw in a few million extra to soothe Werfel’s ego and reassure everybody else.”

“I saved them money?”

“Lots. Also probably Winters’s ass. They wouldn’t fire him for being fooled; they might for being dishonest.”

Walker scowled. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that?”

Stillman shrugged. “It wouldn’t count if you had known the right thing was also the smart thing. You had to say to yourself, ‘If this job means I have to stiff this guy, then they can stick the job in their ear.’ Now you’ll never have to wonder.”

“What if I’d made the wrong decision?”

“The wrong decision?”

“What if I had looked at those two and said to myself, ‘Alan Werfel is just a rich asshole who is going to get richer, and Winters is probably a decent, hard-working man who started with nothing and isn’t all that much better off now, and will probably lose his job. He’s fighting for his life, and I should let him take his shot at it?’ ”

“You wouldn’t be much of an analyst if you couldn’t figure out that much.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. What would you have done?”

“Nothing,” said Stillman. “I’m not in the insurance business.”

Stillman was gliding along Colorado Boulevard when, without warning, he braked and swung quickly into a driveway. Walker made a grab for the dashboard, but his seat belt tightened across his chest and held him, his hands grasping nothing. “What?” he gasped. “What’s wrong?” He held the door handle, not knowing whether to get out or clutch it in case Stillman accelerated out again. Walker was vaguely aware that they were in a large parking lot.

“Not a thing,” said Stillman. “I just happened to see a vacancy sign, and we ought to get a place. There aren’t many of them in this part of town.”

Walker’s breathing slowed to normal while Stillman eased the car into a parking space near the entrance to the lobby. “What happened to the other place on Wilshire?”

“Why? Did you leave something in your room?”

“No,” said Walker. “I just—”

“It’s not smart to get too attached to hotels on a case like this,” said Stillman. “You get too predictable, you’re liable to get popped.”

“Popped?” repeated Walker. “You mean those two guys would kill us?”

Stillman said, “Unfortunately, Pasadena’s finest showed up before I could ask them about that. But somebody stole twelve million bucks. You shouldn’t let that slip your mind.”

“That doesn’t mean they’d kill us.”

Stillman sighed. “There’s no reason to get all sentimental about it. There are people within a block of here who would kill you for the change in your pockets. I’m pretty sure I’m one of them.” He got out of the car and waited while Walker joined him.

“Then what’s the difference between you and them?”

Stillman smiled peacefully. “If I have enough to stay alive you’re safe from me. No matter how much a thief has, he still wants yours.”