SEPTEMBER 11, 2023 – I took UB’s statement—“Send me a proposal”—at face value. On the flight home I spelled out in bullet-point form the terms of a plan for accountability, closing out Gaga and Grandpa’s estates, and distributing Mother’s share. I knew the centerpiece would be 42 Lincoln. Consistent with what I’d told UB, whatever proposal I developed had to allow UB to remain in his trashed-out castle. I also had to insulate the Hamburg Cove property from a catastrophic disposition. That would be trickier, since it was owned outright by UB.
Soon after my return from New Jersey, I drove to Anoka to brief Mother and Dad on my latest attempt to ensure proper disposition of Mother’s inheritance.
To my consternation, Mother greeted me with a scolding. Before leaving UB’s “office” after my final search for important papers, I’d filled my briefcase with about 20 hours worth of cassette tapes of UB’s telephone conversations with Alex. When UB discovered they were missing, he’d confronted Cliff, having assumed that Cliff was the culprit. Cliff covered for me and “confessed” that he’d shipped them to me.
“Uncle Bruce called yesterday,” Mother started in, “and said you had things that weren’t yours.”
“Such as?” I played dumb.
“Tape recordings of his conversations with his friend in London.”
“Okay, Mother, since the cat is out of the bag, let me tell you about the friend—so-called—in London. He’s not a friend, exactly. He’s a drug addict who’s fleecing Uncle Bruce something awful.”
“I think you’re wrong,” said Mother. In Dad’s tight-lipped smirk I discerned his skepticism over Mother’s conclusion. To avoid lighting her fuse, however, he maintained his silence. “Alex,” she continued, “is someone Uncle Bruce has chosen to help with his education. He’s working with Farleigh-Dickenson University to get him admitted and to help pay for his tuition.”
“It’s the tapes, isn’t it?” I said Uncle Bruce is upset because I have a bunch of tapes of his insane conversations with a gold-bricking drug addict. Mother, trust me. What he’s telling you about Alex is pure bullshnonsense.” My attempt at a mid-word correction was overpowered by the increased volume of my voice. “And ask yourself, why would someone record every single phone conversation he has with a so-called friend? Who does that? Don’t be so naive.”
The fermata over Dad’s smirk yielded to an open mouth tsk and a head shake.
“What does he want with those tapes, anyway?” I asked Mother
“He says he’s writing a book.”
“Writing a book?” I could barely contain myself. “Ha! Let me tell you who’s writing a book.” Already on my laptop was a hundred-page Word file labeled, Inheritance.
I decided to change course. Mother was under UB’s spell. Dad clearly wasn’t. Henceforth, I’d communicate only with him about my proposal for resolving Mother’s inheritance. I managed to tell him so as he accompanied me to the driveway after my visit. He said he understood.
A couple of weeks later, I mailed Dad my proposal. He responded promptly with approval and advice: be flexible and don’t burn bridges. In reply I wrote:
I’m trying to make the day-end mail drop, so this will be quick and unrefined. I just wanted to thank you for your letter, which arrived today. The approach you suggested makes perfect sense, and I embrace it completely. It was all the more compelling, given your acknowledgment of reality—I chuckled over your last line, “As in war, all battle plans are usually blown to bits when the first shots are fired . . .”
Shortly thereafter—it was now early June 2006—I mailed my proposal to UB with the “promise” that I would soon be winging my way back to New Jersey to discuss it in person. I submitted it with a cover letter designed to reduce his certain anxiety.
I hope this finds you in fine fettle . . . I write this in response to your statement that I should make a proposal regarding the disposition of Mother’s [inheritance] . . . It is difficult to make a specific proposal, however, without knowing specific parameters. Accordingly, what I propose is more of a process. What is set out below is an outline for that process. You will want to study it carefully, for there are a number of possible combinations and permutations. At first blush you might say, “This is way too complicated!” but such is the nature of property interests, especially after deferring for over 11 years. You and I can follow up when I next visit.
Separately, I packaged up most—but not all—the tapes and sent them to UB. The juicier ones I retained as evidence for possible legal proceedings if diplomacy failed. I then follow up on my promise to visit 42 Baghdad Street.
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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
