I stole a quick glance at Steele and suspected that he noticed the ring, too. If he'd done his homework, he'd have known that Dad was an Academy grad. Couldn't help but add to Dad's Wall Street cred.
"Sounded too good to be true, if you want to know the truth," Daddy added. "This guy I play racquetball with told me he bought a policy that matured in six months. Made a bundle. So, I asked around the club, and your name came up."
Steele was nodding. "Those results are not at all unusual. In fact, you can't lose money in this market. The worst you can do is not make a lot of money."
Steele leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Supposing you buy a one-year, $100,000 life insurance policy for $88,000. If the person dies in the sixth month, you've earned a twenty-four percent annual rate of return! If he lives one year, your rate is about twelve percent. At two years, your rate drops to about six percent, but even if he lives fifty years, you still make money!" He spread his hands. "In comparison to a certificate of deposit earning, say, five percent, or, God help us," he chuckled, "dealing with the inconsistencies of the stock market, viatical settlements are virtually risk-free!
"And there's always the humanitarian aspect to consider." Steele aimed his expensive, laser-bleached smile at me. "Naturally, purchasing a viatical settlement helps you, the client, but this is one purchase you can really feel good about! Your investment helps a terminally ill individual make it through a time of great emotional and financial stress."
I reached out and laid a hand on top of my father's. "That's really important, isn't it, George?"
"Yeah, yeah. Always happy to do my part." Daddy slipped his hand out from under mine. "Look, Steele, getting back to what you were saying. I'm not interested in waiting around for fifty years."
"Of course, I understand, I was just giving you a for instance." Steele uncrossed his legs and stood up, inviting us to join him at a conference table near the window.
As Daddy held my chair, he flashed me a wink. Thank goodness! Clearly he had embraced his role as Wall Street cowboy, but I had begun to wonder whether aliens had landed and taken over his body!
Once we were seated, Steele fanned a handful of slick brochures out on the table in front of us. "We've got quite a few plans here, Captain Alexander. The five-year program has a higher fixed rate of return, of course, but those policies are almost exclusively senior settlements, expected to pay out within sixty months. I'm thinking you'll find our one-year program the one that best meets your needs. These are policies expected to pay out within the next twelve months at a very attractive rate of return."
Steele paused, allowing my father time to review some of the information he'd put before him.
It all sounded pretty dicey to me. Even if your rich uncle Joe is ninety years old and has been smoking cigars since he began sneaking puffs behind the barn at the age of twelve, how could you predict when he'd die? Statistics don't apply to individual cases. You might as well go to Madame Stella and have your palm read.
When I tuned back in again, Daddy was saying, "Okay, Steele, one-year it is. What exactly do I receive for my investment?"
"You become the owner and the irrevocable beneficiary of an existing, investment grade life insurance policy which is presently in force and covering a terminally ill person with a life expectancy of one year or less."
"Okay. Say I decide to invest my ninety thousand. What happens next?"
Steele shuffled through the brochures. "Ah, here it is. It's a common question, so we've prepared a checklist." He slid it across the table. "First," he explained, "your investment is placed in our viatical escrow account at BB and T."
"That sounds reassuring," I said. BB &T was as solid a bank as they come.
Daddy grunted.
"Next," Steele continued, "our viatical provider secures a policy of an appropriate face amount, which meets both medical and insurance underwriting criteria."
I tried to catch my father's eye. There was no doubt in my mind that the "viatical provider" Steele was referring to was none other than our good friend Gilbert Jablonsky. Good God, what did Steele do? Place orders with Jablonsky for life insurance policies as if they were used cars?
"Then what?" Daddy wanted to know.
"Once the insured person has agreed to sell his policy, he receives a purchase agreement in which the insured person and his beneficiaries relinquish all rights to the policy by signing a change of beneficiary form. These documents are forwarded to the insurance company, where the changes are officially recorded. Then, a copy is sent to the viatical escrow agent who reviews it, and if the documentation is in order, the funds are released and the deal is closed."
"How do I know this is a legitimate policy you're selling me?"
Steele's face crumpled. We were questioning his honesty. "All our policies are with insurance companies that are A rated or better by A.M. Best, Standard & Poor's, or an equivalent rating company."
"I see," my father said. "And now, no point beating around the bush. How do I tell when my viator has died?"
"Each viator receives a viator number." Steele pointed to the bottom of the brochure, where an Internet address was printed in large black type. "You log on to that website whenever you like, type in the viator number we give you, and you'll receive an updated status report on that person."
"What do you do, Steele, have somebody call up the viator and ask 'So, how you doing today, Harry? Feeling poorly?'"
"Oh, Daddy! That's disgusting," I cried. Instantly, I could have bitten my tongue off. I flashed a smile at Steele, hoping he hadn't noticed my slip. "Isn't he just awful?
Daddy, smooth as silk, saved my sorry skin. He pinched my cheek, "That's my little girl!"
You've got to give Steele a little credit. He didn't roll his eyes, although I'm sure he wanted to.
Daddy pushed back his chair and stood. "Once the viator dies, how soon will I receive my money?"
"The benefit is paid by the insurance company, of course, so that varies company by company, but we've been averaging six to eight weeks."
That seemed to satisfy my father. "Well, Steele, I think we'll probably be able to do a little business here. Let me get my ducks in a row and get back to you." He pumped Steele's arm up and down vigorously.
"If you have any questions or concerns, please give me a call," Steele added. He reached into the inside breast pocket of his jacket, took out a silver card case and extracted a business card. "Call me, any time, Captain. That has my cell, as well as my office."
"Thanks, I'll do that," Daddy said. He handed Steele's business card to me and I slipped it into my bag.
"C'mon, sweetheart. Time to go," Daddy added. "We'll be late for the theater."
"The Producers" I said airily. "We've had tickets for simply ages!"
Steele checked his watch. "You'll have plenty of time to get to the Kennedy Center," he said as he ushered us down the hall, then through the glass doors and into the elevator lobby.
"Oh, it's not in D.C.," I chirped. "It's in New York."
If Steele had any response to that remark, it was lost as the elevator doors closed silently in his face.
Once the elevator began its descent, I fell back, exhausted, against the wood paneling. "Captain Alexander, you were terrific," I said. "You really did your homework."
"I was up late bopping around the Internet," Daddy replied. "I didn't want to blow it."
"So, what do you think?" I asked as the elevator disgorged us on the lobby level.
"I think that if we can prove that the Ginger Cove residents on Mrs. Bromley's list did not die of natural causes, our friend Steele has to be in it up to his impeccably groomed eyebrows."
"We need to talk to Dennis," I said, referring to my brother-in-law, the Chesapeake County cop.