Old business in New York

Old business in New York

The ramblings of Drew

Chapter one; You cannot go home.

Imagine my delight and surprise when in spite of my strained relationship with my son,

I received a phone call from him out of the blue. Since giving up New York and sorta retiring to New Mexico I do not hear from anyone I knew there that much. Guess no one from my previous home and life is all that curious about how I am doing and what I am up to. Other than work that is, since I am still remotely working part time for the job I mostly left behind in New York. Anywho, back to the phone call, as that leads to quite the tale!

It was midafternoon on a Saturday when I received the call. Recognizing the number I answered the phone. I was greeted with; “Hey Dad.” I was taken aback by the lack of snark I am usually greeted with however more than that I could tell he was rattled. Going into full “Dad mode” I simply asked “is everything okay?”. He launched right into it with; “My house in New York is the house you grew up in and we lived in when I was a child, correct?”. “Yes it is” I responded, now becoming quite curious where this was going so I asked; ``Is there a problem with the house like a tax or code issue?”. His response of; “Did you know about the bomb shelter?”. I was caught completely by surprise! “Excuse me, the what?” I managed to stammer. Realizing I did not know about a bomb shelter under my childhood home he suggested that I look at the photos he would Email me. He verified my Email and sent me the photos. First photo was the south wall of the basement as I always knew it, paneled with plywood and painted white. Next was the same wall with the paneling removed exposing the brick wall of the foundation. Here is where it got interesting and floored me, a section of the brick wall was hinged and here it was opened like a door! You could see that it opened onto a flight of stairs that went down a fair way. Next photo was down the stairs where they ended at a substantial door. Following photo was through that door into a typical 50’s bomb shelter. At this point my son who had been providing context to the photos asked me; “You see the door on the right in the photo?” I looked a little harder and there it was. Another substantial door, almost like a vault door. You could just make out in the photo a serious padlock to boot. “I do,” I responded. “To be clear, you had no idea this was down here at all?”. My son asked. “No, no idea at all.” I responded. “Part of why I am calling is to see if you knew anything about this and if you would mind if I cut that lock.” Only response I could give him was; “Son, I am as curious as you are as to what is in that room. You do not need my permission to do what you need to do with your house.”. I added, "If you do not mind, I would like to know what you find in there.”.

Couple days later I got another Email from my son. It was a short video that started out with him trying to cut the lock with a cutoff wheel in an angle grinder. That was the description in the video, not being a mechanic I will take his word for it. The lock put up quite a fight as according to the video it took several “discs” to get through it. Once inside it looked like a form of bank vault. One wall was various sized cubbies, another wall was racks of ledgers. Not quite centered in the room was a fairly large table set up at one end as a desk. The video ended with my son looking into the camera asking me to call him. I called him immediately. To my surprise he answered on the second ring. I was greeted with; “Take it you watched the video?”. I could sense his anxiety and simply said, “Yes”. Next big shock was when he went on with; “I know this is a big thing to ask for, but, anyway you could come up here and help me go through what is in that room?”. What else could I say, a whole chapter of my family's history up till then unknown had just been found so of course I told him I would be there in around a week. He told me that would be fine and he would lock it all back up till then as he was really “Sketched out” by all this. I got a hold of my neighbor up the street and told him about everything going on with my son and that I was taking off in a couple days. He agreed to keep an eye on the house and pick up my mail. Next up, I called work to let them know I would be in town and would be willing to come in so we could address any issues that needed a face to face solution. Spoke to my supervisor who thought that was a great idea and told me; “To swing in when it is convenient.”. He also reminded me to check in with HR and ensure I was up to date with them. Spent the next couple days packing the camper. Night before I left I had dinner at one of the local places I have come to really enjoy. Early the next morning after a light breakfast I was headed to New York.

Fun fact about Deming, the Clint Eastwood film The Mule used Deming as one of the filming locations. After I found that out,I sought out and watched the movie. A very good film. Why I bring this up is there is a point in the movie where Clint’s character is driving through White sands. So here I was, I had only been on the road a couple hours driving through White sands going the opposite direction of when I drove through the area the first time when I was on vacation. Factoid in case it comes up on a Trivia night somewhere, what makes the sands white is they are made up of a great deal of gypsum. Alright enough of the local whatnot. I pushed it a little since I felt pretty good and made Oklahoma City that night. I found a vacant lot right off the interstate where a number of semis had parked for the night. I found an out of the way corner and parked. Took care of business in an empty fast food cup. Pitched that in the weeds when I got out to stretch. While outside, I cleaned myself up a little by washing my hands and face using a bottle of water and the towel I always have in the vehicle. Important rules to remember; “Do not panic and always have a towel handy. Feeling sufficiently human I got back in the camper, locked up, proceeded to kick off my shoes and went to bed. I did not bother setting an alarm since I usually have no problem getting up, also a slightly past middle aged bladder helps in that regard as well. Next morning I had the same routine with the cup. While outside in the daylight I could see just up the road was a diner. Breakfast and coffee was solved. Being an IT guy I was used to spending hours on end sitting at a keyboard, driving is not that different, only occasionally more exciting. By the end of the second day on the road I was in Terre Haute. Same drill as last night. Third night I was feeling the drive, so I only got to Erie. Here I gave in and got a hotel room. After checking in to the hotel and a much overdue shower. I found a decent restaurant and treated myself with a leisurely sit down dinner. Nice treat after 3 days of mostly drive-through and whatever was floating around in the cooler. Back at the hotel I logged into their Wi-Fi and checked up on work, no surprises so I shot my son an Email where I was and that I should be there tomorrow evening. From there I moved on to a little TV. Barely got the TV off before passing out. Knowing this was my last day on the road I dawdled a little in the morning. I knew once I hit Buffalo I could make that drive in my sleep. Probably did at some point while bringing my blackout drunk friends back to college from a weekend in Toronto back in the day. I may not have been much of a “Party animal”. What I did know how to do was get the most out of being the designated driver. After breakfast the next morning I hit the road a few hours later than I had so far on this trip. For those that are wondering, of course I had the Scrapple and eggs plate as that is what one does when in PA. By early evening I was at my son’s house and he was waiting for me. Not much of anything had changed: The street, neighborhood,. It looked almost exactly as I remembered it as a boy or a young man home from college even in my “yuppy” days with a young family. Sure a few things marked the passage of time like the new cars or someone changed the color of their eaves. In spite of this I felt somehow out of place. Strange how after relocating to the southwest what had once been so familiar now felt almost alien. Guess that is what they mean when they say; “You cannot go home.”.

Chapter two; Shedding light on the past.

My son showed me in, as we came into the house I was impressed with what he had done with the place. I commented to that effect and he launched into how he had spent a great deal of time and money updating the place to be more efficient. He went on how the biggest expenses were updating the wiring and having the “knob and tube” wiring removed, improving the insulation and fixing structural issues created by folks in the past hacking through beams to run whatever service they were installing. “Ahhh, the trifecta of common problems with these 70’ish to 100 plus year old homes.” I said. “Repairing those problems is pretty much the penance for owning them,” I continued. My son went on to thank me for the work done when his mother and I had lived in the home. The work, Although dated (Hey it was over twenty five years ago whatta ya want?) It was sound and well done. Thanking him for that I explained most of that work was done before his sister was born, when his mother and I had the money to have it done. This prompted him to ask, “So did you guys do anything in the basement?”. I informed him; “No, we started at the top, our priorities were keeping it warm in the winter and more convenient to live in.” To which I added; That was why we expanded the mudroom making it into the laundry room, so we did not have to go down into the basement to do the washing.” . “So quick question, why did you leave the old machines down there?” He asked. All I could say was; “Why not?’.

We had reached my childhood bedroom that had been made into an office/guest room when his mother and I had lived there. It was unchanged from that time. My folks had not cleaned out my room when I went off to college so it was a time capsule of sorts. When that time came as it comes to many and my folks could no longer take care of the house they moved into a retirement community where they did not have to worry about things like leaky pipes or shoveling the walk. They had left the house to my wife at the time and I. I found my old room much as I had left it. She wanted to pitch everything and make over the room. I adamantly told that was not going to happen. As a compromise we pitched my childhood bed for a futon, replaced the desk with a larger one and moved all the bric-a-brac I had collected growing up to a shelf installed for it. Had to put my foot down that the few model airplanes hanging from the ceiling were not going anywhere.

I became a little misty eyed when I saw my son had not changed a thing in that room. When I thanked him for the incredible respect that showed for me and the past, he simply gave an aww shucks response. I saw right through it and recognized the appreciation and pride he felt from my complement. My son left me with; “I take it you know where the bathroom is, I left clean towels for you, I will let you get cleaned up and settled.” He said as he went off to finish making dinner. Quick shower and clean clothes and I headed down to dinner. As I entered the dining room my son said; “I hope roast chicken is okay, do not know what you would prefer so I went with simple and easy.”. He had roasted a chicken with potatoes and carrots served with Brussel sprouts. With dinner we had a chilled Sauvignon blanc that really set off the chicken. Pleasantly surprised by how incredible the meal was I asked; “Where did you learn all this?”. His response I found really amusing; “Ten minute cooking school, not knowing how to cook..” I completed it for him with; “Is like not knowing how to fuck.”. He looked at me strangely then we both laughed and toasted Robert Rodriguez. I explained that I had started learning more culinary skills and was also a fan of the Ten minute cooking school. After dinner I helped my son clean up the dinner dishes. That done, my son helped me bring in a few things from the camper. With my whatnot upstairs and my load of laundry started, my son and I took dessert out to the front porch and watched the neighborhood over apricot tart and coffee. As we headed back in the house my son asked if we could talk about things before either of us called it a night. “Of course, I would like that, give me a minute and I will be right there.” I responded. He agreed. I went upstairs, grabbed the bottle my neighbor had given me and met him at the dining room table. Before I sat down I grabbed 3 glasses filling one halfway with water setting them on the table with the bottle. My son took the bottle, saw it was MaCallan 18, let out a low whistle and said; “Nothing like the good stuff, huh dad.”. “A gift from my neighbor I thought I would share with you.” I responded. I poured adding a splash of water to each as my neighbor had when he had first visited. My son and I enjoyed our first sips of scotch in silence.

My son started off by asking why I went to the lengths I did to ensure his mother did not get the house in the divorce. I explained that to put it simply she did not deserve it. I went on to explain my grandfather had built the home shortly after the first world war and had left it to my father. I was not going to let his mother have it knowing all she would do is use it for a quick few bucks either renting it out or selling it. He then asked for my side of the divorce having heard only his mothers side of things for years. I proceeded to tell him everything, how over not quite two years I had watched his mother become unfaithful, someone who no matter how much of anything she was offered, it was never enough, had tried to use the divorce to take me for everything. My son asked how, knowing what was going on, why I did not confront her. It was simple, she was pretending nothing was going on, so I did the same. At the time I treated it as I would have tracking down a computer worm, you confront it, it can explode and infect more of the system. You cannot deal with it unless you isolate it first. I could see from my son's reaction this was all making sense to him. “All those years of listening to mom go on about how you ruined her life was bullshit, you simply did not let her ruin yours.” He said. All I could say to that was; “Bingo.” “What about my sister and I, how come you did not try to be more of a part of our lives?” He asked. All I could say was; “Would you have accepted me into your lives at that time?” Without prompting I explained how when his mother failed to screw me with the divorce one of the only reasons she agreed to joint custody was so she could use him and his sister to trap me as an “Unfit parent”. That was why I always dropped them off early and was so cautious about what we did when he and his sister were with me. My son summed it up perfectly when he said; “So mom went totally batshit and you distanced yourself from the fallout in self preservation.” All I could say was; “”Sadly, yes.” My son shared with me how disappointed he was that I did not make his Air Force basic training graduation. I explained to him that had I known I would have been there, I did not even know he had joined the Air Force until months after his graduation and then only heard about it from a friend who had overheard his mother talking about it where they both worked. After a polite adult conversation and half a bottle of Scotch we both felt much better, more than that we had cleared the air about many things. A silent mutual decision was made and we bid each other a good night.

The next morning I awoke more refreshed than I had in a long time. I got up and made my way to the bathroom while making my way downstairs. My son met me in the kitchen where as I came in he made me a cup of coffee and handed it to me. He greeted me with; “I remember you as quite the creature of habit and doubt much has changed, two cream one sugar right?” All I could do was nod, he was absolutely correct and the coffee was perfect. I asked him if he had to go to work and he explained that he had taken a few days off when I had agreed to come up. My son apologized that he did not have much in the way of breakfast. I told him that was okay and asked him if he remembered that Jewish deli we had been to a few times when he was younger. He did, and we were on our way, lox and bagels here I come! Like old times we split a Lox and bagel plate only now more like old friends and less like a father sharing a special treat with his son. We finished breakfast, I picked up the obligatory half dozen of rugelach, and we headed back to the house. As we pulled up, he said; “Guess we cannot put this off much longer, I will go grab the keys and meet you in the basement.

Chapter three; Confronting the past.

The basement had undergone some major changes. All the joists had been reinforced so the supports could be moved or eliminated, the floor had been leveled and a few new walls were up. When my son joined me he explained the plan is to build a rental apartment down there. I asked if the old washer and dryer were still down there. That was met with a scowl. My son led the way down the stairs and into the bomb-shelter. Here was probably 20 some odd feet under the backyard of a home where I lived for decades, a decent sized reinforced concrete room. A room I had no idea existed till a couple weeks ago. It was 15’X20’ with a pair of military style metal bunk beds along one wall, a chemical toilet in the corner and along the other wall were shelves for supplies. Someone must have cleared out all the food and water at some point. My son unlocked the other door and we went in. What was surprising to me and had surprised my son when he first found all this down there was the power was still hooked up and the lights worked. I said; “Guess you found the big energy draw I never could.” Explaining how when his mother and I had lived there in spite of everything we did there was this minimum amount of electricity use we could never account for. Inside the vault I suggested that before we touched or moved anything we label and photograph everything for context. He went upstairs and came back with notepads, tape and pens. We numbered the cubbies left to right top to bottom and whether or not they had anything in them. Then we photographed them. Now we had a cubbies map. We did the same thing with the rack of ledgers. By now it was lunch time. We headed upstairs and we boiled lunch down to; A. Go shopping and bring back lunch stuff to make. B. Go out. Or C. Delivery. C. Won, we ordered a pizza. Fun fact about pizza in the greater New England area, you want good pizza find the mom and pop place where you hear an old couple screaming at each in Greek. Most of the time they have really good food, do not forget to try their baklava, you cannot miss it will be on the counter by the register. This is especially true more in New Hampshire and Maine, less so in New York, however still good to know.

Over lunch I asked my son what he had done for the Air Force. He simply said; “Truck mechanic.”. When he saw I was not shocked by this he continued to tell me how he spent eight years as a 2T3X1 or Vehicle and Vehicular Equipment Maintenance specialist, IE, truck mechanic. He had played it smart and took every school the Air Force would send him to and used his free time to earn civilian certifications. That was how when he separated from the Air Force he was able to walk right into a decent job as an ASE certified master tech. Now he was a respected senior tech for a European import auto dealer group. He went on how when his work gives him crap about driving an older Lexus he points out he works on and has driven most of the European cars and prefers his Lexus as it will not shit the bed at the worst time. They really push it, he drives his 1974 Chevy 4X4 he calls “Steve”. He has been restoring “Steve” since he picked him up while stationed in Texas. A couple days of what they call his “Redneck shit kicker truck” and they back down. Hmmmm I wonder where that attitude came from?

All too soon it was time to return to the vault. On our way out of the kitchen we both grabbed a couple of rugelach, I knew I should have picked up a dozen, oh well. We were on to taking an inventory of what was in the boxes in the cubbies. Quite a few were empty. Some had jewelry, personal valuables and cash, the cash was dated 1930’s through 1950’s. Even found a loaded handgun, my son said it was Colt 1911 45 ACP and going on how short the serial number was it probably dated from the 30’s. One of the cubbies had a quality humidor containing pre embargo Cuban cigars with the cigars was my birth announcement and a congratulations card. Someone spared no expense, the cigars were top quality and still fresh. So the cubbies turned out to be like bank safe deposit boxes, a wide variety of whatnot folks found important enough to squirrel away in a secure location. Next up was the ledgers. The ledgers were paired, we found out. Looked like a “Clean” Book for the tax man and the actual record. We had been at it most of the day and after a couple pairs of ledgers we called it quits for the day. Before the nonsense that had preceded lunch could commence, I said; “Remember that steakhouse nearby?” He did. “Good call an Uber and let's go have a good time.” I said. We waited for a table at the bar where we had martinis because they really fit the vibe of what we were dealing with. After crab cake appetizers my son had the Porterhouse and I had a Del monico with which we split a bottle of Australian Shiraz. Dinner was followed by Tiramisu and coffee. We ended the evening with Grand Marnier at the bar while we waited for the Uber. My son was a little miffed when I grabbed the check, I let him get the tip though.

The next morning I got up early and went shopping. I admit it was partly a “Dad” thing as much as making things easier on both of us. After I made coffee I made a simple breakfast of some scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. My son appeared and while grateful reminded me I was the guest. I pointed out I may be the guest however I am family which gives certain privileges that allow me to help out here and there. My son reluctantly agreed and pointed out he was still getting used to the new dynamic. Over breakfast we discussed what we had found so far. We agreed the rooms had been very well built to remain dry and secure all these years. I wondered if the “Bomb Shelter” had only been set up to look like that in case someone made it that far and if it had been an antechamber of the vault originally.

We spent the better part of the morning going through the ledgers. Whoever the books were for they were only identified with an alphanumeric code. Without the cipher there was no telling who these books were for or identifying most of the entries. What was clear was some folks had some pretty good side hustles going on back in the day. Here I had grown up thinking my dad had been just another boring accountant. Turns out, not at all. Here was dad’s secret lair where he had been the accountant who had helped hide all the shady shit going on around here.

We took a break for lunch. My son took advantage of the cold cuts I had picked up and made us sandwiches. Over lunch I pointed out that we should check out the town records and see what we could match up from the ledgers and also look for that cipher if it still existed. A quick Google search and a few phone calls later we were headed to the Saratoga county courthouse. Armed with some of the information from a few of the “Clean” books we figured we could match that up to some of the tax records of the area. What we found was a long out of business lumberyard and a couple of restaurants matched up for 1947-1953. So we had cracked a few dates and had some names. I could see we were getting about as far as my son and I could get with this. That was when I asked my son if he would mind if I got my attorney involved. He was fine with that, so I called my attorney.

I explained to my attorney I had been helping my son clean out the attic of dad’s house. My attorney and I had known each other since grade school and this house will always be “Dad’s house” between us. I told him we had found some old family effects that included some of my dad’s old files. At no time did I mention the vault or exactly what all we had found. All I wanted was for him to check if my dad’s will had included any notes in regards to old accounts he had worked on that seemed to be still active. We called it a day and went home to supper. Over supper we agreed to take tomorrow off. I would go meet with work, might as well get that out of the way. That way he could have the house to himself so he could relax and try and make sense of the last few days.

For the first time in a long while I was getting up to go to work. Really made me appreciate that I do not have to do this anymore. So awakened by an alarm, moved on to coffee and breakfast followed by the three S’s, Shit, Shower, Shave. Donned the “business attire” and I was out the door. As I was leaving, I told my son to be safe and stay out of trouble. Warmed my heart when he replied with; “Can I just not get caught?”. That told me our relationship was on the mend. Work boiled down to signing a few forms with HR to keep my personal file up to date and a few hours with various folks from my department. All in all very productive and I was happy we were done by lunchtime. I called my attorney and asked if he was free for lunch. He was so we met up for lunch and to catch up. His first question for me was; “What in the world caused you to want to move to New Mexico?” He was one of the friends I had spoken with before I left and it looks like he still thinks I am out of mind for leaving New York. Over lunch he filled me in on what he had accomplished so far. After we had spoken the day before he had contacted the firm dad had used and left a message. So at the moment not much since he was waiting for that firm to call back. As we were finishing lunch, they called wanting to know if we were free to meet with them. We told them we could be there in an hour and that was fine, so an hour later we were sitting in a very nice conference room with a junior partner of the firm.

My attorney and I were taken totally off guard when a senior partner of the firm joined us shortly after we sat down. Imagine our surprise when he started apologizing profusely for the delay and inconvenience we may have had. The senior partner explained that my dad had been one of the firm’s longest clients and had helped them build the firm. I was a little confused so I asked him how my dad, an accountant, had helped build a law firm. Turns out that in lieu of a cash retainer dad swapped tax advice and filed the firm’s taxes in their early years, making me wonder if any of those ledgers belonged to this law firm. The senior partner took over the meeting wanting to know what kind of questions I had about my dad’s will so I told the same thing I had told my attorney about finding files and if there had been any instructions about that sort of thing with the will. The junior partner was making inquiries in that regard as I was speaking. The junior partner announced; “I found something however it is rather odd.”. What he had found was a letter simply addressed “To my son”. The instructions are what he found odd, directing the letter be given to his son upon request. Apparently the letter had been with the firm since the 70’s. The senior partner apologized that they could not get it to me sooner than tomorrow morning since it was archived at the main office in Albany. They would have it delivered to the house as soon as possible. As the meeting ended the senior partner gave me his card with his personal direct number and told me to call him if there was anything he could do for us. I took his card and thanked him, telling him I would.

With not much else we could do until we had that letter I asked my attorney if he was free for dinner and would he mind if my son joined us. My attorney was fine with this, so I called my son and asked him to meet us for dinner. My son was fine with that as long as he got to pick where. So not quite an hour later the three of us were enjoying ourselves at a dingy bar and grill that as it turned out had absolutely amazing burgers. After dinner my attorney reminded me how long we had known each other and he knew there was much more to this than I was telling and I better come clean with him. My son was trying very hard not to laugh as he said; “You two have not changed at all.” With that my son invited my attorney to the house when the letter arrived and we would show him everything.

Chapter four; The letter

Around ten AM the letter arrived. By personal courier no less. As agreed I called my attorney and let him know we had the letter. He showed up not quite an hour later with pastries. I had to give him a hard time so I said; “You did not leave your bike in my dad's way again did you? You know how pissed off he gets when you do that.” He responded with “It will be fine he will not be home for hours.” I replied; “That is what you always say, and you end up staying for dinner and pissing off my dad.” By this point my son is looking at us like we were performing apes or something and all we could do is laugh.

Everyone had a pastry and coffee so there was no putting this off any longer. I opened the letter. It was a single page handwritten note that read; “Dear son, You are reading this than I am to assume I have passed on. The fact you are reading this means you are clearing out some of my old things. All I can tell you is go out in the garage and remember our good times there. As you go out of the garage into the backyard and pass your mothers roses, let them remind you how much I loved her. As you appreciate the roses, pay your respects to Sparky whose company I can again enjoy.” The letter ended with; “I love you my son, all is not as it seems.”. My attorney, always Captain obvious says; “Who the hell was Sparky? Your dad was allergic to everything with fur and I do not remember you ever having a pet.” I pointed out it must be some kind of code so let us follow the directions and see if we could make sense of them. The three of us trooped out to the garage and in spite of “Steve” taking up most of it my son was able to notice on the back wall an electrical panel that lined up with just past the roses along the outside wall. On the electrical panel was the sign I remember my dad putting up many years ago that read; “Use caution when servicing will spark.” My son made an observation where the panel lined up with the outside. So he grabbed a shovel and we all went out back and found the area that lined up with that electrical service. A few inches down he found a ceramic plaque that simply said; “Sparky”. He continued to dig and when he had dug down not quite 3 feet he found a plastic wrapped parcel. All I could say was; “As if this could not get any stranger.” Before we could go unwrap the parcel my son insisted on filling the hole and putting the sod back. We took the parcel in the garage and cut off the wrapping after placing it on the workbench. Under the wrapping was a plastic toolbox that had been sealed with bathroom caulk. Whatever was in there someone had gone to great lengths to protect it. Once my son had managed to get the toolbox open, what was found inside was a set of keys and a leather bound journal. With the journal and keys in hand we returned to the kitchen table. Before we sat down I looked at my son and said; ``Think we should give our friend here the nickel tour?”. He agreed, my attorney who was very confused as he followed us down to the basement and his confusion became outright shock as we led him down to the vault. I looked at him and informed him that this was what we had withheld from him. When he was able to form words again all he could say was; “Holy shit!” over and over. I knew exactly how he felt, we had mostly grown up together so he had spent almost as much time in this house as I had and to find out this was here is quite a shock. The journal turned out to be my dad’s diary explaining how he had become in his words; “The chief book cooker and money washer.” A play on the classic idiom of “Chief cook and bottle washer.” Apparently dear old dad had a real talent for making his clients' businesses look like they were barely scraping by to the taxman when in reality they were doing quite well for themselves. At the end of the journal we found directions to a lock box in a hidden cubby behind the ledgers. One of the keys fit the lock and inside the lock box we found the cipher.

At this point all three of us were pretty wiped out by all the excitement and agreed to call it a day. My son locked the journal and cipher in the lock box also locking the vault as we left. We all headed upstairs where my son and I started making lunch plans while my attorney apologized explaining he had a calendar of appointments to set right after shuffling meetings to help me. Before he left my son and I asked that he keep all this to himself, to which he agreed pointing out no one would probably believe him any way.

Over the next couple days my son and I went through most of the ledgers. Majority of the businesses were long out of business. Except for a couple little shops most of what was in those ledgers was old news. I was finding through all this my dad was like a kind of Robin Hood, helping little mom and pop places keep more of their profits. On the other hand however there were a couple of businesses where, like that lumber yard, dad had helped flat-out ripoff government contracts. As far as most of the property was concerned any that had personal contact information we made discreet inquiries seeing if we could get a hold of the owners or their families. Turns out most of the owners had passed away and we could not find any family to take it. The cash was treated as “Finders keepers” Since it did not have account numbers or anything. So there was not any way of tracking down the original owners, so my son kept it. On a side note, after I had gone back to NM my son had a coin shop check out some of that cash and while most of it was only worth face value in spite of being old there were quite a few silver and gold certificate bills that my son was able to sell for a small profit.

We had gone through most of the ledgers and since we were not finding anything new I started kicking around going back to New Mexico. That was until we found the law firm's ledgers.

Chapter five; How the accountant built a law firm.

Long story short, the law firm dad used built their foundation with basically insurance fraud and my dad had “cooked” their books to make it all look legit. To think now they are one of the largest most trusted law firms in the state. Here were four fresh from law school attorneys in the late forties, two of them brothers who started a small law office and about the only work they could get was “Ambulance chasing.”. It kept the lights on for them although barely. Found that information in dad’s journal. Now here was a real kicker, one of the original four was the senior partner whose card I had. It all started when my dad got into a minor traffic accident. Party who had hit my dad was some bigshot and was trying to make it look like it was all my dad’s fault, so my dad found the only attorney he could afford. You guessed it, the four almost broke new kids. My dad must have had quite the hustle, to get these guys to risk their law office going up against some bigshot who turned out to be a corporate officer for a major company. The law office put up a good fight, they managed to prove it was not my dad’s fault. This is where it started getting good. So this bigshot hands it over to his insurance company. My dad being a really good accountant already with the law firm providing the muscle this little merry band took the insurance company to the cleaners. They were off and running. The law firm needed business and so did my dad. Starting with family friends the law firm would offer their services to their businesses and as a bonus suggest my dad look over their books because he was very good at reducing a tax bill. Once everything was in place and the insurance policy was known then either a customer would slip and fall, an employee would get hurt or something in the business would break. That was when the law firm would jump into action and make sure the business received a fair settlement. With the law firm receiving its share and my dad who would make sure the bills were “accurately” reported would get a cut. Word quickly spread and the law firm became the go to for dealing with insurance companies and hiding behind the curtain pulling levers was my dad.

Things were looking up for these five hooligans. They kept a low profile and focused on investing in their respective businesses. Dad returned to school and earned a degree and became a CPA. There were nineteen pairs of ledgers for the law firm, indicating dad worked for/with them for around twenty years. The law firm must have been one of, if not the cornerstone client of my dad’s accounting agency. This explained how my dad, operating a boutique accounting agency, had not only supported his family but also provided them a very comfortable life. With this little mystery solved there was only one thing left to do, call the senior partner.

I called the senior partner and asked if he would mind meeting me for breakfast, which he agreed to do. My son bowed out with how he had housework to catch up on. We met at the little Jewish deli the next morning. He looked like he had aged greatly since I saw him at the firm, also looking quite sad. He greeted me with; “ I guess you found about your fathers part in the firm’s tawdry beginnings?” I confirmed I had and he asked me what I planned to do about this. I told him; “Absolutely nothing.”. He was visibly relieved at this and asked why I wanted this meeting and I told him so I could learn more about my dad. I spent the next couple hours with the senior partner who told me about what an amazing time, hard here and there, however still amazing times that his friends and my dad shared. I asked what had prompted the four of them to become attorneys and open a law firm. He told me how their fathers had been loosely tied to the Jewish mob and had done rather well for themselves during prohibition “rum running” for the resorts in the Catskills as well as heading up the gambling. The four of them were very close friends. They had met in Hebrew school and became fast friends doing most everything together. The end of prohibition had shown them how fragile counting on illicit activities could be. So they started looking for what is best described as legitimate professions that occasionally bend the law to their best interests. They found two, bankers and attorneys. He went on how their plan almost did not take off. They had forgotten one key detail, that a law firm has to be well established and know what it is doing to take advantage of the system. He smiled broadly at the memory and said “That was when that magnificent Goy, your father, entered our lives.” He continued with how at that time Jews kept to themselves for the most part and that dad had shown them the respect let alone agreed to work with them was unheard of at that time. That was one of the reasons why things went slowly for them in the beginning was because the families of the young men with the law firm had no problem working with the four of the firm, it was that the reaction to my dad was usually; “You want me to trust that Goy?!”. I feel I should explain “Goy’. In modern Hebrew and Yiddish goy is a term for a gentile, a non-Jew. He asked me how I knew of this deli and told him I found it when I had lived in the area when my son was younger. He went on asking if dad had introduced me to “Jew food” and I told him he had, how at an early age I had been introduced to such wonderful things as lox and bagels, latkes, rugelach and kugel. At this point he became melancholy saying; ``I miss them all so terribly, I am the only one left.” He asked if dad had any files that could be embarrassing for the firm and if so could he have them. I told him I would be happy to provide him with the files related to the firm. As we ended our meeting he was greatly relieved and told me I was an honorable and good man, and that dad would be proud of me. We agreed to meet for breakfast in a couple days so I could give him those files. He asked me to bring my son, he very much wanted to meet him again. He had a chuckle at my picking up two dozen rugelach before I left. As he passed he said; “Careful, those will make you fat.” All I could do was smile in return.

On the way home I picked a few plastic totes. When I got back to the house I told my son how it had gone and I shared with him the highlights of the meeting. All my son could say was; “I still cannot get over that grandpa had been this Mad Men Esque badass.” All I could do was agree with him. We went down to the vault and he helped me load all the ledgers related to the firm in the totes I had picked up. With that done we left them on the table in the vault and locked it up. We were both a bit tired from a busy day. We settled on a quiet little diner for an early dinner. While we were out we popped into a copy center and made a copy of the cipher to include with the firm’s ledgers.

The next day we did not do much. I began making preparations to go back south while my son was getting ready to go back to work. I loaded my son’s freezer with things to take back with me such as a few bottles of Stewart’s eggnog and a dozen rugelach. We spent time catching up on what we had missed in each other's lives. It made me happy that my son had been able to turn something he enjoyed into a career. I remembered how as a child he really enjoyed anything he had to build. He told me how in high school he had taken auto shop and even a semester of welding. I was learning how much my son’s skills were the antithesis of mine. I can deep dive into software and slay all manner of nasties, yet I would not even know where to begin when the car starts making strange noises. Now here was my son who is making a good living repairing cars and has almost completely rebuilt a truck from the ground up, “just for fun”. My son took advantage of the time to give me a more thorough introduction to “Steve”. While I may not have known exactly what my son was saying or what I was looking at I could appreciate the workmanship. He found “Steve” while stationed in Texas. My son went how he had made a wrong turn in town while off base and passed a house with this truck for sale in the front yard. Here was a 1974 Chevy ¾ ton four wheel drive, as he put it; “It was love at first sight.”. The fact the truck was beat up, worn out and had been worked very hard did not matter. My son stopped and was met at the gate by an older gentleman who gruffly asked; “Whatcha want?”. “I want your truck.” My son replied. The older gentleman was relieved and invited my son to look at the truck. The older gentleman went to get the key while my son started looking over the truck, as he put it; “Rough was an understatement.”. A hole in the seat was covered by an old saddle pad, both axles were leaking, and opening the hood revealed a whole host of age and neglect issues. The older gentleman had returned with the key and handed it to my son and told him to; “Fire it up.”. My son to this day thinks the older gentleman was hoping for a laugh or was testing him. The older gentleman probably thought he did not know how to operate this “Old timer truck”. My son continued how he had the last laugh when he got in, set the choke and started it up right off the bat. The reaction of the older gentleman was “I’ll be damned.”. My son at that point backed up and made a circuit of the driveway and parked it right where he found it. When he got out and returned the key to the older gentleman, who was beaming that; “This here youngan can drive.”. My son asked how much and the older gentleman said; “You tell me.”. My son replied with; “I can bring you $1000.00 cash in the morning.”. The older gentleman agreed and that was how my son found “Steve”. That was when I found out my son and I have in common not wasting as much of our early professional lives partying as our peers at that time. After my son told me about how he would be at the base auto hobby shop on weekends working on “Steve” while his friends were either out drinking or sleeping it off. I told him about “babysitting” my college chums on those drunken road trips to Toronto. We ended the day with my son sharing with me a great little Italian place, of course we took “Steve” so I could get the full experience.

The next morning we loaded the totes with the ledgers in the car and headed off to meet the senior partner. He was waiting for us when we arrived. He had his grandson, who had just passed his bar exam, with him. He greeted us with; “Before business let us enjoy each other's company.”. As it was later in the morning my son and I had the soup and sandwich. I had the matzo ball soup, he had the borscht, we both had the corn beef on rye. The senior partner had chicken liver pate on an onion bagel while his grandson had tuna salad on whole wheat. The senior partner launched into how his grandson acted more and more like a goy and wondered out loud what had happened to him since his bar mitzvah. He continued with how his grandson had studied environmental law; “As if he could save the world or something.” He ended his diatribe with; “Would not be surprised if he brought home some hairy legged femenist shiksa.” With that my son and I almost blew soup out our noses. To his credit his grandson respectfully ignored all this, I am sure he had heard all this before. After the senior partners tirade we settled into a pleasant conversation sharing stories of our lives and the senior partner telling stories of when he was a young man. I should have asked to record that conversation since so much incredible history was shared. All too soon it was time to wrap up business. The four of us proceeded to the parking lot and my son and the senior partner's grandson moved the totes from my son's car to the senior partner's car. I explained to the senior partner the cipher and which tote it was in. He told me he was not even going to open those totes, from here he was going straight to Albany where they would be archived. Sadly that would be the last time I saw the senior partner as he passed away in his sleep less than a year later.

As we headed back to the house I asked my son if he had any plans for the vault and he told me he had not thought far ahead and he would just play it by ear.

Epilogue

I spent one more day in New York. I apologized to my son that I was going to go out and bum around town to see if anything had actually changed since I left. He was fine with that and wanted to get a few things done around the house anyway. I spent the day visiting my former haunts. After a day of tripping down memory lane I headed back to the house. Drove by the house I had sold when I moved south. As I drove by there was the sweet older couple who are a little older than myself on the porch, children playing on the grass and a young couple who looked about my son’s age watching the children. Must be nice I thought as I drove by. When I got back to the house I was surprised to find my attorney there. My son had thought I would enjoy having him join us for dinner. Also my attorney was not going to miss the chance to see me off or talk some sense into me, whichever came first. We all had a good laugh at that. What my son had spent his day doing was making a very nice celebratory dinner for my last night in NY. We started with Caesar salad followed by my son’s spin on steak au poivre. He pepper crusted a small end rib roast that was cooked to barely medium rare. For the sauce he toasted cracked black peppercorn and added the cognac. After a showy flambé he added a little beef stock followed by cream finishing it with a pat of butter while it reduced. The sauce was spooned over the sliced roast. For the side roasted broccoli that was accented with small bits of crispy rendered beef fat and garlic. Louis Jadot cabernet sauvignon accompanied dinner. My son had pulled out all the stops and had made an incredible meal. It was an incredible evening, great food and company. After dinner we all pitched in to clean up before a dessert of cheesecake and coffee. My son was not done yet! After dessert he handed my attorney and I each one of the cigars we had found in the vault and poured each of us a glass of scotch. My son completed the mood by putting on Frank Sinatra. We headed out to the front porch where we enjoyed the music, scotch and cigars. My son took the opportunity to ask my attorney and I how we had managed to make sure he got the family home. So we told him how months before the divorce I “sold” the house to my attorney making him my landlord. Went how we had everything all nice tight and legal so when our day in court came around and the judge got to the house my attorney and I presented all the sale paperwork and my rental agreement. When your mother realized she was not getting the house, she was livid. Adding insult to injury since I had sold the house way under value her proceeds were a pittance. My son looked at my attorney and I and said; “Guess being a really shady bastard when you need to be, runs in the family.”. I ended the tale with how I wanted him to have the house and that was why when the time was right it was given to him. My son commented that he had wondered how he ended up “inheriting” this house. My son thanked my attorney and I for our forethought that not only kept the home in the family, but also provided him with a nice house. I knew I was feeling what we had to drink tonight so I asked my attorney if he wanted to spend the night, and he told me that was the plan as my son had told him to plan on that when he was invited to dinner. I looked at my son who was grinning like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. My attorney looked at me and said; “Just like how many Friday nights growing up?”. I responded with; “Yeah, however you have to admit tonight’s dinner beat my mom’s meatloaf hands down.”. At this my son went complete smartass with; “You two had better go right to sleep with no horseplay.” We both looked at him and simultaneously said; “Yes dad!”. So with that, we all agreed it was getting late, and since we had finished our drinks and cigars it was time for bed.

My son greeted my attorney and I in the morning with a lovely breakfast of chopped leftover roast tossed with crispy potatoes topped with fried eggs. We enjoyed the casual banter over breakfast. After breakfast as we were cleaning up I told my son and attorney they should come down for a visit. My attorney was a little hesitant, my son however said to plan on his coming down saying; “To be honest dad, the real reason would be for the food, you cannot find good Mexican up here.” I told him I would look forward to sharing all the little places I enjoyed. With breakfast cleaned up I loaded the last minute things in the camper. I double checked that I had everything out of the freezer and in the cooler. Before it could get to late I said my goodbyes. I gave my attorney a hug and we tousled a little. My son was having that awkward, not sure what to do moment so I just wrapped him in my arms and held him for a few moments. When I let him go we were both a little misty eyed. We both knew we had turned a corner and things were going to be alright. With that I again checked I had everything, fired up the camper and headed back to NM.