Chapter 6
Tim answered the phone reluctantly. He had been looking forward to his breakfast and resented the interruption. When he answered he heard a man’s voice on the other end.
“Hello Tim,” the voice said.
Tim had trouble placing it and his phone displayed a number he didn’t recognize. Nevertheless he responded, “Hello…who is this?”
“Sorry to have caused you so much trouble, I would have much rather explained things to you beforehand but you see, time was at a premium. I gather you just missed me in Mexico, but Puerto Vallarta is a beautiful town, I trust you enjoyed yourself,” the voice said in upbeat tone.
Tim resented his attitude, “Glad you finally decided to resurface James, I believe you owe me some answers and $20 million dollars.”
James laughed, “Oh don’t worry so much, I do apologize for the frustration you have endured, but I assure you there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of it.”
Tim clenched his jaw, “and what exactly would that be?”
“I’m afraid I can’t really go into it now, but meet me at the Starbucks at Broadway and Commercial at 2:30pm, I’ll explain everything then to your satisfaction,” James responded and hung up the phone before Tim was able to say anything else.
Tim stared at his phone for a moment before remembering the pancakes in front of him and set his priorities straight. Whatever James had to tell him couldn’t be more important than breakfast.
As he enjoyed his meal he couldn’t help wondering though. He had hoped to find James, but certainly hadn’t expected it to be this easy. It was strange that he would have the audacity to call after stealing from Tim, but that only made meeting up with him later in the afternoon all the more interesting.
In the mean time, once he had finished breakfast, he had some important things to attend to. He needed to go pick up some groceries as the few that he had in were either unhelpful, such as the giant bottle of ketchup in his fridge, or inedible, such as the bowl of what had previously been fruit that resided on his kitchen table.
He drove to the local Safeway and filled up on his usual fare. Every now and again Tim wondered whether a man of his age should be subsisting primarily on frozen TV dinners and orange juice, but when those doubts came to mind he reminded himself that he consumed more than enough vegetables in his periodic Subway sandwiches to ward off scurvy and surely that was enough. But just to be safe, he picked up a few pieces of fruit and a salad mix to be supplemented with 2 litres of ice cream. Feeling satisfied, he bought the food and drove it home.
Once he arrived and got everything unpacked, it was almost time to head off to his appointment with the wealth adviser. While he didn’t yet know entirely how much he wanted to disclose, he decided having the meeting wouldn’t do any harm. The adviser's office was on Granville Street just off 12th Avenue and Tim knew it wouldn’t take long to drive there at that time in the morning. Nevertheless, he liked to be prepared for unforeseen delays and didn’t mind arriving a little early if things turned out that way.
The drive was easy as he had predicted, but parking proved more difficult. Tim detested parallel parking and invariably wound up trying to park while an impatient driver waited behind him, honking their horn.
After looking for 5 minutes, Tim grew restive and decided to park in the lot. While he didn’t like paying for parking if he didn’t have to, occasionally his time was more valuable than the $6 to park in the lot. He walked over to his appointment just as it was beginning to rain. Luckily, the office was close by and so he didn’t get very wet.
The building was decorated in a manner that seemed to scream ‘generic inoffensive art for rich people’. Tim chuckled a little to himself; perhaps part of the responsibility of becoming rich was to develop a taste for that sort of thing, though he certainly hoped not. He took the elevator up to the top floor and when he stepped out he could have sworn he actually smelled money, or perhaps it was only oiled mahogany and polished marble.
He went to the receptionist’s desk and let her know he had an appointment for 11:00. She smiled and asked him to have a seat next to a pile of business magazines and current news paper before asking if he would like a drink. He requested a coffee and 2 minutes later she returned with a tray including his own personal bodum, a pitcher of cream and cane sugar in a small bowl. While he didn’t care for the art, Tim thought to himself, he could get used to the service. By the time he had adulterated his coffee to his liking, a short man in a very expensive looking suit came out and introduced himself as Ryan Soo.
He shook Tim’s hand and asked him to come to his office so Tim followed him. The office was surprisingly small, though very tastefully decorated. The window looked out onto busy Granville Street below. His walls were predictably adorned with various framed degrees and qualifications meant to reassure the rich that their money was being competently managed. He asked Tim to have a seat in a very plush looking leather chair while he sat behind his desk on a matching one.
“Mr. Harding, great to finally meet you. I enjoyed speaking with you briefly on the phone and hope I can be of some assistance to you in planning how best to manage your assets. Let me start by asking you what your goals are. What motivates you?”
Tim replied, “Well, for the moment I want to focus on travel and charitable giving but still maintaining a portfolio for retirement and maybe eventually real estate.”
“Judging by your answer,” Ryan said, “it sounds to me like you already have some experience in money management. I don’t want to duplicate the skills you already have, but rather help you build a blueprint to achieve your goals. You mentioned charitable giving as a priority. Can you be a bit more specific? What charities do you want to support? How much money are you looking to donate? What kind of time frame? It is great to have a big picture view, but in order to put it into action, I want to help you form some concrete plans.”
Tim was impressed with the honesty and coherence of his adviser. Having been in the industry for a while he had a strong nose for bullshit and this smelled different. “Well, I haven’t done a lot of research yet, but I would like to have an impact locally, maybe look at supporting the food bank or homelessness initiatives, providing they are effective.”
Ryan took some notes as Tim spoke and then responded, “Alright, well it sounds to me like you should do some research in that area to firm up your intentions. The income generating portion of your portfolio shouldn’t be too difficult; the current market provides a number of opportunities in Real Estate Income Trusts and dividend-bearing stocks, not to mention tax incentives for applicable Canadian investments. For the moment I would like to ask you to make me a list of the things you would like to do in the next year, in five years, and in ten years so that we can figure out how best to meet those goals.”
Tim accepted the recommendation and shook hands with Ryan, promising to phone to set up another meeting in a few weeks. He then left the office and headed back to his car. He had received a call during the meeting from the local dealership that was receiving his car to say that it had arrived and was ready for pickup. He looked at his watch and saw that the meeting had taken a lot less time than he thought which would allow him to get down to the dealership on South West Marine and be back in time for meeting James.
The drive over was slower than his way to the meeting, both because of the rain and the lunch hour rush, but after about 20 minutes he found his way there. The lot was full of an assortment of new and used cars of various brands and it took Tim a little while to find the entrance to the service section. Clearly the point was to entice drivers to consider a car purchase, whatever there business happened to be.
After he found a spot and parked, Tim walked over to the office. The young lady behind the counter greeted him on arrival and took him over to the auto bay at the other side of the building. She opened a door and revealed Tim’s newest acquisition. Somehow, it actually looked more impressive than in the picture. The paint shone under the bay lights and it seemed every element had been polished to a shine.
After giving Tim a minute to marvel, she gave him the paperwork indicating that the car had been through the government mandated inspection for out of province vehicles as well as an independent mechanical assessment that it passed with flying colours. The dealership had equipped it with new tires and tightened the breaks to prepare it for Vancouver roads; the only thing left was to test it out.
After signing the documents releasing the car to him, Tim took it out for a spin. It took a few minutes to figure out how to put up the top, having never driven a convertible before, but he quickly got the hang of it. As he drove it around the lot he could feel the power and the roar of the engine; he was going to like this car.
After driving it around for a little while and enjoying the unbridled excess of the 1950’s, before environmental concerns and parking spaces started pushing cars to be smaller and more fuel efficient, he reluctantly brought it back to the lot. As he had brought his Honda to the dealership, he would need to come back later by taxi to get the t-bird.
He drove back home to get changed and grab some lunch before heading off to meet James. The Starbucks he had mentioned wasn’t exactly close, but it was easy to get to by bus. He got home and heated up some pasta for lunch. He was happy to have accomplished so much already, but impatient to hear what James had to say. Try as he might, he couldn’t conceive of a reasonable explanation for James’ actions, but somehow he was certain that James would at least try to come up with one.
Tim ate his lunch quickly and headed out to catch the bus. He knew from experience that any trip along Broadway could take much longer than anticipated, so he allowed lots of time and brought his book along. He was now about 350 pages into War and Peace and had managed not to forget the characters names, though he had a sense of déjà vu because of having started reading it many times before. He decided that Tolstoy must have taken his cue from Dickens on prolific writing.
Being rather close to the beginning of the bus route and going all the way to the end, Tim could confidently get a seat and immerse himself in reading without worrying about missing his stop. While he enjoyed the flexibility that a car offered him, there was something to be said for not having to worry about traffic.
As he had guessed, the trip took a while and he managed to get through several dozen more pages of his book. When the bus finally arrived at Broadway and Commercial, he got off and walked over to the Starbucks.
He was about 5 minutes early, even with the bus delay, and so grabbed a latte and found a table near the back of the Starbucks where he would be able to see James arrive. He hoped the meeting would shed some light on his questions, but he was no longer taking anything for granted after all that had happened.
At 2:37 precisely, Tim knew this because he had spent most of the last 10 minutes staring at his watch, James walked in. He was wearing a white dress shirt with blue pinstripes with black dress pants and a dark grey sport coat. He did not look like someone who had disappeared in Mexico only a few days earlier.
After scanning the room, he saw Tim, smiled, and came over to the table. “Mr. Harding, good to see you, it has been far too long,” he said, taking a seat.
Tim retained his composure and was decidedly civil, despite his inclinations to the contrary, “Thanks for taking the time to meet me; I know you have been very busy lately.”
James grinned at the remark, “Yes, I certainly have been. That is one of the reasons I wanted to speak with you, to explain some things and clear up a misunderstanding.”
Tim made no response, but only listened intently.
“It is a little bit complicated, but I will try to make it as simple as possible. Lottery winnings in Canada are tax-free. This is not the case in many other jurisdictions such as the states, but it is here. However, most kinds of sales are not. Since you sold your ticket to Jeremy who in turn claimed the prize, Revenue Canada considers the tax-free earnings to be his, rather than yours.
Since the money was transferred directly from Jeremy’s account to your account in Hong Kong, this should not have been an issue as Canada primarily does not tax income in other jurisdictions. Unfortunately, Hong Kong’s latest reforms to combat the funding of terrorism require that all transactions that make use of their banks and are domiciled in Hong Kong for longer than a week must have the source and legitimacy of their funds verified through the foreign bank.
Fortunately, this requirement only applies to sums over $200 million in Hong Kong dollars, or roughly $27 million Canadian. So in order to keep your account under that threshold I transferred $20 million over to a Mexican account that has not implemented any kind of similar rules.
The money is yours, but I wouldn’t suggest keeping it in Canada as it could start raising some questions. I will give you the information on the Mexican account so that you have access to it as well. I would have let you know what was happening but I needed to act fast to get it transferred before the deadline and as I was already in Mexico I proceeded with the transaction.”
Tim considered the explanation for a moment before responding, “Well, that does explain a lot, but I still have some questions. First of all it doesn’t sound like what you did was legal, isn’t that tax evasion? Secondly, why the disappearing act in Mexico and not contacting me or anyone else?”
James looked a little uncomfortable, “All you need to know is that the money is yours and there is nothing to worry about, it is my job to handle the legal end of things, that’s what you paid me for.”
Tim was not altogether satisfied this, but decided to move on, at least for the moment, “Alright, I won’t worry about that for now, but there is another matter that concerns me. Jeremy Evans, the man you sold the ticket to for me is apparently talking to a columnist with the Sun about his life as a multimillionaire. It is a multi-part series and sooner or later there seems to be a good chance that it will become evident that he doesn’t have $50 million. The whole point of this situation was to protect my privacy, but now it seems there is a very real risk of having everything exposed and even more sensationalized for having tried to cover it up.”
James responded, “Tim, let me explain something to you. There is a risk, in the course of the column, that Jeremy will inadvertently reveal something that exposes you. But let’s just say it did come out that he only had $3 million dollars. Even a diligent researcher could only find out that it was transferred to a numbered account in Hong Kong and the trail would end there. Now, let’s say we try it your way and tell Jeremy to stop saying anything to the journalist. Don’t you think that might be a little more suspicious? Any reporter worth her salt would see a story there and pressing Jeremy for information might be able to reveal his connection to me, which would be just a hop skip and a jump to finding you. Do you understand?”
Tim, in all his thinking and worrying had not, as it happened, considered that possibility. What James was saying made sense, even if it wasn’t very comforting. He made a mental note: While James may not be trying to steal his money, he certainly wasn’t being entirely forthright either. For the moment, he would leave things the way they were, but be more careful in his future dealings, a lesson well learned. He thanked James for his time and explanations and said he would contact him if he thought of any other questions. In the mean time, he said goodbye and left.
Tim decided that as he was already out without his car, he would call a cab and go pick up his new baby. If anything could take his mind off things, that would be it. Even the weather was starting to clear up and by the time the taxi arrived and they were on the way, the sun was starting to come out from behind the clouds. He called the dealership to let them know he would be picking up the car earlier than he had previously thought and enjoyed the taxi ride in peace.
On arrival at the dealership, the car was exactly where he had left it and ready to go. He got in and took the top down as it was no longer needed and drove off, turning onto South West Marine. Having no further commitments for the day, he decided to take it out for a proper drive and really test out the engine.
He continued along the curving expanse of the road heading west towards the UBC highway. As a native Vancouverite, he knew that UBC technically operated as an independent jurisdiction from the city proper, meaning that it was patrolled by RCMP rather than city police. If one knew how to make the best use of such information, one could quite often get away with speeding with very little risk of getting a ticket.
The drive was very pleasant and the rush of passing all the latest European cars was deeply satisfying. He got more than a few looks of admiration and envy from surrounding drivers and pedestrians whenever he was stopped at a light. Traffic was light, the sun was out, and the scenery was beautiful. Driving the UBC highway had the dual benefit of no traffic lights and extraordinary natural beauty that made it once of the nicest drives in the city.
Since city planners decided long ago that in the interests of livability they would not build any highways within the city limits, there were not very many places that one could really drive without having to stop every couple blocks for construction, or stoplights. But the UBC highway was a driver’s oasis, free of obstructions for miles.
Tim drove all the way around the university, staying on Marine as it changed names and eventually looped back along the other side of campus and headed back into the city as 10th avenue. As it was well into late afternoon, Tim decided to stop at the food court on the edge of campus and find a snack.
The food court seemed to constantly change restaurants from year to year, sometimes even more often than that, but a few things remained the same. There was always at least one not very good Chinese food place, there was always the places that got the short end of the stick and wound up being block by line ups for more popular places and finally, there was the Indian place.
No one quite knew exactly when or how it opened, it seems to have been part of the food court since time immemorial, but whether they used black magic or drugs, people would always be lined up, regardless of time of day. Tim’s theory was that there were trace amounts of cocaine in the butter chicken, but it could never be proven. Despite this, he decided to go there anyway as many of the other places looked even dodgier.
After waiting in line for a good long while, he finally had the chance to order his butter chicken and find a seat. The place was mostly empty, which was reassuring because when it filled up, some unfortunate soul would invariably get stuck beside the wind tunnel door that would somehow trap cold air and wait for an unsuspecting student to open it before releasing it into the food court. Tim was certain more than one intrepid grad student had tried to discover the source of the phenomenon with little success.
As he sat and ate his butter chicken, he considered what to do with his evening. He felt quite productive for the day and, while he didn’t trust James, it seemed that things had been resolved, at least for the moment. First thing the next day, he would transfer the money from the Mexican account somewhere else, to ensure that James had no further access to it. But for the evening he had no further responsibilities and didn’t have to be up for anything in particular the next morning.
Despite it being a Monday, he decided to try calling Nick to see if he was free. The phone rang several times before going to his voicemail on which Tim left a brief message just asking him to call back. Once he finished his food, he headed back to his new car and drove home.
While he waited to hear back from Nick he decided to get a little housekeeping done. He put up an ad on Craigslist for his old car and then began trying to do some research based on the questions his adviser had asked him. What charities did he want to support?
He began with a Google search for Vancouver-based charities which turned up many results. He scanned through them but most were not the kind of thing he was looking for. A few strange ones caught his eye, including one devoted to preserving the classic look of Starbucks. Really. There was a group of people in Vancouver who decided there time would be best spent raging against new designs in corporate coffee shops rather than address homelessness, drug problems, or poor infrastructure.
Tim was incredulous, but somehow not surprised. He tried not to let himself get too distracted and kept looking. He found all the large international charities which he knew had excellent results, but he wanted to find something more local. After some searching he found a couple organizations focused on housing. Vancouver was becoming a less and less affordable city to live in, even more so for people with low income. Tim was drawn to one organization that used partnerships with corporations to subsidize rental housing units. He sent off a quick email to the contact person on the site asking if it would be possible to meet up and hear more about the organization.
Just after he hit send, his phone rang. It was Nick who had received the message and was open to doing something. Tim felt like celebrating, and for the moment, Nick was the only other person who knew about his money that he really could celebrate with. He told Nick he would be over to pick him up in 30 minutes and to put on a suit.
Tim jumped into the shower and got himself cleaned up before putting on his nicest evening wear and heading out to pick up Nick. When he arrived he was impressed to find that Nick had risen to the occasion and was wearing a new looking suit that Tim hadn’t seen before. Nick saw Tim’s look of surprise and responded,
“It’s for a wedding I went to a couple weeks back, don’t look so shocked.”
Nick got into the car and they headed off. Tim had decided that he wanted to try something a little fancier than usual so he drove downtown and parked near Granville and Georgia. They went down to a steakhouse that Tim had driven by many times but never been into. It had been rated the best in Vancouver and had prices to match. Ordinarily they would have had trouble getting in, but as it was 6:00 on a Monday night, they were able to get a table fairly quickly.
They were seated towards the back at a small table by the wall. The ambiance could only be described as opulent and Tim felt slightly uneasy with all the wealth around. The restaurant seemed to be filled primarily with executives drinking copious amounts of red wine and enjoying bloody steaks. There were a smattering of socialites and a couple of people Tim thought looked familiar, perhaps from television or something. Not being one to follow tabloids, he would have had a hard time recognizing the latest parade of the rich and famous anyway.
They ordered a nice sounding bottle of Shiraz to start while they looked at the menu. Both were a little bit uncomfortable with the prices, but Tim tried to adjust to not having to worry about that sort of thing anymore. Tim decided on the Porterhouse Steak with sautéed mushrooms while Nick went for the Steak and Lobster with mashed potato. They chatted amiably until the waiter brought out the wine.
The great ceremony with which wine is presented in these kinds of places always struck Tim as a bit over the top, but perhaps when one is paying that kind of money for fermented grape juice, a little bit of show is required. Tim tasted it and told the waiter he was happy with it, at which point their glasses were filled and they could get back to their conversation.
They enjoyed the wine and conversation for what seemed like an hour before their meals arrived. The presentation was impeccable and Tim decided that he could get used to this quality of food. The precision with which the steaks had been cooked was remarkable: while the outside was seared, the middle was still juicy. The waiter stopped by frequently to top up their wine and ask if he could be of further assistance.
They ended up ordering another bottle of wine and, later on, desert, before they finished the meal a couple hours later. Both were in good spirits and neither had to be up early so they went out for a drive through Stanley Park and onto the North Shore before returning back over the Second Narrows and cutting up Commercial Drive.
The air was still warm and there were all kinds of people out and about walking and sitting on the terraces. They decided to stop for gelato at one of the many Italian cafés on the drive. Tim found a parking spot a couple blocks away and they walked over. On their way to the café, they passed by a pet store. Tim decided, on a whim, that he would like to buy a monkey. He took Nick with him into the store and looked around but found, to his disappointment, there didn’t seem to be any monkeys, not even the little ones.
After enquiring at the counter, he was informed that it wasn’t legal to have monkeys as pets in Canada, and as such, no pet stores would sell them. While he was disappointed, he remained undeterred and asked what their most fun pet was. After being presented with an array of fish, Tim realized that the employee didn’t understand what fun meant and went looking on his own instead.
After looking through all the aisles, he found a pair of ferrets towards the back of the store that seemed to fit the description. He went to the counter and informed the clerk he would like to buy them immediately and paid for them. Nick went along with Tim’s strange choice and helped carry one of the ferrets.
When they left the pet shop they got strange looks from the people walking by as they walked to get gelato, wearing nice suits, and each holding a ferret. As it happened, getting gelato with a ferret is a challenging proposition since it will try to eat the gelato before you and, holding the gelato with one hand and the ferret with the other, one has no free hands to fend it off. Predictably, neither Tim nor Nick got gelato that evening, but they did have two very hyper ferrets.
Nick offered to drive on the way back as he suspected that Tim’s judgement might not be at an all time high. After dropping Tim off at the apartment, he called a cab to take him home and they both retired for the evening.
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