What Happens in Paradise(5)

“How much did you understand about his job?” Irene asks. “Did the two of you ever discuss it?”

“He worked for Croft’s hedge fund, right?” Ed says. “He was the front man?”

“Right,” Irene says. She relaxes a little. The way Russ had described it to her, the Ascension clients were investing such large amounts of money in such a high-risk environment, they needed a dedicated person just to put them at ease, and that person was Russ. Up until this very second, Irene wondered if maybe Ed Sorley was in on the whole mess, but now it’s clear from his earnest tone that he’s just as bewildered as she is. Ed wears sweater-vests. He handles wills, trusts, real estate closings, and the occasional dispute over property lines for the farmers of Johnson County. Russ and Irene hired him for their legal matters because he’s their longtime friend. Irene realizes Russ must have had a second lawyer, one provided for him by Ascension.

Real estate, though.

“I’ll call our bank, obviously,” Irene says. They used to keep a checking and savings account at First Iowa Savings and Loan, where their friend Jerry Kinsey was the president. But shortly after Russ started working at Ascension, they switched to the behemoth Federal Republic Bank because Russ insisted that that bank was better equipped to handle Russ and Irene’s “change of circumstance.” Irene recalls pushing back on this. Just because Russ had a shiny new job didn’t mean they had to change their small-town ways, did it?

Russ had looked at her like she was naive and Irene had capitulated. They opened a joint brokerage account at Federal Republic, although Irene defiantly kept a smaller account at First Iowa in her own name; that was where her paychecks from the magazine were deposited.

Now that Irene thinks about it, she realizes she never saw a balance of more than fifty thousand dollars in the Federal Republic account. They have several million invested, or so Irene has been led to believe, and the amount in the Federal Republic account was obviously replenished by Russ’s paychecks and bonuses. So there should be a money trail that leads to Todd Croft and Ascension. Irene never delved into the particulars of their new financial situation because, quite frankly, she had done her share of worrying—creating budgets, stretching their meager resources—for a long time, and it was a relief just to know that there was money now, so much money that Irene could take a bath in French champagne every night if she wanted.

Back when Irene was renovating the house, Russ had transferred money into an account dedicated solely to paying the contractors and estate-sale managers and rug dealers. But that account had been closed for a while now. “We bought the house and the lot here on Church Street outright,” Irene says. “That money was wired to our Federal Republic account from somewhere else. Would you look into it?”

“I can certainly do that,” Ed says. “It was seven years ago? We’ve gotten a whole new computer system since then, but we must still have the paperwork in a box in the attic. I’ll go upstairs and check.”

“Thank you, Ed,” Irene says.

“Aw, Irene,” Ed says. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Please don’t say anything to Anita,” Irene says again. “I’ll tell people when I’m ready.”

“You have my word,” Ed says. “Your job is to get a certified copy of the death certificate. Without that, Russ is technically still alive.”

Still alive, Irene thinks. Just like in her dreams.



Irene’s next move is a trip to Federal Republic. There’s a branch in Coralville, although she has never set foot in it. She manages to find the most recent statement, which shows a balance of $46,270.32. There was a deposit of $7,500 on Monday, December 10, and another deposit of $7,500 on Monday, December 24, at eleven o’clock in the morning. The withdrawals are automatic payments for the household bills—electricity, cable, heating oil. There’s a $3,200 payment to Citibank—that’s Irene’s credit card—an amount that was a little higher than normal due to Christmas.

Irene approaches the teller with trepidation, even though she has never seen the young woman before. She’s Asian and far younger than either Cash or Baker, which is good. Irene craves anonymity. The last thing she wants is to deal with someone who knows her family, even slightly. Irene checks the woman’s name plate: JOSEPHINE.

“Good afternoon, Josephine,” Irene says. She stretches her face into a smile, but she suspects it looks like a grimace. “I have some questions about my account.”

“Certainly,” Josephine says. She accepts the statement from Irene, then starts tapping at her computer keyboard. “Let me just bring this up on my screen.” She pauses. Her eyes grow wide.

What? Irene thinks. She’s worried she’s going to be exposed on the spot. She’d have to say, I’m here because my husband died under mysterious circumstances. I’ve just discovered he had a second life but I was never suspicious because, honestly, Josephine, I paid very little attention to him. And I know next to nothing about our current financial situation.

“You’re a valued and trusted account holder here at Federal Republic,” Josephine says. “With us since 2006?”

“Yes,” Irene says. She points to the amounts she underlined on the statement. “I was wondering if you could tell me where these two amounts were wired from? I don’t see any other account number or the name of the bank.”