85-year-old Tarquin Ludlow was quiet of habit. No one knew exactly how much money and power he had in Lofton County except for those on or near his level, and that was how he liked it.
“To most of my branch of the family, getting money is just another means to soothe their endless need to acquire other things to put forth to soothe their constant ego cry for 'Look at me! Applaud me! Worship me!'” he once observed to his wife Agatha. “I am no one to them because I will not play the game – that is, until I choose to introduce them to reality.”
The next day, the elder Ludlow's first stop was to see his 62-year-old nephew Midas, being held on the accusation of embezzlement of the Ludlow Winery, and his next stop was to see his 68-year-old nephew Astor, still in the asylum but under arrest as an accessory to the same crime.
“You are supposed to still be sane, so you already know you have one opportunity only to answer my question truthfully, nephew,” the elder Ludlow said to Midas. “If you tell the truth, I will upgrade your lawyer situation so that you can make a deal to pay the restitution, maybe do a year at one of the nicer country club prisons of the state, and get out in time to see your first great-grandchild be born. If you lie to me, you will never see the sky as a free man again. Where is the money, Midas?”
Midas Ludlow thought about it – at 62, it certainly galled to be utterly reduced to a misbehaving child by his old uncle who just refused to quietly die off and kept popping up at the worst times. He had a pretty good lawyer, he thought, and a pretty good setup … but then there was Astor to consider. If he came out of non compus mentis, and told – and then there was Astor's wife, Glendella. She hated Astor, but cared even less for Midas and would gladly cash him in to cash Astor in later.
The thing about Uncle Tarquin: he never lied, and he never bluffed. Posturing was not necessary for him. The wizened old Ludlow had on a quiet suit showing its age in both fashion sense and the slight wear on it – he was comfortable and not trying to impress. You either knew or you didn't, and if you didn't, and you crossed him, you learned at his leisure why you didn't want to do that.
Midas knew, and started talking – times, dates, bank account numbers. He walked out of jail the next day, having taken a fabulous plea deal that would leave him free until sentencing because he made complete restitution.
Of course Tarquin knew Midas had forgotten about how his wife and her associates had gotten arrested on suspicion of murder of a rival winemaker, and about how of course they were going to implicate him, and how all of them were likely to spend the rest of their lives in prison anyway. This was not Tarquin's concern; by that time, he had gone to see 68-year-old Mrs. Glendella Ludlow.
“I'm going to ask you just once, Glendella,” he said, “and it is by courtesy to Baby Glendella that I ask it nicely. Where is the money Midas kicked back to Astor?”
Mrs. Glendella Ludlow raged at the elder Ludlow, not knowing him, but getting to know him as he sat unmoved, and then had one thing to say.
“You do know that since Astor is non compus mentis, and since we do not know where that started, all it would take is for a good enough prosecutor to suggest that you were the true mastermind of the scheme. Since you have already started divorce procedures, you will not have spousal protections by the time Astor is ready for trial, and he could suggest it. He loves you as much as you love him. But I will save you the drama of waiting. I will inform the prosecutor myself that he should look into it if you do not give me an answer I find satisfactory.”
Mrs. Glendella turned dead white, and then went into a bag she had rescued from the burning down of her house and thrown a bank book at Tarquin – and was shocked that he reached up and caught it before it hit his face.
“Be thankful I still have reflexes, Glendella. I would have loved nothing better than to have you jailed for assault. But today I need to get what is left of the Ludlow Winery made whole. You are going to receive a call from an attorney ten minutes after I leave, and you are going to follow his instructions to the letter so that your husband can make a plea deal involving restitution and simply serve his time where he is. Once that is complete and that money is returned, you are free to do whatever you want, except for speaking to Baby Glendella.
"You are now on the same basis with Baby Glendella that you had her on: you do not speak to her until spoken to. The only reason you are still alive after trying to kill that child with a blow when she finally spoke for herself is because Robert saw murder done in front of him, and would never put any child through that -- although that had to be a moment when you found out his seven grandchildren don't have his hangups and five of them came out after you!"
Tarquin laughed heartily as Mrs. Glendella turned green -- he had laughed so hard at Uppity Foolery Watch's footage of her running for her life in high heels from eight-year-old Edwina Ludlow carrying her brother's hollow plastic bat, followed down the street by ten-year-old Andrew, nine-year-old George, six-year-old Grayson, and five-year-old Lil' Robert and their Lego tank, so that Capt. R.E. Ludlow had caught up with Edwina only for both of them to almost be run over by the Ludlow boys because their chair/Lego contraption had no brakes and they were running head out!
"I know you enjoyed that so much, so, do you know how many grandchildren and great-grandchildren I have, Glendella? Do you also know that we don't have Robert's deadly skills and so the best we can do, beginning with me, is to make you wish Robert and his grandchildren had finished the job -- you and your little favorite adulteress that you have been cheating on Astor with for twenty years? Can you imagine me knowing everything you did to little Glendella, eager to let you know what that feels like, and willing to tie some of my children and grandchildren's inheritance to keeping up that good work? You think Glendale and Julia are going to come back and protect you, with the kind of mother you were -- never mind if they can, but do you think they will?"
Tarquin Ludlow had been a powerful baritone in his youth, and still had quite a bit left relative to his age; his booming cackle of a scornful laugh would echo in Mrs. Glendella Ludlow's nightmares for the rest of her life.
Within two weeks, because Midas and Mrs. Glendella Ludlow followed instructions to the letter, the future Ludlow Historical Soda Company would be recapitalized the majority of its losses through restitution.
“Well, why didn't you do that a month ago, Uncle?” 55-year-old Croesus Ludlow said when he called, enraged.
“First of all, nephew, you don't call me in less than an emergency. I call you if I want to talk to you. Second of all, you don't question me disrespectfully. Third of all, ask yourself if you really want me to pay attention to you the way I am paying attention to Midas and Astor and Big Glendella.”
Click.
“I thought not!” Tarquin said with a laugh as he hung up the phone.