“That’s not insubstantial.” Guinevere lifted a graying eyebrow. “It’s higher than Vanguard, which is essentially offering its services at cost.”
“You’re comparing apples with oranges. They administer index funds, which are—”
“I know what an index fund is.” Guinevere frowned, a fissure deepening between her bright eyes. “Please don’t condescend to me.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Jake swallowed hard. Amy left her desk, and people were milling around in the area. “Vanguard has $2 trillion under management… and 28 million clients—”
“What difference does that make?” Guinevere’s eyes narrowed. “They told me that at my asset level, they would assign me to an asset manager, just like you.”
“But we have a more personalized approach… not only in the stocks we select, but in the… uh… ancillary services we offer.” Jake couldn’t focus. He didn’t know where Amy was. “We view your portfolio… er, as merely one part of the whole that we will provide for you or your loved ones—”
“My husband and I had no children. There’s just me. When I die, my money goes to Thorncroft Equestrian Center.”
“Okay, then we can help you find an accountant and an estate lawyer—”
“I have an estate lawyer, and my will is in place, as is my living will and power of attorney.”
“Good, well, then.” Jake was kicking himself. He knew she’d have her ducks in a row. He reached onto the middle of the table, picked up a Gardenia promotional folder, and offered it to her. “This sets forth all of our ancillary services. For example, in the event of your incapacity or illness, we will step in and liaise with your estate lawyer. We can even pay your household bills for you—”
“In other words, you do a lot of hand-holding.” Guinevere set the Gardenia folder aside. “But I don’t need my hand held. I have a horse and a pony and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of both. In fact, they’re provided for in my will. So why do I need Gardenia?”
Jake found himself shifting in his chair, to see the hallway better. Amy still wasn’t back, and for a second, he felt a bolt of fear that Deaner could have done her harm. Anything was possible.
“Jake, that’s it! Am Iboringyou? Because you keep looking over my shoulder. Hmph!” Guinevere reached down and grabbed her bag. “You know, I had been worried that I was a rather low-net-worth individual for Gardenia. I saw on your website that many of your clients have assets of $10 million and up, and I’m concerned that my account wouldn’t get the attention I deserve.”
“Guinevere, wait, I assure you that $5 million is a lot of money by any measure, and it’s a lot of money to—”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve just made my decision.” Guinevere stood up and tucked her bag under her arm. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be on my way.”
“No, wait.” Jake jumped to his feet. “Hold on, please reconsider. I can assure you that here, you would get kid-glove, personalized treatment.”
“I’d rather save the fees.” Guinevere charged for the door, with Jake on her heels.
“But if you would—” Jake followed her out, only to find Lewis Deaner standing with Amy, in front of her desk.
“Jake?” Amy turned to him, in confusion. “Mr. Deaner says you asked him to stop by this morning, but I told him you were in with Mrs. LeMenile. I asked him to wait in reception, but he doesn’t seem to want to—”
“Hello, Jake.” Deaner’s eyes bored into Jake, from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Did you forget about our appointment?”
“Hmph!” Guinevere said, striding past the desk. “Just as I suspected. You double-booked the appointment. You’re worse than my gynecologist!”
Chapter Twenty-two
“What the hell is this about?” Jake folded his arms, standing against the windows while Deaner’s light blue eyes flitted around, taking in the glass desktops, watercolors pressed between glass panes, and crystal awards. It struck Jake for the first time that almost everything in his office was breakable.
“Jake, you should ask me to sit down.” Deaner met his gaze coolly. “Isn’t that what you do with clients?”
“You’re not a client. Tell me why you’re here.”
“Then what am I? Or more accurately, what are we going to tell your employees I am?” Deaner spoke quietly, and his tone was reasonable. He had several fine lines in his forehead, so he must have been older than Jake had thought at the game, maybe in his fifties. “Because if Amy doesn’t think I’m a client, you’re going to have to explain who I am and why I’m here. Unless you want me to.”
“Sit down, then.” Jake hated that Deaner knew Amy’s name. He must have gotten it off the website.
“You should sit opposite me, shouldn’t you? Play your part, Mr. Financial Planner.” Deaner unzipped his parka, and lowered himself into the chair.
“Tell me what’s this all about.” Jake stood his ground, behind the chair.
“Shouldn’t I look like I’m taking notes? That’s what clients do when you talk, isn’t it, Jake? They write down what you say?” Deaner slid a pad and pen from the center of the table, wrote something, and flipped it around to show it to Jake. It read,Go, Ryan, go!
