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Authors: Pamela Samuels Young
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dreamed the guy would actually refer someone so quickly.
Erickson’s wife was dying of pancreatic cancer and the couple wanted to sell her five hundred thousand dollar insurance policy to pay for an experimental operation. Erickson was deeply concerned about keeping the transaction confidential. Waverly assured him that wouldn’t be a problem. Not with a fifty grand commission coming his way.
Waverly actually whistled as he walked up the driveway to Erickson’s stately Hancock Park home. Erickson greeted him at the door and led him inside.
Claire Erickson appeared to be minutes, not months away from death. She sat quietly in a pink dress, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes downcast. Waverly gathered that something more than her illness lay behind her defeated demeanor. She reminded him of Deidra’s mother. A woman who obediently bowed to her husband’s every command.
“Why don’t you explain to Claire how this all works?” Erickson began.
They were seated in the family room around a massive oak table that looked out on a colorful garden.
“It’s actually pretty simple,” Waverly said. “We find an investor who’s willing to pay you a portion of the face value of your policy. The investor then becomes the beneficiary.”
Claire turned to face her husband. “Sounds like a strange way to make money. But, of course, you know all about making money.”
Waverly wasn’t exactly sure what was going on between the pair and didn’t know how to respond. As an uncomfortable hush fell over the room, he continued his presentation, meticulously explaining each step of the process, emphasizing the importance of obtaining Mrs. Erickson’s medical records as soon as possible.
When Erickson reached over and stroked his wife’s forearm, Waverly was certain he saw Claire recoil.
“We’ve completed the paperwork you sent over,” Erickson said, handing him a folder.
Erickson didn’t seem the least bit broken up over his wife’s impending death. Considering the circumstances, he was far too businesslike.
Waverly browsed the papers Erickson had given him. “Are there any questions I can answer for you?” He directed his question to Mrs. Erickson.
She wrung her hands, then quietly shook her head.
Erickson took both of Claire’s hands in his. “This is your decision, honey. Are you sure there’s nothing you want to ask?”
“No,” Claire said, her voice both softer and kinder than before. “Everything sounds fine.”
“What’s the next step?” Erickson was really rushing things along. He had explained on the phone that Claire’s sister and daughter hadn’t been told about the surgery yet. It was imperative that Waverly be gone by the time they returned from dinner and a movie.
“I have a few more documents for you to sign,” Waverly said. “Some of them need to be notarized.”
“We’ll get them done right away. Here’s the name of my wife’s oncologist.” He handed Waverly a business card. “I’ve let Claire’s doctors know you’ll be requesting her medical records. How long will it take before we get the payout? We really want to move forward with the surgery as soon as possible.”
“Six to eight weeks is typical, but I’ve cleared the way to expedite processing since I understand time is of the essence. If there’s no delay in getting the medical records, I think we may be able to complete the entire process in three to four weeks, maybe less.”
Erickson smiled as if Waverly had just told him he’d won SuperLotto. Mrs. Erickson stared off toward the garden.
Something isn’t right here, Waverly thought. Whatever it was, he hoped it didn’t derail his forthcoming commission.
“Thank you,” Erickson said, reaching out to shake his hand.
No, Waverly thought, as he envisioned his biggest commission check yet, thank you.
CHAPTER 12
A ngela eased off the exercise bike, wiped her forehead with a towel and tried to pretend she wasn’t aching all over.
“Good job,”
Erickson’s wife was dying of pancreatic cancer and the couple wanted to sell her five hundred thousand dollar insurance policy to pay for an experimental operation. Erickson was deeply concerned about keeping the transaction confidential. Waverly assured him that wouldn’t be a problem. Not with a fifty grand commission coming his way.
Waverly actually whistled as he walked up the driveway to Erickson’s stately Hancock Park home. Erickson greeted him at the door and led him inside.
Claire Erickson appeared to be minutes, not months away from death. She sat quietly in a pink dress, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes downcast. Waverly gathered that something more than her illness lay behind her defeated demeanor. She reminded him of Deidra’s mother. A woman who obediently bowed to her husband’s every command.
“Why don’t you explain to Claire how this all works?” Erickson began.
They were seated in the family room around a massive oak table that looked out on a colorful garden.
“It’s actually pretty simple,” Waverly said. “We find an investor who’s willing to pay you a portion of the face value of your policy. The investor then becomes the beneficiary.”
Claire turned to face her husband. “Sounds like a strange way to make money. But, of course, you know all about making money.”
Waverly wasn’t exactly sure what was going on between the pair and didn’t know how to respond. As an uncomfortable hush fell over the room, he continued his presentation, meticulously explaining each step of the process, emphasizing the importance of obtaining Mrs. Erickson’s medical records as soon as possible.
When Erickson reached over and stroked his wife’s forearm, Waverly was certain he saw Claire recoil.
“We’ve completed the paperwork you sent over,” Erickson said, handing him a folder.
Erickson didn’t seem the least bit broken up over his wife’s impending death. Considering the circumstances, he was far too businesslike.
Waverly browsed the papers Erickson had given him. “Are there any questions I can answer for you?” He directed his question to Mrs. Erickson.
She wrung her hands, then quietly shook her head.
Erickson took both of Claire’s hands in his. “This is your decision, honey. Are you sure there’s nothing you want to ask?”
“No,” Claire said, her voice both softer and kinder than before. “Everything sounds fine.”
“What’s the next step?” Erickson was really rushing things along. He had explained on the phone that Claire’s sister and daughter hadn’t been told about the surgery yet. It was imperative that Waverly be gone by the time they returned from dinner and a movie.
“I have a few more documents for you to sign,” Waverly said. “Some of them need to be notarized.”
“We’ll get them done right away. Here’s the name of my wife’s oncologist.” He handed Waverly a business card. “I’ve let Claire’s doctors know you’ll be requesting her medical records. How long will it take before we get the payout? We really want to move forward with the surgery as soon as possible.”
“Six to eight weeks is typical, but I’ve cleared the way to expedite processing since I understand time is of the essence. If there’s no delay in getting the medical records, I think we may be able to complete the entire process in three to four weeks, maybe less.”
Erickson smiled as if Waverly had just told him he’d won SuperLotto. Mrs. Erickson stared off toward the garden.
Something isn’t right here, Waverly thought. Whatever it was, he hoped it didn’t derail his forthcoming commission.
“Thank you,” Erickson said, reaching out to shake his hand.
No, Waverly thought, as he envisioned his biggest commission check yet, thank you.
CHAPTER 12
A ngela eased off the exercise bike, wiped her forehead with a towel and tried to pretend she wasn’t aching all over.
“Good job,”
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