“What is your relationship to the plaintiff, Max Baxter?”
Reid smiles. “I’m his big brother.”
“Are you married, Mr. Baxter?”
“To my lovely bride of eleven years, Liddy.”
“Got any children?” Wade asks.
“God hasn’t blessed us with children,” he says. “Though—I confess—it’s not for want of trying.”
“Tell me a little about your home,” Wade asks.
“It’s a forty-five-hundred-square-foot house on the ocean. There are four bedrooms, three and a half baths. We’ve got a basketball hoop and a huge yard. The only things missing are kids.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a portfolio manager with Monroe, Flatt & Cohen,” Reid says. “I’ve worked for them for seventeen years, and I’m a senior partner. I manage, invest, and reinvest other people’s money in order to preserve and increase their wealth.”
“What’s your net worth, Mr. Baxter?”
Reid looks modestly into his lap. “A bit over four million dollars.”
Holy shit.
I knew my brother was well off, but four million dollars?
At the very best, the most I could offer a kid was a partnership in a crappy landscaping business and all my knowledge about how to grow roses in a difficult climate. Not exactly a trust fund.
“Does your wife, Liddy, work, too?” Wade asks.
“She does volunteer work in various organizations. She’s the Sunday School coordinator for our church; she serves meals at a local homeless shelter; she’s involved with the Newport Hospital Women’s League. She’s on the board of the Preservation Society as well. But it’s always been our plan for her to be a stay-at-home mom, so that she could be the one raising our children.”
“Do you consider yourself a religious man?” Wade asks.
“I do,” Reid says.
“What church do you attend, Mr. Baxter?”
“The Eternal Glory Church. I’ve been a member for fifteen years.”
“Do you hold any offices or positions within the church’s hierarchy?”
“I’m the treasurer,” Reid replies.
“Do you and your wife attend church on a regular basis?”
He nods. “Every Sunday.”
“Do you consider yourself a born-again Christian?”
“If you mean, have I accepted Jesus as my personal savior, then yes,” Reid says.
“I’d like to direct your attention to the plaintiff in this case, Max Baxter.” Wade gestures at me. “How would you describe your relationship with him?”
Reid thinks for a minute. “Blessed,” he says. “It is so incredible to have my little brother back in my life, and on a path that’s good for him.”
In my first memory, I am about three years old, and jealous of Reid’s secret club. It was located in his tree house, a special hideaway where he could escape with his school friends. I was too young to climb up into it, or so I was told repeatedly by my parents and by Reid, who didn’t want some pesky little brother tagging along. I used to dream at night about what the inside of that tree house looked like. I pictured psychedelic walls, stockpiles of candy,MADmagazines. One day, even though I knew I’d get in trouble, I climbed up into the tree house while Reid was still at school. To my surprise, it was just rough wood, with some spots where he and his buddies had drawn in crayon. There was a newspaper on the floor and a few busted caps from a cap gun.
