The Legacy Page 2

  “That money goes back quite a few years,” Brian said. “That’s when I was starting up one of my companies out west, before you were born. There was always a risk that things wouldn’t work out and I wanted to ensure that some of my investments were protected from creditors. I consider that my retirement money, not much, but enough to meet my basic needs. Tom looks after the investments for everything else.”

  “Are you sure that’s enough money to meet your basic needs?” Eric asked. “There’s less than four hundred thousand dollars sitting there. I’d suggest you create a budget showing your needs and your wants in your retirement years.”

  Tom smiled. He remembered the lecture that he had given at Eric’s school covering that exact topic and was glad to see that Eric had been listening. Many financial planners based their estimate of retirement requirements as a percentage of the client’s income before they retired, but Tom was not a big fan of that approach. He much preferred creating a budget. It also forced his clients to start thinking about what they wanted to do in their retirement years.

  “Already done,” Brian said as he handed his budget to Eric. “Tom asks me to update it every year in case something changes, and it has. My expenses have dropped considerably since you and your brother moved out on your own and I’m not much for living extravagantly.” Although he was now pretty wealthy, Brian continued to live in the same mid-sized house they had purchased when they had moved to London Ontario when Eric was about ten years old.

  Eric was still a little concerned that his father was underestimating his basic needs, but decided to let it slide for the time-being. “Okay, last question,” Eric said. “I noticed that you ranked leaving a legacy as your most important objective. What exactly do you mean by leaving a legacy?”

  “It is my most important objective,” Brian said, “and a good financial advisor should know what that means.”

  Eric felt his face flush a little bit. He knew what leaving a legacy meant, but he needed more specifics from his father. “Do you want to leave money to a university or a hospital?”

  “No, I’m not looking for anyone to name a park or the wing of a hospital after me.”

  “Are you looking to set up a trust fund for Chip and myself?” Eric felt embarrassed even asking the question.

  Brian chuckled. “Nope. You and your brother will get the money from my life insurance policy but it’s up to you guys to make your own money.”

  Eric still looked confused. Tom knew exactly what Brian’s legacy was and was about to explain it to Eric, but Brian cut him off.

  “Well son, I guess they didn’t teach you everything at school after all,” Brian said. “It looks like you’ve got some research to do.”

  * * *

  Later that night, Brian struggled to get to sleep. He turned on the TV and watched the Late Show but still wasn’t sleepy, so he read for a while after that until he finally drifted off.

  “Why didn’t you just tell Eric what your legacy is?” Jean asked.

  Brian recognized the scolding tone in his wife’s voice. She had been dead for over five years now, but she still showed up periodically in Brian’s dreams, usually when she wasn’t happy with him.

  “You can’t just hand everything to him on a platter,” Brian said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not good for him. He’s got to figure some things out for himself.”

  “Well, as parents, it’s up to us to put them on the right path when we think they need it.”

  “What about them finding their own path? We can’t be there for them forever.”

  “Wanna bet? I’m still here with you and I’ve been dead for five years. I can haunt you forever.”

  “Whatever happened to till death do us part?”

  “Good luck with that!!! You should know me better than that by now. But I guess I should let you get some sleep or else you’re no use to anyone.”

  “Yes, letting me get some sleep would be much appreciated.” Brian remembered how his wife would wake him up in the middle of the night to talk if something was on her mind. He usually just gave in so he could get back to sleep. “I love you – goodnight,” Brian said, hoping this would end the conversation.

  “I love you too. By the way, check up on Chip. There’s something going on with him and I think he needs our help.”

  *** Chapter 4 ***

  Chip kicked his leg out and then carefully placed it into the starting blocks. In the crouched position, his gut seemed to hurt even more than normal. He’d never gone to see a doctor about the pain and it had gotten worse over the last few weeks.

  This event was the 1,500 metre Olympic trials and was more of a sprint than the 5,000 or 10,000 metre distances. Chip had already made the U.S. Olympic team for those events, but he thought he had a realistic chance at this distance as well because he was pretty quick in addition to having the endurance of a long distance runner. The starting gun sounded and Chip’s gut felt like someone had sliced him open as he exploded out of the blocks. After the first 200 metres, he was already a few paces behind and it was becoming apparent to him that he wasn’t capable of making up any ground. By the time he reached the finish line, he was in agony.

  Later that night, the pain was becoming unbearable so Chip headed into the emergency department at the hospital. “On a scale from one to ten, how much pain are you in right now?” Dr. Fleming asked. The emergency room doctor didn’t look much older than Chip.

  “Probably about a seven,” Chip answered. “I think I might have an ulcer.”

  The doctor was reviewing the notes made by the triage nurse when Chip had first arrived at the hospital and noted that Chip had a slight fever. He put down the chart and pulled on some medical gloves to begin the examination. “How about when I press on your abdomen?” he asked as he gently pushed on different parts of Chip’s stomach. There was some tenderness but no real pain.

  Suddenly, Chip let out a yell when the doctor pushed on a spot in his lower abdomen. “That would be a ten, right there,” Chip gasped.

  “I’m going to send you for a CT-scan,” the doctor said. “I’m worried that it could be your appendix.”

  Chip hadn’t even considered that, but it made sense the more he thought about it. The doctor also ordered some blood work. Chip laid in the bed hoping that it wasn’t his appendix because he was sure that any kind of surgery would jeopardize his participation in the Olympics. As the time passed, Chip became more and more worried. He knew he had been kidding himself thinking it was only an ulcer. He wished he had taken his father’s advice and had it checked out earlier.

  It was over three hours later when Dr. Fleming returned with the results. “I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

  “Give me the good news first,” Chip said.

  “Well, the good news is that your appendix is fine. The bad news is that we think you’ve got Crohn’s disease.”

  Chip had never heard of it, but it didn’t sound good. “Is that something you can give me some pills for?”

  “I can give you something to manage the pain. We believe you’ve got a small abscess in your lower bowel which is causing the pain and I can prescribe you some antibiotics to treat the infection. But Crohn’s is a complicated disease and there is no simple treatment or cure. We’d like to schedule you for a colonoscopy and put you on some corticosteroids to treat the inflammation.”

  Chip didn’t understand everything the doctor had said but the mention of steroids immediately raised a red flag. “I’m an athlete and I just qualified for the Olympics. I can’t take any drugs that are going to jeopardize me competing. The Olympics are only a few weeks away. Is there anything you can do to keep me healthy without destroying my chances at competing?”

  “I’m not sure,” the doctor said. “I’ll have to consult with the specialists in the gastroenterology department before deciding on the best course of action.” The doctor could see the panic in Chip’s eyes. “We call them the gut doctors,” he s
aid trying to ease the tension. “They like dealing with this kind of shit.” His attempt at humour wasn’t working. “Do you have the contact information for your team doctors?”

  Chip pulled a card from his wallet that had the names and numbers of several people associated with the Olympic program and gave it to the doctor.

  “Try not to worry,” the doctor said as he scanned the information on the card. “I’m confident we’ll come up with a solution that works for you.”

  It was a few more hours until Dr. Fleming returned again, this time accompanied by another doctor. “This is Dr. Kachmarsky,” he said, “one of the top gut doctors in the country.”

  “Don’t be a suck-up,” Dr. Kachmarsky said, “but I’m not one of the top gut doctors in the country, I’m the top gut doctor.” Both doctors sensed that Chip was bracing himself for bad news. “Cheer up,” Dr. Kachmarsky said. “I’ve consulted with your team doctors and prescribed some pain killers and some antibiotics, neither of which will jeopardize your chances of competing. We’ve delayed the colonoscopy and any long term treatment of the disease until after the Olympics.”

  “I’ll still be able to compete, right?” Chip asked.

  “You can, provided it doesn’t get any worse,” Dr. Kachmarsky said. “There’s only a few days’ worth of pain killers so they will have cleared your system in time. If the antibiotics work, then the infection should clear up as well. But don’t kid yourself, this is a very serious disease and will get worse if we don’t take some kind of action in the long-term.”

  The doctor gave him some pamphlets with more information on Crohn’s, but suggested there was more detailed and current information available online. He also put Chip on a specialized diet which would hopefully reduce the chances of another flare-up of the disease, but there was no guarantee.

  When Chip got home, he scoured the internet for more information. He read that it is an inflammatory bowel disease that is usually first diagnosed in people in their teens or early twenties. “Why me?” Chip thought to himself. He didn’t smoke or drink, ate all of the right foods and obviously got lots of exercise. He continued reading to see that it is classified as an immune deficiency disease that affects about 600,000 people in North America with no known cure. “Why had he never heard of it before?” Chip asked himself. He read about the drugs available to control it, but some of those drugs seemed to have side effects which could be worse than the disease itself. The more he read, the more worried he became. He closed his laptop. He decided he would deal with it after the Olympics.

  Over the next few weeks, Chip continued to train with the others who had qualified for the Olympics, but his times were getting worse rather than better. He had lost over ten pounds and was finding it difficult to find the energy to train hard.

  “Your times are going to have to improve,” Coach McDonald yelled at Chip after their latest training session. “This is not the time to start taking it easy.”

  “I know,” Chip said, hanging his head as he slumped over to the bench to take off his track shoes.

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Michael Porter, Chip’s training partner. He would also be competing in the 5,000 and 10,000 metre events. Michael was several years older than Chip and was the consummate professional. He had competed in the last two Olympics, winning a bronze medal in the first and a silver in the second. He was hoping to win the gold this time.

  “The coach’s job is to keep pushing us as hard as he can,” Michael whispered. “Don’t take him too seriously.”

  “I don’t,” Chip replied, “but he’s right. My times are getting worse and worse.”

  “There’s no point burning yourself out now,” Michael said as he put his hand on Chip’s shoulder. “The goal is to peak at the Olympics.”

  Chip and Michael had grown quite close over the last few weeks, even though they had never met before the Olympic trials. In some ways, they were like soldiers in the trenches preparing for a big battle, watching each other’s back. Chip admired Michael’s calmness.

  “Remember, we’re just men playing kid’s games,” Michael said. “Just do the best you can. No one is going to live or die based on whether we win or lose the race.”

  Later that night, Chip called his father. “How are you doing son?”

  “Okay, but not great. I don’t have a lot of energy and I can tell the coaches are concerned about my times.”

  “Well Crohn’s can suck a lot of energy out of you.” Brian had also been doing a lot of research about the disease ever since Chip had called him after being in the hospital. “There’s nothing more important than your health, so it’s okay to pull out if you don’t think you can make it.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I want to compete if I can. I’ve been training for this for years.”

  Brian could hear the depression in Chip’s voice and tried to talk about something more exciting. “Eric and I received our Olympic tickets yesterday and we’re both excited about going to Rio de Janeiro.”

  Brian and Eric would be heading down earlier than Chip as they were taking a few days to see several of the events. Chip’s schedule was dictated by the team. The athletes would be arriving just two days before their events and moving into the Olympic Village. Athletes who had competed in earlier events would be vacating their rooms in the village so the newly arriving athletes could take their spots. Security was strictly controlled.

  “I’ve only ever seen the Olympics on TV,” Brian said, “and I’ve never been to Rio. Eric wants to stay for another week after the Olympics are over to do some sightseeing.”

  “Yeah, he told me,” Chip said. “I’m planning to take a bit of a vacation after the events as well. I’m sure I’ll need some time to relax by that point.” He didn’t know that it would be a long time until he could relax again.

  *** Chapter 5 ***

  The following week Brian stopped into the bank to sign the forms to transfer his holdings from Great West Life over to the bank for Eric to manage.

  “Okay, this part of the form describes where we’re going to place your money,” Eric said to his father. “We’re going to put thirty-five percent of the money into a Canadian equity fund, another thirty-five percent into an international balanced fund, twenty percent into long-term bonds and ten percent into short-term bonds.”

  “I’m not sure that I want that much in an international fund,” Brian said. “Remember, we talked about how I don’t like investing in places I know nothing about. I don’t understand how the business and government works in a lot of these countries.”

  “Not to worry,” Eric said. “Although it’s called an international fund, seventy percent is invested in U.S. companies with the balance invested in stable companies spread around the world, companies you’ve probably already heard of. It’s the best way to start to diversify your holdings without taking on too much risk.”

  Brian looked at the information Eric had given him describing the international fund and saw the list of companies they invested in. Eric was right. They were all major companies that Brian recognized. “Did you talk to Tom about this?”

  “Yes, he agrees with my strategy.”

  Brian was still a little worried but decided he should just take the advice he had been given. He trusted them completely.

  Eric pulled out some brochures with information about estates, trust funds and creating a legacy. They were filled with pictures of forests, buildings, monuments and smiling people gazing to the skies. Eric knew it was mostly fluffy promotional material, but the back of one of the brochures had a page that listed the seven steps to creating a legacy. “Here’s some information about creating a legacy,” Eric said. “Once you’ve reviewed it, we can sit down and start putting together a plan.”

  Brian smiled. “My plan is already in place, but you haven’t figured out what it is yet, have you?”

  “Not a clue,” Eric confessed.

  “Okay, I’ll make a deal with you. We’ll talk about it after we get back from the O
lympics. If you haven’t figured it out by your mother’s birthday, I’ll explain it to you at her dinner.”

  Brian continued to have a dinner on his wife’s birthday every year. It was something they had done every year when she was alive and Brian saw no reason to stop when she passed away. Eric and Chip both knew it was mandatory that they attend, no excuses accepted.

  “Deal,” Eric said. Perhaps his father had just thrown him a clue. He had been trying to figure out what his father wanted his legacy to be, but maybe he should have been looking at what his mother wanted instead. She was always the one who worried more about the future.

  That night Eric was wracking his brain trying to figure it out. He was looking through an old family album hoping that the pictures would provide a clue. There were numerous pictures of the whole family out at the lake in Saskatchewan. They had lived out west when he was little, having moved to Ontario when his father had expanded one of his businesses. Those were definitely happy times, but the pictures didn’t provide any clues as to a legacy.

  Eric continued to page through the album. He came across some pictures of his mother with several of her friends out in the Rockies. He squinted to try to see what was written on the tee-shirts they were all wearing. “Banff Babes,” Eric said to himself when he figured it out. He smiled as he remembered the ladies that his mother used to sing with in choirs in Edmonton and Calgary. He recognized one of the ladies because she used to give him piano lessons when he was a kid. He pulled the picture out of the album and turned it over and saw that the date on the picture indicated it was taken only a few months before his mother had passed away. It also had a note from one of the ladies that said “Email me so we can start planning next year’s trip” and it showed her email address.

  “I wonder if those ladies knew what my mother wanted her legacy to be?” Eric thought to himself. He knew those ladies talked about things they would never talk to anyone else about. He pulled out his laptop and started composing the email to ask.