February 28, 2009

“Now son, don’t be too generous with the customers while I’m at Park City this week competing in the senior downhill”, the old man said. “Dad, don’t try to be the poster child for the “agony on the Wide World of Sports, “ Junior fired back. “Hell, son, its not the skiing that worries me, its whether that ED medicine will hurt my vision going downhill.” “Dad, you know you shouldn’t be mixing fast skiing with that stuff, you could get killed.” “Hell, son, I’ve been taking that stuff for years and it never bothered me before, doubt it will start now. I just want to make sure…. oh what is that chick’s name…, Sandi… to enjoy herself.”

March 1, 2009.

While blazing down a double diamond slope the bindings on Jack, Sr’s, skis failed. He fell into a grove of pine trees. He was carted downhill in the inglorious ski patrol toboggan after Patrol members stabilized him for about 20 minutes. A chopper was waiting at the bottom of the slope to carry him back to Salt Lake City for shock trauma.

“We have a male caucasian, 6’2″, weight about 200 lbs. He suffered trauma when his skis malfunctioned and he fell headlong into a grove of trees. He was wearing a helmet, but suffered a concussion. He also has a lacerations over much of his body, and a wound from a branch in his chest”, the doctor dictated into his recorder. “Will start to lavage the wound track of the branch and make sure there is no internal bleeding”, he continued.

The doctors worked tirelessly on him and discovered that the wound was deeper than expected and had nicked his bowel requiring surgery to close the bowel and clean out his insides.

After seven hours of surgery, they closed him up and started an IV drip of antibiotics.

So far we’ve seen a body hidden to avoid taxes, a body switched to fake a death. These fall into the fraud category of things. Now, we move into the capital crime category, that of murder. Now anytime that you have a murder, you have another problem, that being that the murderer cannot inherit. Thus murder brings with it other problems outside of the tax realm. Also, murders tend to bring out the better detectives, lab techs pay closer attention and its a whole different game.

IT COULD BE A MURDER

Jack Jenkins was a celebrity in the finest sense of the word. He was an All-American quarterback at Alabama. He had his car horn fixed to play the Alabama fight song and wore red where ever he went. After his career at Alabama ended he played pro football with Jacksonville, Tennessee and Philadelphia. He got paid well to be a back-up quarterback and used that money to invest in car dealerships in Alabama. His name was well known enough to bring lots of paying customers with the hope of seeing the Big Bomber as he was called by Montgomery sports writers.

Jack had one son, Jack Jenkins, Jr.. Junior ran the Jack Jenkins Springfield Ford. He had a gritty slick look that you would expect of a car dealer. Polyester suits, bright ties, cigarette stains on his hands, and binaca on his desk. Jack, Jr. started out as a mechanic at the Springfield dealership. He built the sales on making sure he knew his customers and their desires. He didn’t have to have many discount days because he kept his inventories stocked with the cars people wanted. As a result of his work, his dad became less and less involved with the business.

April, 2008,

Jack, Sr., looked like he had been hit by a runaway freight train. His wife of 30 years had died of brain cancer. Jack, Jr. as always, kept a level headed demeanor and showed no outward signs of grief. Jack, Sr. took it hard.

August 1, 2008.

“Son, I’ve gotta take a leave of absence, I just can’t focus. You’ve been running our Springfield store for quite awhile, I want you to manage all the stores.” Junior was thrilled. “Dad what kind of pay increase will I get?” His Dad answered, “Junior, you’re my son, and all of this will be yours some day, your salary is enough for you to have a very comfortable and very prosperous life. Let’s review this issue next spring and see where we are. I see dark days ahead for the auto industry.”

With that, Senior headed down to Mexico for a month at some villa he rented.

January 17, 2012.

“Hello, Mr. Cince”, this is Brian Peterson. “ I have looked at every angle on this Sheldon Jones case and it appears that there is no doubt that he died in 2010. I don’t think its worth the effort to check on the value of the REIT stock do you? Except maybe to justify the charitable deduction, but its pecuniary anyway and if the value is short, more stock would go to the charity.”

“Nah, Brian, don’t hassle with it, its probably in the ballpark and maybe even overvalued slightly if my bet is correct. Since there is no step-up in basis for income tax purposes for folks dying in 2010, these folks will have their father’s basis, so we’ll get something if the REIT is ever sold. Just close the file and send them a closing letter, the long form.”

February 15, 2012

Roger Johnson opened up the thin letter from the IRS. He knew what it was before opening it. It was a closing letter for the Estate of Sheldon Jones. He picked up the telephone.

“Hello, Christine, the IRS has signed off on the Estate tax return, you can distribute the assets of the estate into the Trust and to the Foundation and close the estate.”

She called Lupe, “Hello Lupe, the Service agreed that no tax is due.”

Lupe smiles on beach in Panama drinking a pina’ colada served by a scantily clad young woman, and says, “You know I could get used to this.”

February 15, 2015.

Christine picked up the newspaper and her blood goes cold. Her husband picks up the paper and reads the headline out loud. “Communist Junta in Panama”. “I wonder if your Uncle Lupe is going to seek asylum in the USA? And I guess he has no money anymore.”