Page 17 of Burning Caine
Cass and Kevin looked at each other and laughed. “From her?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell you what I did after Matt and I separated, and you can do the opposite. Step one, don’t sell everything you own, buy an RV, and move out of the state. I don’t think the prosecutor’s office would appreciate that.”
Chapter 7
Samantha
“CliffandMikearelooking for you. They’ll be back in ten,” said Lucy Chapman as I walked into The Pit, the office area where the adjusters worked. A thin Asian woman, she was with Foster as part of a student internship program open to MSU students after their third year. She was a mature student in her mid-twenties, having taken several years off before college.
“Thanks.” I pulled my laptop out of my backpack and fired it up.
“What are you up to this morning, other than waiting for them to show?”
“Paperwork and phone calls.”
“You were in the field Friday, right? It’s lonely around here sometimes; you adjusters are always out in the field. Nice to see you’re in the office today.” Lucy talked a lot, so I knew plenty about her. Her parents were travel bloggers, and she’d been on the road her whole life. Active blog since she was twelve, studying statistics in college, planning on becoming an insurance actuary. I also knew she was adopted from China, loved cats, preferred Hubba Bubba, and typed ninety words per minute.
And she talked faster than she typed.
“That painting is the biggest single item claim we’ve ever had.” She chewed her gum, blew a bubble, and popped it, pointing at a chart on her screen from the Business Intelligence, or BI module of the claims system, which analyzed everything we did. “I was running some queries in the BI module, and we’ve never paid out a property claim on a single item over eight hundred thousand dollars, except for homes and machinery. Lots of claims over a million when we’re dealing with liability and legal expenses, though.”
“Interesting.” I sighed while I logged into the system. The tall cubicle walls surrounding our eight desks comforted me like I was in a cave. The walls kept the world out, but they couldn’t protect us from Lucy’s chatter.
She turned in her chair. “Very!” She popped another bubble and returned to her analysis.
“There you are!” came Cliff Anderson’s gruff voice a moment later. He was a sixty-something no-nonsense beast of a man who didn’t take crap from anyone. Rumor had it he once called the governor to take a strip off him for supporting some insurance regulation change, or not supporting it—the story changed every time I heard it. Either way, it always included Cliff yelling into the phone so loudly you could hear him through two closed doors.
Mike Telford was right behind him, and between the two of them, there was barely enough room for the rest of us in the Pit. Cliff threw a thumb over his shoulder and walked away, saying “Pines conference room” as he left.
Cliff pointed at Mike once we were seated in Pines. “Scott claim. Status.”
Mike was a short, graying, middle-aged man on our team, who had taken on the property portion of the Chagall house claim. He stared at his paperwork. “According to the First Notice of Loss, there was a fire in the residence, contained to the living room. This included near-complete destruction of the furniture—”
Cliff snapped his fingers. “Point?”
Mike flipped to his last page, accustomed to this from Cliff. “Initial reserve at two hundred thousand. I wrote a check for three thousand for the hotel and other incidentals already. I’ve contacted AmLife, who carries Mr. Scott’s life insurance. They’re not moving until the Medical Examiner and police reports are complete, which should be fast. Police are confident it was accidental.”
“Done.” Cliff pointed at me next. “Sam, go.”
“I think the painting’s intact enough to make a comparison to the photos on file, but I have to wait for the police to release it. It’ll be a total loss, though. Replacement value was set at one million dollars, assuming it passes the policy’s authentication requirement, so that’s our reserve.”
“Done.” Cliff pushed Mike’s paperwork toward me, pointing to the email address. “Send them your contact information, and Mike will handle the interviews.”
I nodded and pulled out my phone to send the email.
“Good. Mike, you update the system for your claim. Sam will do hers when we’re done here.”
Mike packed up his papers and headed out of the conference room, closing the door behind him.
“Listen, Sam, I know you’re technically still employed by Thompson Claims Services as an independent adjuster, and Foster’s contract with them is for standard property claims, but I have another specialty claim for you.”
“No problem.” Working as an IA on a daily claim contract provided me with a lot of freedom, a point of contention with my sister, but it was my preference. So long as Cliff remained happy with my performance, I could work as much or as little as I wanted. It was never the latter.
“It’s another artwork claim. Hailey usually takes care of these, but your background makes you our resident expert. I’ve already assigned it and added Ferraro’s Fine Art Restoration and Conservation as the repair vendor. We have a standing contract with them, so you can head over once you’ve retrieved the painting. It’s a family business, and they’re all about relationships. Keep that in mind.”
“Will do.”
“And I want you to take the intern out on some claims. Show her what adjusters do in the field.”