“Let me temper that a bit, Detective. Three and a half million is the appraised value of the main house, it’s a big spread in the West Valley, the daughters are into horses. That came out of Ursula’s half. Richard received the Oxnard condo, which he uses as his residence. Appraised value there is considerably less, around one point five, so Richard received another two million in stocks and bonds. Everything else was divided evenly.”

“Including Ursula’s jewelry?”

“No, sorry, that was also factored into Ursula’s half but it’s not that much, maybe five, six hundred thousand. Admittedly not piffle, but measured against an estate that size it wasn’t a big deal.”

I said, “Are any commercial properties owned by the business? Warehouses, offices?”

Fellinger shook his head. “Urrick, Ltd.—that’s the name of the company, amalgam of both their names—operates lean and mean. It’s just Richard and Ursula, not even a secretary or a receptionist. They use typing services when the paper piles up and both of them work out of home offices. When merchandise arrives at the docks in San Pedro, one of them is there to facilitate direct shipment to the customer. When inventory needs to be stored, they rent warehouse space east of downtown, a sweetheart lease they signed during the recession—that’s Richard, nose for a bargain. That’s the beauty of their business, no need to stockpile for long, they’re middlemen, essentially get paid for moving goods from one place to another.”

“What was in dispute for five years?”

“Urrick, Ltd.’s worth if they ever did decide to dissolve the company. Ursula saw it as more valuable, Richard’s more of a glass-half-empty type.”

“What was the discrepancy?”

“It varied from tweak to tweak,” said Fellinger. “Usually around two million, give or take. What made it crazy was that neither of them was ever interested in splitting or selling. They were just talking theoretically and last year was their best ever, they moved in a big way into the religious market—Buddhist combustible paper.” He smiled. “Never heard of it, right?”

Milo and I shook our heads.

“Me neither, until they educated me. Apparently, when some Buddhists want something from their god, they burn a small paper replica on an altar. If it’s cash they’re after, they offer up what looks like Monopoly money. If it’s an automobile, they burn a little paper car. Et cetera. Last year, Ursula and Richard made a big investment in religious paper and it paid off.”

I said, “Why do you think they kept coming back to tweak?”

“Was it financial?” said Fellinger. “So they claimed but frankly, I thought it was a way for them to have contact outside of work without admitting it.”

“Ongoing chemistry.”

“Must be.”

Milo said, “Did either of them have any bad habits? Drugs, gambling?”

“Never.”

“What about love affairs? Jealousy?”

“It was always about money, Lieutenant.”