After the fires, it’s time for the second line of defense

With the threat of flames beginning to ease, residents are drifting back to their devastated neighborhoods.

Behind them is Dan Gil, armed with a laptop computer, heavy-duty gloves, a face mask and measuring tape, plus a granola bar and cup of coffee that will last him for the next seven hours.

The time has come for the second responders: insurance adjusters who roll from disaster to disaster -- a fire here, a hurricane there -- representing the companies that have collected years of payments from customers hoping to ward off the worst that nature has to offer. Now, it’s time to settle up.

Thursday morning, Gil meets Tim and Sally John outside a darkened San Diego restaurant before they make their way to Aguamiel Road in upscale Rancho Bernardo.

The couple’s spacious four-bedroom home is now a carpet of broken concrete surrounded by twisted pieces of metal and charred patches of grass. A Ford Explorer juts from the rubble, its roof caved in and the rubber tires melted away.

Gil, who works for Los Angeles-based Farmers Insurance Group, stands back to allow the couple a quiet moment. With arms wrapped around each other, the Johns survey the damage done to the home they bought just two years ago, hoping they would be able to live out their golden years there.

A large-loss adjuster specializing in significant fire damage, Gil has been in this situation hundreds of times before, a witness to many people’s most heartbreaking moments. He has seen it all -- shock, denial, emotional breakdowns -- and although he’s here as a financial advisor, he often plays the role of therapist.

“You let them cry on your shoulder if that’s what they want,” Gil, 39, says. The Johns are too stunned for tears. “Oh,” Sally says, managing a pained smile. “It’s different.”

Filing an insurance claim is one of the many tasks to take care of after the loss of a home. It is a process that can take months to complete, and one that many homeowners -- if they’re lucky -- will never have to worry about.

For those who do, dealing with an insurance company can add more frustration to an already difficult time.

“When someone has lost their home, nothing is smooth,” said Candysse Miller, executive director of the Insurance Information Network of California, an insurance industry trade group. “It’s emotional, it’s traumatic and it’s a whole lot of stuff coming at you at one time. And insurance is part of that.”

Most claims are settled without dispute, but after any natural disaster, horror stories invariably crop up about insurance companies skimping on payments to vulnerable homeowners or canceling coverage.

“The insurance company will say, ‘We never do that,’ and the consumer advocates will say, ‘They always do that,’ ” said Amy Bach, executive director of United Policyholders, an insurance and consumer rights advocacy group. “The truth falls somewhere in between.”

Gil waves off notions of impropriety or intentional low-balling by insurance adjusters.

“Pay ‘em for what you owe ‘em,” he says. “There’s no reason not to.”

The Johns fled their home Monday morning after Sally woke up at 4:30 a.m. and saw flames creeping up their street. The Johns escaped with just a few items of clothing, laptops and family photos, leaving everything else to burn.

This is their first trip back to their home since then, but it is a brief one. Searching through the rubble will have to wait; first, they have to meet with Gil to discuss their insurance claim.

At a relative’s home a few miles away, the couple reconvenes with Gil to review their policy. The Johns receive two checks totaling $75,000 right away, to help with temporary living expenses and other costs. Playing “Santa Claus,” Gil says, is one of his favorite parts of the job.

The next hour is consumed with details. Gil peppers the Johns with questions: Were your windows dual-glazed or single-pane? What material was your fence made of? How many mortgages did you have? Did you have separate offices?

“I’ll give you as much help as I can,” Gil says. “We’re going to make this a happy ending for you.”

The most tedious part of the process is the documentation of the home’s contents. Gil gives the couple a multipage inventory list that includes large appliances down to the most mundane household items, such as a can opener and dishrags. For each item, the couple must note its quantity, cost, age and other identifying information.

For the couple, in their mid-50s and married for 34 years, this marks the first time they’ve ever had to count on their insurance.

After the meeting, Gil heads back to the Johns’ home, where he sets to work with his measuring tape, legal pad and pen. Like a psychic reading the leaves in a tea cup, Gil, an adjuster for 15 years, has become an expert at reading ashes.

“Most houses are really similar,” he says. “It’s just those little details that make it unique.”

Maneuvering through the debris, Gil is able to discern the remains of a washer, dryer and furnace. He makes note of any unusual features, including the home’s two chimneys, and measures the building’s approximate perimeter. Using the information, he sketches a rough diagram of what the house probably looked like.

“It gives us a footprint of the house,” he says. “A lot of what I do here is documenting the loss.”

His next stop is a meeting with the Barad family at their destroyed Rancho Bernardo home in the exclusive The Trails community. Gil arrives at the property first and sets to work examining the rubble. He can tell that the split-level home, set against a sloping hillside and overlooking a canyon, was once expansive.

When Dean and Agnes Barad arrive, the couple, who were joined by their three children soon after, make their way through the remains of the home they lived in for a decade. The family takes joy in small discoveries -- a rubber ball, a Christmas ornament, the children’s rope still swinging from a thick tree branch -- and snap pictures. Neighbors drop by to offer their condolences and share their own stories.

“This was home,” Agnes, 47, says sadly. “I can’t believe it.”

After some time passes, Gil brings out the paperwork. Leaning against an undamaged wall near the house’s entranceway, he repeats the same process: Checks are distributed, papers are explained and notes are taken.

At the end of the day, Gil’s boots are covered with ash and he is exhausted. In the coming weeks, he’ll return to the homes and meet with both families numerous times, as well as take on more assignments from the fires.

“I can’t change what’s happened,” he says. “But I can help make it better.”

andrea.chang@latimes.com