The Way Things Seem
Mackey Chandler
Cover by Sarah Hoyt
Chapter 1
The cab was in a queue of much nicer cars. There was a green canvas canopy ahead, from the door of his destination clear to the curb, clear plastic curtains dropped against the wind. It was very much needed today, with a cold rain punctuated by occasional gusts. A uniformed doorman with a huge umbrella shielded guests, as they stepped across to shelter. As David watched, his brother Mark stepped out of the limo ahead of them, stone faced, looking straight ahead.
The cabby was angry, scowling at him in the mirror. He'd pretended to not understand English very well when he'd picked David up at the airport. Then he'd taken off on a circuitous route, designed to inflate the fare. David checked the man's license to confirm his name fit his appearance and then corrected him in harsh terms in Arabic, producing a shocked expression and grudging compliance. Then he'd wanted to drop David off at the curb well away from the door. He would have been soaked through before getting to cover.
Not that David wasn't eager to leave his cab. The well entrenched stink of garlic and sweat seeped around the thick bullet-proof partition and infused the whole shabby cab. The insult was compounded when they pulled up and the uniformed doorman tried to open the door. It was locked as if David was some deadbeat who might jump out and skip on paying the fare. It remained locked until David swiped a card past the pay-point bolted on the scratched-up partition.
He stepped out of the cab but declined to do more than leave the man with just his fare. The cabbie glared at him but voiced no insult. He had no idea how lucky he was today. David had other immediate concerns, starting with his half brother, who had just exited the limo in front of him in line.
Mark was already at the front door of the office building as David exited the cab. David hadn't seen him in years yet the sight of him stirred a stale animus. The man radiated arrogance in his every step and gesture. It was a quality common to the entire family. He watched another liveried worker ease the massive brass and glass door shut behind his brother, keeping his hand on the door as David approached.
His half brother was black as a chunk of coal and proud of it. The whole family was fiercely proud of the fact they were not the descendants of slaves, having come to America as immigrants. Around the turn of the previous century, when legal entry for their race was near impossible, they'd been granted entry as household servants of a French diplomatic family and stayed to the astonishment of their employers. It was a very unusual history but not one he could personally see as relevant today. It seemed to David to be the sort of thing in which one had no say, happening before they were born, so why was it such a point of personal pride? Yet the family all retained the French language as a link to that past and made a point of teaching it to the children.
He was probably the only one of the family called to town today not met at the airport by a driver and treated with dignity. No private limo had been available at the airport so his only choice had been a grimy hack from the for hire line that smelled like a Basra slum. As it was, he still wouldn't have been on time if he hadn't been able to intimidate the driver.
The doorman greeted him with a friendly "Good afternoon, sir," but the man didn't know his name. He nodded pleasantly, the cabbie dismissed from his thoughts in just a few steps. He'd been in the building once when he was seventeen and never since. That made it eight years ago since he'd been here and the place looked exactly the same. Pale Italian marble walls and intricate terrazzo flooring didn't lend themselves to remodeling every few years like a modern office building with steel stud walls and carpeted floors. It contained the offices of his father's attorneys. They fancied themselves the family's attorneys but David retained another firm who he was certain would not mistake his father's or the family's interests as his.
He was here to hear his father's will read. Crenshaw, of Henry, McPherson, and Crenshaw, called him in Atlanta just yesterday and told him he was a beneficiary. That's all he would tell him, suggesting strongly he be there. If he'd interrupted his schedule to receive the equivalent of a posthumous raspberry from his father he was going to be seriously irritated, to the point he'd find some way to make a certain attorney intensely unhappy. It was possible he had been left a final scolding and the nominal dollar that made it more difficult to contest a will's provisions.
When his mother died six years ago he'd ignored the hostility from the family to attend her funeral. When his father passed recently he'd been in Germany and the family managed a memorial service so quickly he hadn't been able to get back. He was pretty sure that's exactly what they intended. With the reading of the will he doubted they could exclude him without dangerous legal consequences. They had still failed to notify him by letter, rushing him with a phone call just a day ago. He had to wonder if he'd been overseas again if he'd have been notified at all.
The high ceilings and marble walls made the sound of his hard dress shoes on terrazzo echo in the corridor. The elevators were old fashioned with a brass arrow sweeping along an arch above each door to indicate the floor it had reached. He'd hung back to let Mark get ahead of him and take a car up. Neither would fancy sharing an elevator with the other. He punched the call button and took his coat off, giving it a little shake to rid it of the water beaded on it.
The law firm entry was slightly more modern than the building. There was a single glass door with a glass panel on each side. One pane bore the name of the partners in gold letters. The secretary inside looked up at him expectantly as he entered.
"I'm here for the Carpenter reading," he told her.
"Thank you," she said grabbing a clipboard. "You are?"
"David Carpenter," he supplied. "The son," he said, to see if she'd react to the singular.
"Excellent," she said, checking off a line on the document.
She pouted a bit at the list. David wondered if the family relationships were noted and what it listed beside his and Mark's names.
"Everyone is here now." She didn't seem inclined to take his coat or direct him where to go.
David thought of his own offices and wondered if their own receptionists were ever as clueless. He'd have to have a friend test them. It wasn't just a matter of first impressions for a visitor; it was certainly a security issue too.
"So... if you could find somebody to take my coat, I can wander around until I find the family," he suggested. If that didn't give her a hint he'd have to be blunt.
"Oh, let me take that. There's a rack in the conference room. Just follow me," she said coming around the desk." As far as he could tell, she just left the front door unmanned and unlocked while she took him out of sight. There was no thought given to security here at all. It seemed like it should be a concern for a legal firm, but if it wasn’t it certainly was for his own firm.
The conference room had the normal long table but it also had a nice lounge, with upholstered furniture and a table with a coffee maker and fixings. The family had all the soft furniture occupied and a couple of the cousins’ children were sitting half way down the conference table playing some hand held computer games.
The noise level in the room had gone down a notch when he entered and the receptionist removed herself without a word after hanging his coat. David grabbed a high backed executive chair from the conference table and wheeled it over by the windows. David looked around at his relatives but didn't greet or acknowledge any except Mark who nodded and he nodded back, a neutral sort of gesture. Everyone else avoided his eyes. Mark was looking older. He'd be thirty-five now, a full decade separating them. There were also a few uncomfortable strangers being ignored just as thoroughly as he was.
David went over and helped himself to the coff
ee. He poured a bit in a cup and sniffed it. It smelled good enough to take a taste. Not bad he decided, surprised. He poured and then added cream, playing an old game his father had hated. He tried to get the coffee the same color as the back of his hand. It came close but no match. The few times he succeeded seemed to require canned evaporated milk and that was rarely offered except in remote areas without refrigeration and in private homes.
The rest of his family couldn't play the game. They all matched a strong espresso straight up as had his father. That was one thing they had against him but there was more than that. They resented his independent success and the fact he didn't knuckle under to his father as almost every one of them had at one time or another. His father made fortunes in food service, real estate, and property management. David had no interest in those things and had dropped out of college early, forming a company around several patents he owned. Space based com and aerospace electronics were what he designed and sometimes actually built. His hardware was prevalent throughout low earth orbit and on the moon. Someday he hoped to get out there himself.
He sat in the chair sideways to the windows watching the rain hammer down and sipped his coffee. Some of his family were fidgety at waiting, but patience was something he'd taught himself. In his mind a little patience had more dignity that quickly taking offense and loudly demanding service.
Crenshaw came in with several folders. He looked at the children playing at the table and everyone comfortably ensconced in the lounge, then decided to drag a chair over like David instead of trying uproot everyone and sit them around the table. That was wisdom because with his family choosing seats around the table would have become a dominance contest.
Crenshaw distributed copies of the will, sitting close enough the affected parties were a half circle before him so he could speak normally. By the time he was reseated some were on the second page. He was casual, crossing his leg over his knee to make a desk for the folders, without tugging his pant leg up. David thought how upset his tailor would be to see him stretching out the knees of his trousers.
"Thank you all for coming. I've been instructed to read Joshua Carpenter's will as he wrote it with no abbreviations. I will say, he made conditional bequests, which we encouraged him not to do. They complicate matters and sometimes result in the final disposition of the estate being delayed. Mr. Carpenter therefore said that I should remind you, and I quote. "If my family decides to contest the provisions of my will my instructions to the firm are to fight it vigorously in the courts sparing no hours or effort. If you are collectively so foolish as to see the money wasted on extravagant billings to lawyers rather than let someone else get a chunk of it, so be it."
Crenshaw looked over the tops of his half glasses at them. "I think you will find the body of his will has the same blunt economy of expression."
"I, Joshua Carpenter, being of sound body as I write this document and more importantly of sound and undiminished mind,” Here he attached certification from his physician and an attending psychologist as to his condition, Crenshaw noted, "do make this my true and final will." He droned on through more legal boiler plate.
"To the following blood relatives I leave the sum of one-hundred dollars instead of the traditional dollar to establish I did indeed remember them, but felt this was an adequate bequest. I do this instead of the traditional dollar, because if any of you attend the reading of my will I don't wish to insult you with a dollar for your morning. Most of you remembered in this manner have not spoken with me in years and a hundred dollars is adequate compensation for a morning lost.”
"There is a list of thirty-eight recipients of a hundred dollars, only two of whom have come in today. The rest will be sent a check by certified mail."
Well, at least I got a hundred, even if that wouldn't pay the air fare, David thought.
"To my cousin Queene's children I leave two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars each, conditional on them attending a university starting sometime between the age of eighteen and twenty-one." Neither of those children playing at the table seemed aware or looked up. Nor had they been given hard copies, although their mother had. "Henry, McPherson, and Crenshaw shall disperse funds sufficient to cover their documented expenses while at university and a lump sum of any remainder upon graduation. While this is not sufficient funds for an Ivy League education it will serve if you choose wisely.
"To my secretary, Eva Johnson, I bequest five-hundred-thousand dollars." Eva laid her hand on her breast in shock and her husband took her other hand silently. "Thank you for your loyalty and the many times you put extra effort into your work. Now, I'd suggest you and your husband Bob can pay off your mortgage. I hope this helps make you a little more comfortable. To my miserable family, no I wasn't sleeping with her or I'd have left her several times as much.
"To John Harding, the bartender at Elaine's, I leave an identical gift of a half million dollars. John listened when I wanted and never shorted my drink or assumed he had a tip coming. Also he could mix the best vodka gimlet straight up I ever drank. I bet you didn't even know I knew your last name, did you John?"
A beefy fellow who had a five o'clock shadow and looked like a wise-guy, was sitting with his mouth hanging open in surprise. Some of the relatives glared at him.
"To my son by my first marriage Mark, I leave the sum of ten-million dollars." That caused a stir and a murmuring to pass around the room that Crenshaw ignored. "While this is not the bulk of my estate it should offer you security for the rest of your life if you do not slip into the error of thinking yourself independently wealthy. If you fall into the trap of spending wildly on homes, cars, and boats, it will be gone faster than you can imagine. Since experience tells me this is likely, you are not receiving the bulk of my estate. I judge you would take no interest in the companies whose stock will form the bulk of my estate, immediately cashing out your interest in these enterprises without regard to any disruption to the markets, companies or workers, dissipating and wasting the body of capital I’ve accumulated.
"To my son by my last marriage David, I leave the rest of my estate conditionally. He must travel to Africa to our homeland and take a walking pilgrimage with an elder versed in the traditions of our clans. That is, a Sahar not a traditional healer. I found doing so the firm basis of much of my business ability. I believe he has the temperament and genetic make-up to benefit from the experience.
“If he is unwilling to do so, I leave him the same ten million dollars as his half-brother. My counsel Henry, McPherson, and Crenshaw will then put the balance of my estate in a trust with professional management for the benefit of future generations of the Carpenter family, according to a formula I have detailed for them. This will have the additional benefit of encouraging you to produce such future generations instead of selfishly remaining childless."
The crowd was making quite a bit of noise, several people with their heads together whispering urgently.
Crenshaw looked at David seeming really interested for the first time. "These are the conditions of your undertaking the pilgrimage. If you decide to do so, you will receive an immediate payment of ten million dollars the same as your half-brother. You must leave and undertake your mission within thirty days. You must survive and report back to the firm within three years, as to whether you were successful in accomplishing your duty. You must decide today before you leave the building."
"He gets to decide himself if he was successful?" Mark asked, incredulous.
"Yes," Crenshaw confirmed, smiling.
"He can hole up in a hotel to drink and whore, and never see the back country."
"Indeed, he could were he disposed to do that. Mr. Carpenter must have made the judgment he was of a character not to do so. We were not instructed to hire investigators to check on him. Although we would appreciate being informed of your plans," he said aside to David. "I imagine some of you might think to hire investigators." Something about the way he said it made it an accusation.
"I also have my own com
pany to look after and people depending on me. I'm not sure I want to do this," David protested. Most of the family were looking at him like he'd lost his mind. "I've not kept up with what my dad was doing. May I ask what the remainder of his estate amounts to over the minimum bequests?"
"After the twenty-one million-five-hundred-three thousand and eight-hundred dollars of bequests the total value of all stocks, properties, and insurance, will approximate one-hundred-seventy-three million. The total will vary with market conditions, and expenses. We have ongoing hours billed but that was the theoretical liquidation value yesterday, give or take a million."
The murmur from the relatives was loud and Crenshaw frowned disapprovingly.
"I had no idea," David told him. "I thought a few tens of millions at most."
"Three or four years ago, yes," Mr. Crenshaw confirmed, "however the market has been kind to his investments recently."
"In that case, I shall undertake to complete his quest," David told him.
Chapter 2
The VIP hospitality lounge at Atlanta's Hartsfield International was better than being on the concourse, only to the extent that being in purgatory was rumored to be better than abiding in hell.
The lounge was not so much a perk as an admission normal people could not suffer the indignities of air travel on a frequent basis and stay sane. The sound level was lower, the seats softer, and the available fluid had hints of actual coffee flavor instead of just a similar coloring.
His business associates were in an immediate tizzy when David announced he was leaving, trying to pin him down for remote conferences, fax and phone where they could reach him. He was frankly getting tired of their neediness. He didn't mind being their boss, but he was getting damn tired of being a babysitter. There was enough to do managing the flux of a high tech business without worrying about whether Glenda felt Marty didn't take her seriously enough or Paul was undermining Harold's authority with his subordinates. He'd simply insisted - I'll be gone... A few days or months without him might show them they could solve some of their own little squabbles. Paul was CFO, he left him in charge authorized to make any decisions that were necessary to conducting business. If they couldn’t function without him maybe it was time to reorganize. If that meant pushing a few out the door - or even him leaving them all behind - so be it.
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