“Such as?”
“Generally, lawsuits that need a very fine sliver of data to prove or disprove a legal point. There was a case not long ago trying to prove that a company was generating an excessive amount of a specific chemical, and that it was disproportionately impacting residents who lived nearby, by greatly increasing their risk of a certain illness. To prove that point, their attorneys needed to show that there was, in fact, a disproportionate level of that specific illness near the plant. Those searches would look like someone trying to find one person in most localities, because the disease was so rare in most zip codes you’d only find one person at most meeting the description. But we were able to override and let the system provide the information.”
“But that means there are still people within the company who could override the system and be subject to those bribes you mentioned earlier.”
“The only person who has that authority is the CEO of the company. Until a few days ago, that was Will Stark. I don’t think bribes would work on him.”
Howe frowned. “No, but perhaps threats might...”
Adam arched an eyebrow. “You think the attack on his home was because he refused to cooperate with an illicit search?”
“Possibly.” Howe decided he’d look at that angle later. “Since you manage secure data, it’s probably advisable that I leave a copy of this with you.” He handed Adam one of the printouts, which the man accepted. “No doubt there will be people who don’t see the outcome they want from this. I’d hate to think my original copy of the document and this copy might be stolen or destroyed. We already lost the copy stored at the Starks’ home. Is there a secure means of transferring a copy off-site electronically? So that I can print more copies if needed?”
Adam smiled. “Literally? No. Anything that can be transferred can always conceivably be stolen. But we can make a copy of the document which cannot be modified, and you can take that with you, along with the paper copies you’ve printed.”
Adam provided him food and refreshments for his journey back, along with a small portable storage device with the promised read-only copy of the will documentation. The supplies enabled him to make the journey home with minimal stops, and he pulled back into his own home at around three in the morning. Exhausted after the events of the day, he finally slept.
Howe woke only three hours later and went straight to his office, and was able to slip inside before members of the media arrived. He locked the electronic copy of the will in his desk, and the remaining printed copy in his wall safe, and went to take a shower and don a fresh set of clothing. Exiting the shower, he retrieved the copy of the will stored in his desk. Then he finally sat down and reread the will.
Essentially, all of the family’s assets were held in a legal Trust, with control of the Trust being invested in a Trustee with the power to change the investment portfolio or spend available cash as desired. The Starks had stated publicly that they wanted to give a large portion of their accumulated wealth away to worthy endeavors over the course of their lives and beyond, with small amounts retained for future generations of Starks.
Due to the influence such a position would hold, there was a desire to keep that role within the family. Therefore, the Trustee position came with a documented line of succession with a level of complexity worthy of a constitution. In its simplest form, the role of Trustee had been held by Will Stark (which he’d legally shared with Hope as a co-Trustee), and was to pass to Hope in full upon his death, and to Josh upon the deaths of his parents. Each acting Trustee had the authority to modify the line of succession as they saw fit, which meant that Josh, upon taking the role, could name a future spouse or children as his successors. Each Trustee would control hundreds of billions of dollars’ worth of cash and other assets, with the ability to influence those decisions from beyond the grave by their choice of successor, and as such each Trustee would wield enormous influence.
This familial line of succession concept had flaws, as monarchs throughout the history of humanity had discovered. The Trust and estate documents made some effort to recognize and address those flaws, but it didn’t address everything. For example, the documents didn’t provide guidance about what to do in the scenario that both Will and Hope died before Josh was old enough to assume control. That possibility was no longer of concern, though the thought that a six-year-old boy would be in charge of controlling billions of dollars was frightening.
And though it addressed the circumstance of having no named successors remaining on the death of the current Trustee, the documents were still confusing to Howe in terms of what to do in such a circumstance. That was unfortunate, because he was in that circumstance today. The parts that he understood unnerved him. The parts that he didn’t understand frightened him.
The estate documents stated that there would be two Advisors to any non-family Trustee forced to take the role in the event all family and named successors died before finding and naming replacements. One of those Advisors would be the family’s current estate attorney. Him. He’d be responsible for guiding the decisions of the new Trustee, and could veto any he felt went against the documented points of guidance established by Will and Hope.
The second Advisor would operate in secret, and would only become involved in circumstances where the Trustee or primary Advisor had become challenged in their ability to make decisions unencumbered by personal circumstances.
In other words, the third person could freeze the checking account of the Trust if the Trustee or Advisor was being compelled to act by outside forces.
The thought that such an event might occur was troubling to Millard Howe. Just as troubling was the fact that he had no idea who was supposed to fill the role of this hidden Advisor. His documentation simply stated that this hidden Advisor would make themselves known to the Trustee in a fashion that only the Trustee would understand.
He sighed. He rather wished that the will had simply stated that all assets be sold and given to designated charities. The Starks wanted their fortune to be disbursed over time, and recognized that they could not define the best means do so in a static document. They needed people they could count on to give that money away in a manner that would meet their approval. Howe leafed through other documents, and found the list of guiding principles for investing and granting funds. When word got out that they’d provide cash grants to people who met their criteria, they’d be flooded with requests. Thankfully, the Trust provided for ample salaries for Trustee and Advisors to ensure that they’d be able to dedicate themselves fully to the role.
There was nothing left to do but contact the new Trustee. Howe had always gotten the impression that the Starks were uncomfortable about making the request to fill the role personally. They said that they feared their top choice would call himself unworthy and turn them down. Though they talked about getting over the fear and speaking to the man, the lawyer believed that he was going to be the one to break the news, and only after the Starks were gone. Suddenly, walking through a mist-filled tunnel with no sound or light seemed like a minor part of this job.
There was no time like the present. It was time to call the Trustee and give him the news. Good or bad news, Howe wasn’t sure. But it would be a shock. He found the man’s number and dialed.
“Pleasanton Police Department. This is Officer Baker.”
“Officer Baker, my name is Millard Howe. I’m the legal counsel managing the estate of Will and Hope Stark.”
There was a pause. “Hello, Mr. Howe. What can I do for you?”
“Mr. Baker, I am currently reading through the will the Starks prepared and filed with my assistance.”
“I see. I’ve heard on the news that there’s a lot of speculation and a lot of greed on that front. I don’t envy you the job. Are you calling to request police protection while the estate is settled?”
“No, Mr. Baker. I’m calling to tell you that you are part of the settlement.”
This time, there was a much longer pause. “I’
m what?”
“I had understood that Mr. Stark had already spoken to you or was planning to do so, but it sounds as if he was unable to complete that step before...well, before it was necessary for me to do my job.”
“What are you trying to say, Mr. Howe? I don’t want anything from the Starks, other than to bring them back to us.”
The Starks made an excellent choice, Howe thought. The best man for the job is the one who doesn’t want it.
“I fully agree with your sentiment, Mr. Baker, but alas I lack the ability to make that particular dream a reality. However, you are named in the estate and I wanted to speak with you in person about what it says. Can we set up a time to meet as soon as possible?”
The officer sighed. “I’m off duty tomorrow. Can we meet first thing in the morning?”
“I’ll make sure my calendar is cleared.”
Two days later, Millard Howe did not depart to retrieve the estate documents as previously announced to the media. Rather, he held a brief press conference explaining the goals of the Trust as stipulated by the Starks, outlined the role of the new Trustee, and introduced a still-stunned Michael Baker as the man chosen by the Starks to fill that role. Howe identified the guiding principles the Starks had written for the use of the assets in the estate, and indicated that those who believed that they met those criteria could file a written request for funds.
Nobody’s listening to that part. Everyone will write in demanding something.
Howe also noted that the funds were secured in such a fashion as to make it impossible for either him or Baker to spend anything when under direct or indirect outside pressure. He noted that the Starks specifically wanted others to avoid the constant threats of kidnapping and violence they’d lived under, and as such wanted it made quite public that any efforts to compel them to act against the wishes of the Trust simply could not be met.
He intentionally left out the part about the third person in the group, the one who could freeze all assets. No sense exposing that person to the public, too. He couldn’t reveal the person’s identity even if he’d wanted.
Neither Howe nor Baker had any idea of the person’s identity.
X
Survivor
Will felt the pain almost before consciousness returned.
It was intense, but tolerable, more of a dull headache than a raging migraine. He knew now that he would live and survive the injuries suffered from the events of last night. Had it been last night? He had no way of knowing how much time had passed since his world had faded into darkness, since he’d watched his house burn with his wife and son inside. His son had finally spoken his first words after over six years in complete silence, and he’d never hear the boy speak, never know the joy of his laughter.
He remembered the conversation of the men who had attacked him and prevented him from entering the burning house. His ironic laugh was internal. By hurling him away from the house and beating him, they’d probably saved his life from his foolish bravado and thoughts of rescuing the two most important people in his world.
More interesting about the conversation was the doubt expressed at the end. They’d called him by name, told him that this death and suffering were his fault. He’d protested his innocence, and they’d laughed at him, fully convinced of Will’s guilt at whatever imagined crimes they’d charged him with. Then the doubts began. One of the men stated emphatically that Will had no memories of the crimes he’d been accused of, and his tone expressed uncertainty. What had changed his mind? A second man, who hadn’t let go of Will until his convulsions over news of Josh’s existence, stated that Will had no Energy, a term stated with special reverence. The third man, the one wearing the cloak, had agreed. This lack of energy or Energy added further doubts over his identity, and thus his guilt.
Was it possible? Were the deaths of his wife and son, the destruction of his home, the murders of two guards, and his own savage beating the result of a mistake? Was there truly another man out there with his name and likeness who had survived this encounter as Will and his family suffered?
The physical pain had lessened, but if anything, the emotional trauma had gotten worse.
The faces of Hope and Josh flashed before his eyes. The shining blue eyes of Hope, with a similar though faded glow appearing in her son’s icy-blue eyes. What had his eyes looked like when he’d finally spoken? Had they started to twinkle as Hope’s often did? He’d never know, now. Any chance of saving them from the fire had vanished. He cursed himself for accepting the sleeping potion from the young woman rather than insisting on being allowed to search his home, all the while recognizing that the effort, while noble, would have been futile.
He tried to convince himself that it had just been an awful nightmare, that the physical ache in his body was the result of an overzealous workout. He’d run a mile in unforgiving dress shoes, after all, in the chilly winter air. That might explain it. Yet that run had preceded the awful events that followed, and so if one had happened, so had the other.
He imagined playing baseball with his son, and tried to picture the smile spreading on his face as he hit a baseball for the first time. He saw his look of joy and pride as the two played catch in the backyard, just like millions of other fathers and sons. His dream was somewhat hollow, though. Josh should be laughing, talking to him in this dream. Yet he had no idea what his six-year-old son’s voice sounded like. He’d never heard Josh laugh. The boy had never seemed to experience enough joy to laugh, nor enough pain to cry.
In the end, there was only one reality, one he’d carry for the rest of his life. He’d failed them. It was his responsibility to protect them from harm. And they were dead because of his failure, dead because of three crazed lunatics who’d beaten and detained him in his backyard, dead at the hands of another man who’d been dispatched to murder them and burn down their house. He could still see the bald man’s head, the sword dripping with blood, presumably staring at the people whose lives he’d just ended. He wondered the purpose of the explosion and fire. Perhaps, in their twisted minds, they’d meant to send Will a message. After all, they seemed content to simply beat him before learning about Josh. Perhaps the fire was intended to be a message to stay away from them and their stupid rules.
That was their mistake. Will Stark was not a quitter. He’d regroup emotionally and physically and then he’d fight with everything he had, just as he had always done. He’d spent much of his life building his dream, finding his true love to share it with, and then they’d started a family to expand on the love they felt for each other. That part of him was gone. He’d never remarry, that much he knew, no matter how long he lived. Hope was the only one for him, and he’d never find anyone else like her, not if he looked for a thousand years. He’d failed Josh too, and therefore he’d never let himself have another child. That was his penance for his failure, to live the rest of his days alone, focused on a singular purpose.
That purpose was simple. He would find the men responsible for these crimes and ensure that they’d never hurt anyone again as they’d hurt him. No more innocents would die at their hands. They said they were part of some strange group, with a name he couldn’t quite recall, and an odd symbol including a couple of circles. That was their mistake. He didn’t need much information to get started, and he’d not rest until he’d destroyed them.
Resolved to the new purpose for his life, Will opened his eyes.
He was lying on his back, resting on a table in the middle of a room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all the exact same shade of white. With no furniture other than his makeshift bed, and nothing on the walls, it was difficult to determine the actual size of the room. It didn’t help that he’d never gotten his glasses back after the men had thrown him across his yard.
He blinked, trying to focus his eyes, but it didn’t change what he could see, fuzzy though his vision might be. There was nothing on the walls. There was nothing in the walls either. There were no windows or doors. It was as if he’d been bu
ilt into a box as he slept. Had he been rescued from harm from one group, only to be a prisoner to another? There was no indication that he was in danger just sitting here; the air was pure. Air? If there were no openings in the walls — no windows, no doors, no vents — how was he getting air to breathe?
The red-haired woman, whom he remembered was named Angel, walked through the walls as if stepping through a waterfall. No opening formed in front of her, and none was left behind her. She simply moved through the wall as if it was a mere illusion. Will relaxed just a bit. At least he knew he could get out of this building.
Wait. Did she just walk through the wall? It must be because I don’t have my glasses anymore. There’s really a door there that I just can’t see.
Angel walked to him, a smile forming on her face. In spite of the events since his arrival at the gates of the Estates yesterday, despite being trapped in a room with no visible exits, despite watching a woman simply walk through a wall...somehow, Will felt complete calm in her presence, all sense of fear melting away. The loss of his fear, though, returned his attention to the physical pain in his body.
Angel sat on the edge of the table next to him. “Mr. Stark, I’m glad to see that you’re awake. We gave you some fluids designed to help you achieve a deep sleep, and that’s what you’re waking up from now. The sleep enabled your body to do some healing, which is why the pain should be somewhat reduced from where it was when...well, when we picked you up.” She rested a hand on his arm. “I do apologize, though. We could have given you something a bit more potent, and healed you of your injuries, but doing so might have led you to believe that what you experienced at your home was just a very bad dream. The pain was necessary to leave in place, at least somewhat, so that you could not deny the experience.” She handed him a pair of glasses. “It would be helpful if you could see clearly, however.”
A Question of Will (The Aliomenti Saga - Book 1) Page 10
