The Heir

by Paul Robertson

  I didn’t want to play this game. I stood up. “To tell the truth,” I said, “it’s been a long day and I’m not very hungry.”

  He was surprised, and he stared up at me. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes. I’m done with this conversation.” I dropped a fifty on the table and started walking. He was up and after me.

  I waited at the curb a moment until he caught up.

  “Mr. Boyer . . .”

  “And please give Mr. Bright my regards,” I said. “I still hope we can work together, as partners.”

  Clinton Grainger stared at the darkening night, then turned to me with his blank eyes and bulbous nose. Then he shook his head. “He doesn’t like partners.” He shrugged; he was giving up, too. “Good night, Mr. Boyer.”

  I called Fred to report, and he was not impressed by my actions. “We’ll just have to wait for his response.”

  “I guess that will be soon?”

  “Yes, and unmistakable.”

  It wasn’t late when I got home, and Katie met me in the hall.

  “I don’t like this,” I said.

  “What happened? How did everything go?”

  “Terrible. I nearly died.”

  “What?” She stepped back and looked me over for blood. “What happened?”

  “I met with my financial adviser to find out how filthy rich I am and then I had a board meeting to hear how much more filthy rich I’m going to be and then I had dinner with the most powerful man in the state government to show off my filthy riches.”

  “Were you in an accident? What did you mean about dying?”

  “What I said. Jason is just about dead. He barely survived, right at the end.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Forget the melodrama. You’re doing what you need to be doing.” Then she smiled. “And you still look like Jason.”

  “The big bad wolf has eaten granny, and now he’s wearing her clothes.”

  “You talk like Jason.”

  “That would be harder to fake.”

  “Now tell me what happened. What did George Elias say?”

  I shrugged. “Let me sit down.” I led the way to the study and called for Rosita to bring me some milk and a sandwich. I don’t mind lying, but I’d told a real whopper to Grainger. I was plenty hungry.

  I took my time. When I was done, and Katie had been very patient, I took my new checkbook and wrote her a check for a million dollars.

  “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

  Her mouth dropped open when I handed it to her. “What is this for?”

  “You need me to tell you? Just take it. Celebrate a little. Have a party. Buy a new dress.”

  “But . . .”

  “That’s nothing, Katie. You want to know what I’m worth now? Guess.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yeah, I bet you couldn’t. Remember Eric said fifty million?” I shook my head. “Wrong. Way wrong.” I was being mean, but I couldn’t help it. I was feeling a lot of pain from the day, and I wanted to share it.

  “That seemed like a lot.”

  “It is a lot. Way too much for one person. That’s why the truth hurts even more.” I looked her in the eye. “A billion dollars.”

  “Jason!”

  “Yeah. Who’d have thought? He acted rich, but not that rich.”

  It took her a few seconds to get her breath back. “A billion dollars?”

  “That’s right. That’s not an M, it’s a B. You have hit the jackpot, cupcake. Call your momma and tell her she was wrong. No, I think I’ll call the little rapscallion myself.”

  “It’s all ours?”

  “To the last brass farthing. If you invested a billion dollars in the bank, do you know what the interest would be? Two hundred thousand. Per day. You could even have hard feelings against the old man for being stingy, with the paltry thirty grand a month he was giving us.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “If we keep on a budget and don’t spend too much, we’ll manage somehow. A billion dollars isn’t what it used to be, you know.”

  She took a deep breath and we both calmed down. “That’s not what I meant. Oh, never mind. Are you all right?”

  I wasn’t. A billion dollars weighs a lot, and right then I was feeling it all. “I want to get to bed.”

  “Come this way.” Mama Katie took command.

  6

  Tuesday morning I went running. I do it for exercise and I don’t push myself, but that morning I set a world record in the four mile Run Away From Your Problems event. Katie was still asleep when I left, and was just coming down to breakfast by the time I came back in.

  “That was fast.”

  “Paparazzi. You have to sprint to keep ahead of them.”

  “Really?”

  “No.”

  She was waiting when I came back down from my shower, and we ate together. We always eat breakfast looking out over the garden.

  “What are you doing today?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I want to meet more of the people who worked for Melvin. And I want to catch Nathan Kern before he goes to Africa tomorrow, to talk about the foundation. That’ll be dinner out again tonight.”

  “Could we have him over here?”

  Our house could use the blessing of his presence. “Yeah. I’ll have Pamela set it up. It’ll be friendlier, in case he has hard feelings about not getting Melvin’s wad for the foundation.”

  I finished breakfast, and Katie was still there watching me. “Did you see Angela yesterday?”

  “We had lunch downtown,” she said. “It was very nice.”

  “Does she know what she’s doing with her life?”

  “No.”

  “She has no money worries.”

  “She’s very lonely. And she’s afraid to make friends.”

  “She should be. She’s a rich, single, lonely sitting duck.” Besides, she didn’t know how to make a friend. She never had.

  “I told her we’d take care of her.”

  “I guess we have to.”

  “She had a husband. Now she’s by herself, and she never has been before.”

  A little kitten in the deep woods. I’d never get the adoration from Katie that Melvin did from Angela, and I’d hate it anyway. Maybe when I was older. Maybe for my second wife I’d pick an Angela.

  “We’ll take care of her,” I said. “We’ll assign you to watch her, and I’ll keep Eric under control.” Who needs kids? “Maybe we could set her up with Nathan.”

  Katie’s eyes lit up. “What an idea, Jason. I’m going to think about it.”

  “Katie, I was joking.”

  “But still . . .”

  “And they could adopt Eric. They could be the parents he’s always wanted.”

  “Now, that’s being silly. When are you seeing Eric again?”

  “I’ll call him today.”

  I didn’t. It was a long day and I was being very conscientious regarding my many responsibilities, which involved mainly sitting upstairs in my little office and talking on the phone to people whose names were on lists that Fred Spellman and George Elias had given to me.

  I left the house to meet with Stan Morton of the newspaper and television empire. We talked about his daughter Natalie, whom I hadn’t seen since Yale, except at my wedding and then at hers. She was married to one of Stan’s vice presidents, but I was sure that this morning, she was thinking about the fish that got away. It wasn’t her husband’s fault that he wasn’t the richest man in the state. She’d just make him feel like it was.

  But Natalie did not inherit her claws from her father. Stan was a reasonable man, pleasant and to the point, and with the kind of beard grown by people who don’t want to shave every morning. He was independent and not about to take orders from anyone about what his paper and television station were going to say. But he also knew where his bread was buttered. I had three of his nine board members in my pocket, and I was his biggest stockholder. We cordially reached an understanding that we
would discuss anything of mutual interest and parted on friendly terms.

  I met with Fred for a few minutes and then with two more of my corporate presidents, and then Pamela called with the disaster of the day.

  “Nathan Kern will be at your house at eight.” That was not the disaster. “And, Jason, do you know Felicity Nottingham Cavalieri Gildanov?” That was the disaster.

  “This is a person, isn’t it?”

  “Oh yes, it certainly is.”

  I thought so. I’d heard of her in the news—kind of like I’d heard of the Titanic—but didn’t know the exact details.

  “She would like to meet with you,” Pamela said.

  “Well, put her on the list, and I’ll get to her if I want to.”

  “That might be difficult.”

  “Isn’t she with the opera?”

  “That’s right. She has a tour arranged for you at two o’clock.”

  “I’m not going to tour the opera.”

  “Dear, I’ve told presidents of the United States that your father-was unavailable, but this is one lady I’m leaving to you.”

  At two o’clock sharp I arrived at the gilded portal of that great and so very important and beneficial institute, our state’s own War-wick Opera House—home of that beacon of enlightenment and uplifting purpose, that instrument of civilizing culture, that bedrock of society, the State Opera. For over two hours I was honored, even privileged, to be in the company of the dignified, gracious chairwoman of that splendid temple of worthiness. She was all that a person of such exalted position should be, and much, much more. Much, much, much more. The sights I saw that precious day will stay with me always. But even that magnificent stage, the glistening lobby—itself a showcase of the first order—paled compared to the words I heard, the many, many descriptions, enlightening lectures, entire college courses on the sophisticated genius, the ancient history, the crucial importance of the most devastatingly wonderful achievement in the entire accomplishment of all mankind, the opera. It was with the greatest regret, and difficulty, that I cut short my visit to that hallowed place due to other pressing business, and I could only hope that my donation, on the spot, of one hundred thousand dollars would somehow mitigate my praiseworthy and admirable hostess’ sublime sorrow that I could not stay for the second half of her tour.

  “You got off easy,” Fred said when I called.

  “Melvin put up with that battleship?”

  “He called her Stalin. You’re going to be on her board of directors.”

  “No.”

  “Yes you are, Jason.”

  “I said no.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you say to me. You’ll have to deal with her.”

  “Fred, after this afternoon, I could do it. I could say no to her.”

  “Don’t. Kindly say that you would be honored. Every person who could realistically be a rival to you is on that board, including Harry Bright and Bob Forrester. She has forced them all onto it, and you need to be there.”

  I was not in a good mood when I got home. Katie steered clear, and I had to sit still in my office for a few minutes before I could trust myself with the telephone.

  “Yes, Jason?” said Pamela’s voice. She sounded ready to be yelled at.

  “It’s okay. I won’t blame you. This is something else. I need an office. Did Melvin just work out of his house?”

  “Mostly. And he had offices at two of his plants, but he didn’t use them much.”

  “Who’s on the top floor of Fred’s building?”

  “Oh, let’s see. I don’t know, but I think it’s bank executive offices.”

  My building, my bank. “I want some rooms up there.”

  “An office and a conference room?”

  “Put in an office for you, and I don’t need a conference room. And I want a secure room for storage.”

  “I’ll find a contractor who can do it quickly.”

  From my bedroom window, I could see the downtown skyline ten miles away. For a while I watched the building I’d just confiscated. What was happening? In two days I’d become what I thought I would never be. I stared at the mirror, and the Why Am I Here? wasn’t there. There was someone else looking back at me out of my eyes—the Big Bad Wolf looking out from under Granny’s nightcap.

  It was Melvin.

  Why had he done this to me? What was he thinking, when he sat there in Fred’s parlor and signed that new will? And then tried out the aerodynamic properties of a Mercedes sedan. If that merging of car and tree had happened two hours earlier, Nathan Kern would be jousting with Clinton Grainger and the governor. And I would not be on Felicity’s board. I was having hard feelings toward Nathan.

  I looked back out at the skyline, black against the late afternoon. I could almost touch it. Instead, the phone rang, and it touched me.

  There was an interesting new note in Fred’s voice, of anger and annoyance and maybe worry.

  “Come here, right away.”

  Billionaires are not talked to in this manner, and Fred knew it. “What’s wrong?” I said.

  “The governor has made his move.”

  I gave Katie instructions to keep Nathan entertained if I was late.

  I was there in twenty-five minutes, and someone was in my chair.

  “Jason, this is Detective Wilcox, of the state police.” Fred was exasperated.

  “Thank you for coming,” the man said, and my first impression was of the nastiest little mustache I had ever seen in my life. We completed the formalities.

  Detective Wilcox was very good. His political instinct was sharp as a knife. He apparently had long had the wealthy-industrialist-and-high-powered-lawyer beat, and he was respectful, confident, circumspect, authoritative, well-dressed, trustworthy, loyal, clean, and reverent. His only flaw was the little pencil mustache. What was he thinking?

  “Now, Detective Wilcox, let’s get down to business.” Fred leaned forward imperiously. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how busy a man Mr. Boyer is.” A man of Wilcox’s experience would understand that this had better be very important.

  He was not intimidated. He turned to me. “I’m afraid we have some disturbing information for you, Mr. Boyer, concerning your father’s death.”

  “What?”

  “His car had been tampered with.”

  It was suddenly the same feeling I’d had when Fred had read the will—ring of iron around my chest.

  “We completed our laboratory analysis last week, and there is no doubt,” Wilcox was saying. “The brake lines had been drained.”

  “I see.”

  I could see. That rotten, wretched old man, that idiot! An accident maybe can’t be prevented, but getting murdered was pure malicious carelessness, specifically to spite me and ruin my life.

  “This is a serious statement, Mr. Wilcox.” Fred was in high dudgeon himself. “Do you realize the implications?”

  “Very much. We have examined the evidence in every way, and we are completely sure.”

  I could feel a new wave of rage building, and this one was a tsunami. I stuffed it down to save for later, when I could really let it rip. “You had better be sure,” I said.

  Fred switched from indignant to menacing. “Very sure.”

  The mustache was not impressed. “We are. May I ask you some questions, Mr. Boyer?”

  “Not yet.” Fred leaned back in his chair. “Is Mr. Boyer under any suspicion?”

  “We do not have any specific suspects.”

  “That is not a specific answer.”

  Wilcox frowned. “Everyone associated with Melvin Boyer has to be regarded with suspicion at this stage of the investigation.”

  Fred turned to me. “Do you understand, Jason? Be very careful in what you say.”

  I was not in any careful state of mind. “Why did you wait a week to tell me?”

  “We were verifying the evidence.”

  Verifying the evidence. The first word that came to my mind was fabricating. Fred had said that the governor
’s response would be unmistakable, and I was not mistaking it. I was so angry at Melvin for leaving this mess.

  “Right,” I said. “I’ll make a statement. I have no idea who might have killed Melvin, if anyone really did. He was a wealthy and powerful man, and there would be lots of people who were enemies or benefited from his death. You know all that. I don’t know anything else.”

  “Could you list these enemies?” Wilcox’s mustache quivered. I was supposed to start fingering people?

  “You find them. I’m not going to do your job.”

  “Who benefited from his death?”

  “Mr. Spellman will provide you with a copy of his will. Other than that, if you want to go fishing, you’ll have to find a different pond.”

  Wilcox could see his fishing license was about to expire. “Mr. Boyer, don’t you want us to find your father’s murderer?” Was he surprised, or was this an attempt at intimidation? I was just too mad to put up with it.

  “He’s dead, and the rest doesn’t matter. And if anyone is trying to use this, or has manufactured this, to cause me trouble, then he isn’t very bright.”

  Wilcox blinked. “Let me assure you we will use discretion. We’re only investigating a crime. We have no other purposes.”

  Fred snorted. “I understand your purpose.”

  Wilcox had left. I was in a hurry, but the situation required discussion. “Is this the governor asserting his independence?”

  “Certainly.” Fred scowled. “He wants to show us we are not above the law, and he can yank our chain whenever he wants. The police will question your family and associates, and embarrassing information will be leaked.”

  I was thinking about our special legal framework. “That could hurt Bright as badly as us.”

  “He controls the police. They’ll uncover whatever he wants and nothing else. But the investigation could spread anywhere. The Boyer name will be demeaned.”

  There was a lot of static in my brain. “Do you think Melvin was murdered?”

  “It was my first assumption when I heard about the accident, but I didn’t think it was appropriate to discuss. There were other things more important. And for the governor’s purposes it would certainly be convenient . . . but not necessary.” Then he paused. “I’m sorry, Jason. I didn’t mean to trivialize your father’s death. We should take some time to think this through before we plan our next step.”