by George Wier
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I wrote this book perhaps fifty times in my mind and made half a dozen attempts on paper. For those of you who have been awaiting this book for the last two years; while I’m almost certain you would like an explanation—you may as well call it an excuse— as to why it took me so long, I think what you would prefer more would be the next Bill Travis Mystery, sooner rather than later. All right, I’m working on Ghost of the Karankawa, Bill Travis #10, as I write this, and the thing is well underway. Without going into a long song and dance about why it took so long, I want to direct your attention, if you please, to some other books written by Yours Truly during that time. The first is Long Fall From Heaven, a book which I co-authored with the late Milton T. Burton, my friend and comrade who passed away at the end of November 2011. Long Fall is a mystery. It’s darker than any of the Bill Travis books, even Death on the Pedernales. The book is available through Amazon and other outlets as an ebook and if not in actual stock on the bookstore shelves, it can be ordered through bookstores as a trade paperback. It’s a beautiful volume, and I think you will enjoy it.
In the meantime, I also penned Murder In Elysium, which should be available in bookstores across the nation some time in 2015. While it is not a Bill Travis mystery, it is some of my best work.
This last summer I also co-authored the start of a science-fiction series entitled The Vindicators with my life-long friend, author Robert A. “Robbie” Taylor. The Vindicators—Book One: Last Defense is all action and adventure in outer space, but in present time. We are working on The Vindictors—Book Two: Parsec at the moment, and it should be out within the next ninety days.
I have also co-written a book with fellow mystery writer Billy Kring—author of the excellent books Quick, Outlaw Road and Boca, what are otherwise known as the Hunter Kincaid Mysteries (I didn’t know until yesterday that Billy mentions me in Outlaw Road. You could have knocked me over with a feather. His main character, Hunter Kincaid, goes upstairs and climbs in bed and reads a book by George Wier). This last fall and winter, Billy and I co-authored a tome of steampunk fiction entitled 1889: Journey to the Moon, the first in a four-part series we’re calling The Far Journey Chronicles. It was a romp! One of the dad-blamedest fun times I’ve ever had writing anything. Needless to say, we’re currently working on the sequel, which is entitled 1899: Journey to Mars. These books are so “out there” and so strange, and yet they are so enjoyable to write that I proposed—and the idea was quickly nixed—that we go ahead and put the book out and pay you good folks to read it. I mean, come on! That kind of fun should be illegal! And to top it all off, we have procured the best book and film agent on the planet, with the fond hopes that the concept can be marketed as a book/movie tie-in/graphic novel/video game all rolled into one neat package.
So, I guess that’s it. I am working. I’m not just dawdling along. It’s my sad malady that I must work on up to six or seven books at a time, and so that sometimes slows down the release of any one book. But two years, you might ask! Yep. Two years.
Okay, I suppose that’s it for now.
To my long-suffering friends out there who have been patiently awaiting this current volume, all I can say is, I’m sincerely sorry it took me so long. But, I do hope the wait was worth it.
All the Best!
George Wier
Austin, Texas
June 30, 2014
MINTON’S LEGACY
A Bill Travis Short Story
[Note to the Reader: This brief piece has no action, no adventure, no villain, no vast conspiracy. All the “action” takes place at Bill’s desk in the course of an afternoon. —gw]
I began considering retirement when Minton’ s legacy first came along. You get up into your late forties and find that your children are growing like weeds and your wife, though still a raving beauty, is beginning to show faint, tell-tale signs of age, and you realize that time is fleeting and all the old maxims start coming to mind: tempus fugit (time flies), carpe diem (seize the day), “time and tide wait for no man,” etc., etc. It may seem as though life is about people and affinity and human warmth, but the sad truth is that it’s more about bank balances, trust accounts, and, ultimately, wills and such. But really, it’s about mortality and staving it off the inevitable, a thing that can’t be done.
But Minton, now. The guy had it going on in the “live forever” department.
Let me explain.
*****
First of all, here’s a rhetorical question: how badly can someone screw something up? The answer of course is that it can be taken to the infinite level, if such a thing exists in fact as opposed to merely theory. Minton...he took it all the way.
When I first saw the projected figures while I was sitting at my desk in my office on San Antonio Street in Austin—a stone’s throw from the State Capitol, the Governor’s Mansion, the whole shooting match—for the first time in twenty-five years I began seriously considering retirement.
And then Nat Bierstone came into my office and pulled up a chair. He laced his fingers in front of him against his belly and sighed.
“Nat,” I said. “If these preliminary figures are true, then...”
Nat smiled. He waved his wrist and his hand followed as if it were an afterthought. Nat is from one of those old conservative families who can dismiss any notion with a wave of the wrist. Southern aristocracy. Old money. Nothing ever impresses the man. “As young Jessica would say, ‘what-EV-er,’ “he said.
“Then they’re not true?” I asked.
“What is the final figure?”
“Two point three. Billion, that is.”
“That seems right. The figure grows every day, though.”
“Then...”
“No,” he said, and shook his head faintly.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
Nat hmphed. “You haven’t even begun to read. That stack there,” he pointed. “Is that the preliminary report?” The stack was afoot tall, all neatly aligned and delivered fresh from the copy service. It was still warm from the printer.
“Yeah. That’s it.”
“Hmm. When you’re done reading, why don’t you call me.”
“Sure,” I said.
Nat got up and breezed his way out.
I began reading. After an hour, I wished I hadn’t ever begun.
After two, I dismissed the notion of retiring over the account.
*****
Jessica, my adopted nineteen-year old daughter, came in and dropped into the chair that Nat had vacated hours before. I looked up at her, still holding the piece of paper I was reading in my right hand.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing. I just stopped by for a visit.”
“Like hell.”
“It’s true. It’s because I love you, dad.”
“I love you, too. How much do you need? And what is it for?”
Jessica dismissed the possibility she could ever want anything from me with a roll of her eyes—a gesture she was famous for—and a wave of her hand. Maybe she had taken to copying her granduncle Nat.
“So. You don’t need money. You have time on your hands. You were in the neighborhood and you wanted to tell me how you feel about me? Is that about right?”
“Yes.”
“Well. That’s sweet,” I said. I tried hard to appear sincere. “I’m glad you stopped by then. But right now I’m kind of busy. Will I see you for dinner tonight? Mom’s making her orange chicken and rice.”
“Hmm. Mayyy-be.”
“What’s on your mind?” I asked.
“I’m thinking about putting you in my will, dad. You know. Just in case something happens to me. I know, I’m too young, but I’m training to be a peace officer, and that can be dangerous. I mean, if anything should ever happen to me, I would want you and mom to have everything. I know I’m just in training, but...you never know.”
“Hmm,” I said, mimicking her. “Mayyy-be.”
“Do you have a will, dad?
I mean, if something were to happen to you?”
“If somebody shoots me or something,” I began, “your Mom will know what to do.”
“But what if it’s both of you? Huh? Did you ever think of that?”
“Are you planning on hiring someone to bump me off?” I asked.
“Oh. Dad! Never! Remember me? It’s Jessica.”
“Tell you what. If you’ve got a couple of hours, how about helping out your dad. You remember? The guy you love?”
“With what?”
I shoved the stack toward her.
“Start reading,” I said.
Jessica frowned, and took the first page off the top.
*****
First, there were sixty-seven heirs. Minton’s will had a codicil for each, which included certain conditions to be met, individually, before any given one of them was to inherit a dime. Each was to receive one million dollars, but must first individually sign a release with regard to any further claims upon the estate. You could call it “get lost” money. Thus far forty-eight of the original sixty-two had expressed their wishes to accept the sum. For the others, there might be a fight, and if they fought, they would lose. C‘est la vie.
Minton died by choking to death on a chicken bone from a fast food restaurant. The ambulance report, the store manager’s report, and the coroner’s autopsy were part of the overall stack. The irony was that Minton’ s estate couldn’t sue the chicken place because it quickly became apparent that one of Minton’ s many subsidiaries owned the chain. Perhaps there was some justice hidden there. I handed that portion of the report to Jessica and continued reading.
“Well skin my knees,” Jessica said. She handed me an inch-thick stack.
I recoiled in horror at this next sheaf of papers. The Minton estate would never go to probate. There would never be a day in court for any of the heirs.
“I guess it does get worse,” I said.
Minton had set up an LLC, a limited liability company, to manage all of the assets of all of his subsidiaries. And the subsidiaries read like a short list of Fortune 500 companies, including twenty-seven computer software and peripheral corporations, half a dozen fast food chains, two major department store chains, and even trucking and transportation companies. And, horror of horrors, each was to take it in turn to sue the others in what appeared to be a randomly drawn order at regular intervals, and each suit was to name the owner of the LLC, Jasper Minton, in every lawsuit. The suits were to be filed, administered, and defended by Minton’s own law firms.
According to the schedule, there would never be a moment in time when the estate was not tied up in legal proceedings that would put liens on the estate greater than the value of the estate itself. There was even a table of grievances. Each corporation was to breach the others in some pre-selected way thus guaranteeing the legality of the suit.
“Hmm,” I murmured.
“What?”
“I don’t know that these people can do this. Use the courts to keep something out of court.”
“Don’t they do it all the time in bankruptcies?” Jessica asked.
“They do, but it’s not the same. By the way, who made you so smart?”
“Just common sense, that’s all.”
I laughed. “You’re dangerous, kiddo.”
“Thank you. Besides, if they were instructed to harm each other in some way, or compete with each other unfairly, then the lawsuit would be legal, right? Whether or not it was all set up ahead of time, right?”
“Hmm. You have a point. Now I understand the rider on each of the individual codicils. If any potential heir or group of heirs is found to have investigated the inner-workings of any of Minton’s companies, that heir is to be disinherited.”
“That seems pretty air-tight,” she said.
“Keep reading. There’s another inch or two to go.”
*****
“My God,” Jessica said after another hour. “Can nobody touch this man’s money?”
“I don’t think so. I think I know now why Nat handed this over to me. He wanted to see if I could penetrate this morass from any angle. I’m no lawyer, but from what I know about probate law, wills and such, I don’t see how it could be done. But...this is interesting.”
“What is it?”
“Give me a minute. You’ll get your turn.”
It was a thick sheaf of papers, the last inch, held together by a binder clip.
*****
When I was done with the last stack I handed it to Jessica.
“Wow!” she exclaimed. Her eyes were round. “Wow,” she whispered every few moments as she read the thing through. She skimmed rapidly. “Wow.”
The last piece of the puzzle was one of Minton’s prize possessions, a research and development company tasked with developing a means of achieving an actual anti-gravitation technology that would get mankind to the stars. It drew its funds from all of the other corporations at the rate of four percent annually, and was never to be sued by one of its sister companies, nor to institute suit. The company, situated on twenty-thousand acres of desert in Arizona, was at the moment hard at work developing just such technology. There were orders from Minton dated mere months previous for the staged release of technology as it was developed to the rest of the world, including orders for procuring patents and the actual building of what Minton termed “a starship” to be captained by a crew chosen by the research scientists themselves. The astronauts were to train for weightlessness off the coast of Bermuda, just as the NASA astronauts had back in the ‘60s and ‘70s.
“Yeah,” I said. “Wow.
*****
The last piece of paper lay there on the desk. It was a personal note written on creamy white paper with an embossed “M” at the top center.
I handed it to Jessica and asked her to read it aloud for both of us.
You people will never know the benefit of all my labors. I have assured that my legacy will go on and on until the end of time, but none of you will ever profit by it. I will succeed where all others have failed. Mankind will reach the stars, and will do it on my own ships. Put that in your pipe and smoke it!’ Signed, J.A. Minton.”
“Hello, William. Jessica.” Nathaniel Bierstone called out from the doorway.
“Nat!” I called.
“Uncle Nat!” Jessica turned, got up and ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, kissed him on the cheek.
“What schemes are you two hatching?” Nat asked her.
“No schemes. I’ve been helping dad with this Minton guy’s papers. Looks like it’s bulletproof.”
“Yeah,” he said. “You never called, so I thought I’d stop back by. You know, It took quite a long time for me to institute Minton’s plans, but what you’ve just read is pretty close to the way I laid it all out for him.”
“You did this!” I cried and slapped my desk.
“Of course, William. What do you take me for?”
“A wise man,” I said. “A very wise man, if not a monster.”
“Well, thank you. That last letter I heard you reading. We have to copy that and send it to all of Minton’ s relatives.”
“Hmph,” I grunted. I looked to see that it was dark outside. Somehow the day, much like all other days, had flown on by. Time is like that, I suppose. “I’ll get Penny on it first thing in the morning.”
“That’s fine. No rush,” Nat stated.
“Dad,” Jessica said. “I really don’t want to talk about wills anymore. Can I just borrow some money instead?”
I laughed. “How much?”
Finis
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