“Father, why don’t we go back to my rooms and talk?” she suggested. “Monsieur McGraw, please make yourself comfortable and when we are done I will send for you. Fair enough?”
McGraw nodded and excused himself, and she and the priest went back to the suite. The tall, lean, balding clergyman looked and sounded more like an undertaker than a priest, and seemed to have a dour expression at all times as well. She bade him take a seat on the couch near the windows and waited.
“I hardly know where to begin,” Dobbs said uncertainly. “This has been a real shock to me, you know. I’ve known your father for more than thirty years.”
“Oui. Go on.”
“I—ah—I’m well aware as well that your feelings towards him are, at least, ambivalent.”
“No, I can not say that. I am most definite about my feelings at this point,” she told him coldly.
He got the message. “Miss McKenzie, the fact is that your father was a great man, a genius, and he did a lot of good. A saint, however, he wasn’t, and would never be. He treated you most shabbily, he knew it, he felt guilty about it, but he never changed that. That is one of the great many things in his life that can not be excused save by the mercy of God.”
“You came here, then, to ask me to forgive him? That I can do only in the Christian sense, I fear. As you say, forgiveness of his sins is in God’s hands. I am one of these sins and I am still here. He can not buy with his money what he did not earn with his deeds, yet I will pray for his soul in Purgatory. And my name is Montagne, s’il vous plait. If my father did not wish me to have his name in life I see no reason to change it now. I can pray for understanding on my part and salvation on his, but more than that—no.”
The priest nodded. “That is all that I can ask.”
“But you did not take me aside to talk solely of this.”
“No, that’s true. Miss Me—Montagne, pardon me. Would it shock you to know that your father believed that he might be killed?”
“I have no reason to know one way or the other, but this interests me. Go on.”
“He came to me not long ago—a few weeks at best—and at that time he said that he felt he might be done away with. He didn’t know by who as yet, but he was becoming convinced of it. He felt that he was being followed and monitored by those outside his employ, that they were stalking him.”
“Who is ‘they,’ if I may ask?”
“I wish I knew. But while your father never spoke much of theology, it was all he could talk about that time. I put it down to depression or perhaps an illness unknown to me, or even job stress, but he pressed and pressed. He was particularly concerned with interpretations of the Book of Revelations—the Apocalypse—and on things having to do with Satanism and paganism. I only knew so much and referred him to an expert in the field who’s in England, Bishop Whitely. I don’t know, though, if he ever saw the Bishop, who’s rumored in poor health and had to retire somewhat prematurely, but he told me that if anything violent or mysterious happened to him I was to convey this to you.”
She stared at him. “Do you know why?”
“I’m afraid not, nor do I know why this should be of any importance to you. I merely convey the message as I promised him.”
“This Bishop Whitely—who is he?”
“A noted academic and scholar in the church and quite a conservative theologian for an increasingly liberal denomination. He was formerly Bishop of Durham at Yorkminster, although briefly—that gave him a lordship, and he is about the fourth highest ranking cleric in the Church of England. I don’t really know him at all beyond that. He’s not really connected to the Canadian church. He is, however, an academician—most Bishops of Durham have been—and a former Oxford professor who still does some academic research work. He is also a theological conservative and a mystic, probably more conservative than the average Roman Catholic bishop by some measure. They got into some trouble with that Bishopric the last few times around, with one of them questioning publicly the virgin birth and the divinity of Christ.”
She was shocked. “And they let this man be Bishop of a supposedly Christian church?”
“We all have our problems, I fear, particularly with the hierarchies. Whitely was appointed ultimately to mollify Church conservatives outraged by many of those elevated to Bishoprics in the past couple of decades. That’s all I can tell you about him, except that I only really know him by several books he wrote on the Apocalypse and on prophecy, the occult, and such matters. He is fully as controversial in his own way as his predecessors were in theirs, but he is certainly the world’s foremost expert on those matters that so intrigued your father in his final weeks.”
She thought things over for a moment. “Tell me. Father Dobbs—did my father say anything about a dark man?”
Dobbs looked startled. “Why, now that you mention it, I believe he did! He mentioned something about there being no privacy from the dark man or something like that. I didn’t pay much mind to it, assuming it was a reference to someone in his business that was troubling him. Why? Does this give you more information to go on?”
“I—I do not know. Perhaps. Is there anything else?”
“No, not really, I’m afraid. But—tell me, where do you plan to go from here? Have you given it any thought as yet?”
She shook her head negatively. “I’m afraid not. I think perhaps I will stay here for a while. I have no real home at the moment in any case, and this is a good place to learn what must be learned.”
He nodded. “And keep away from the press. I’m afraid that once the news of Sir Robert’s death came out they scrambled for any and all information on you and discovered some pictures from someplace. They’ve run all over Canadian, American, and probably even New Zealand television and in all the newspapers. I’m told that there’s a standing offer of thousands of dollars to anyone who gets an interview with you and I know that security patrols have intercepted a raftload of reporters attempting to sneak onto this island. Perhaps it’s best you do stay here for a while, until you’re ready to test the waters, as it were. They’re like vultures— ghouls. And they act like you are their property.”
That frightened her a bit. “When I go, if I go, I will have to have some good protection.”
Father Dobbs sighed and got up to leave. “You can certainly afford it, my dear.”
Harold McGraw was all smiles and warmth, but it was an act and she knew it. The presence of his briefcase indicated that he was there for business reasons only, and he got the pleasantries out of the way quickly.
“I must tell you that perhaps a million dollars in attorney and research fees to experts all over the world went into your father’s will, and it’s the best document of its kind ever constructed, I wager. That won’t stop it from being contested by every sixteenth cousin thirty times removed who discovers your family somewhere in its genealogy, but I wouldn’t worry about it. There is a separate trust fund already established in your name and containing massive amounts of stock and convertible paper. It is beyond the scope of the will and is administered by us directly. I hope we can continue to do so in the future.”
“I am content with it for now. May I ask how much it represents?”
“Um, at current values, give or take ten percent for the usual fluctuations, it amounts to about twenty-two million dollars. That’s American dollars, by the way. Their laws on such trusts are more liberal than ours, although it’s directly held as an international account in the Royal Bank of Canada.”
The amount staggered her, even though everyone had been talking in huge terms. “And this is—mine?”
“Regardless of the rest. It’s free of taxes and fees, of course, and is entirely yours. Considering the unsteadiness of certain markets, however, I would suggest that, to leave principal untouched, you not spend more than one million a year without first consulting us.”
She was reeling from the idea. “A million … a year?”
“Yes. The easiest way to do this is, well, whenev
er you wish to buy something, simply have the bill sent to us. For major purchases—say a hundred thousand or more, such as houses, yachts, planes, and the like—have the seller contact us directly so we can work out payment terms to keep it within the range of self-generating income.”
“Uh—-excuse me. Monsieur McGraw, but I am not yet recovered from this. The very concept of such wealth is beyond my grasp right now, I fear. But still I must go on. If this is my trust fund, as you call it, what is the whole estate worth?”
McGraw shrugged. “Miss Montagne, Magellan is one of the four largest privately held corporations in the world. By ‘privately held,’ I mean that its stock is not publicly traded, although many subsidiary corporations that it owns are. The whole of the corporation may be worth fourteen to twenty billion dollars American. I can’t be more specific than that. The estate consists of approximately two hundred and twenty million dollars in liquid assets—those things and properties owned by your late father and his bank accounts and personally held stocks and bonds—and fifty and one-half percent of the stock of Magellan. Taxes and death duties are likely to whittle his personal assets to about a hundred million, I’m afraid, but the stock remains. It’s rather complicated, but while they will try and get it, it is not directly convertible to value and is protected by stratagems even I can’t fully understand from death duties.”
“And he left me—all of it?”
McGraw sighed. “All of it. I’ve yet to do the formal reading of the will, but this talk will suffice as there are no other pertinent parties. Oh, he left some considerable sums to various charitable and religious groups and established trusts and annuities for many old friends and business associates, but I’ve already deducted them from the totals I’ve given you.”
“And this will take years to clear up?”
“I doubt it. Oh, the court cases could drag on into the twenty-second century but I wouldn’t worry about them. Actual title should be a matter of months, certainly no more than a year if the unforseen comes up. For all intents and purposes, you own it all as of now. You see—well, let me read pertinent parts of the will. They’re already causing bombshells in Magellan’s corporate offices now, I can assure you, and probably in many world capitals as well.”
He reached into his briefcase, fiddled a bit, then came up with a small sheaf of papers stapled together. They were clearly copies, and had been marked up with a red pen.
The early parts of the document were long and formal declarations of thus and so, and he began skipping early. When he got to a particular section, though, McGraw couldn’t suppress a slight smile.
“Should anyone named in this last will and testament contest or question any part of it, that person shall receive nothing. Should anyone in the employ of or connected with Magellan or anyone in any way employed in one of my holdings have any part in said contest, whether as plaintiff or as party or witness, said individual shall have his or her employment immediately terminated and shall not receive any further income or employ from any of said companies and holdings for at least twenty years from the date of contest,” McGraw read her. “Likewise any corporation, contractor, or government contesting or being a party to said contest shall have immediately and at the date of contest all dealings with any holdings covered herein suspended and shall not be allowed any further dealings with any said holdings. These conditions remain even if a plaintiff later drops a contest or withdraws its complaint or reverses his or her testimony.”
The attorney noted, “Magellan’s holdings are incredible and extensive and are at the heart of some nations’ defense and economic establishments. Possibly one in twenty jobs in the west would be directly or indirectly connected to it. Many folks are going to think twice about any contests.”
She gulped and nodded.
“But the real kicker comes further on,” he told her. “It says—ah, here. ‘If any contest should succeed against my daughter and heir named above, said contestor should be warned that they will win nothing. Should such a contest be upheld through every available court and means, at that very moment Magellan will become worthless. Also, should my daughter die, by any means, natural or unnatural, within five years of assuming her inheritance free and clear, this will also be true. It will be automatic, absolute, and irrevocable. The means of this I keep to myself and take with me to whatever place I go, but I ask one question of anyone who does not believe this, and provide no answer: what would happen if every single data bank in the entire Magellan network suddenly erased itself?’ ”
She shook her head in wonder. “But—what does it mean?”
“I think it means that he arranged, totally outside Magellan, for something to be built in, something that automatically would trigger such an erasure. The computers, all of them, even the big one here, would suddenly be blank again, all information lost.”
“And this would do what?”
“World panic, I should imagine. The banking and financial records alone would be nearly impossible to track down and claim, let alone use. The value of stock in all publicly held corporations either owned by, controlled by, or doing a lot of business with Magellan, would sink. Years of brilliant research would go down the drain. Some nations’ economies would collapse, while others would find things from routine imports and exports to defense simply falling apart.”
“Then they will duplicate and move this quickly, yes?”
“Well, because of the sheer volume and the computer’s dominance of international telecommunications it’d be damned near impossible. They will save some of the important stuff, the vital stuff, but hardly all. So, you see what he’s done? The international financial community and the governments of many nations will scramble, but also hedge their bets by devoting all their time and resources to getting you clear title to it all as quickly as possible. That’s why I say it will be months, not years, and why everyone is treating you so carefully.”
“If what you say is true they will drop troops to keep me safe and insulated, whether I wish it or not.”
“There’s little real danger of that, I think. You might think of drawing up your own will, too, to go into effect the moment the last probate hurdle is cleared. That will be your best guarantee.”
“I—I will think on it. Merci, Monsieur McGraw. You have been most kind.”
“I’ll not kid you, Miss. We make a ton of money off handling these sort of things, and we only keep accounts like this by doing the best possible job we can. Now—tell me, is there anything we can do for you directly?”
She thought a moment. Probably hundreds of things would come to her later, but now she forced herself to be practical and pragmatic. “First, make certain that my father’s houses and other property is safeguarded and catalogued for me, and that they are maintained.”
“Already being done.”
“Second—for now, it seems, this is the best place for me to stay. I will need attendants. Servants. Whatever they are called. I—”
At that moment, Sister Maria walked in. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were all through,” she said apologetically.
“No, no! Come in!” Angelique called to her. “I would like to know your own plans, Sister. How long can you stay with me?”
“Why, as long as you wish. Dr. Byrne informed me just today that they had made arrangements with my order if you so desired. After all, I am one of the few people who knows and understands all this equipment.”
She felt much better. “Oh, yes—please stay on, but as my nurse, not my servant. I was just suggesting to Monsieur McGraw here that he arrange for servants for all the basics. This will leave you free to take care of medication, physical therapy, and equipment maintenance and leave other matters to others. One with your qualifications should not change diapers or clean up my messes.”
McGraw looked startled at the comment. It had never occurred to him that someone paralyzed as she was would have to be in diapers, since she wouldn’t even know when she eliminated. For the first time, he realize
d how demoralizing such a condition could be beyond the obvious, and it made him uncomfortable.
“Um, a few more matters,” he said a bit uncomfortably. “First, I’ll need a power of attorney from you to handle your affairs. Considering your condition, a fingerprint will suffice for the signature. There are also some other similar documents which I’ll leave for you to read. We’ll have to print every page and have it witnessed, but that should be no problem.”
“Very well. I can sign my name with a pen in my teeth if need be, you know.”
“Whatever you prefer. Servants will have to be arranged through the security people here, I’m afraid, since not everyone can be admitted onto the island. I’m sure there’ll be no problem, though. Mostly you’ll need on-call attendants working shifts—that’s three—a personal maid, I would think, for dressing and general cleaning and the like. The rest can be provided by the Institute staff. I assume you want all women?”
She blushed slightly. “Yes. I think I will be more comfortable that way.”
“All right, then. I won’t be going back until tomorrow evening, so I’ll leave these documents here for you to look over. Feel free to consult with anyone here at the Institute or call me if you don’t understand or like anything, and I’ll go over them before you sign in any event in the presence of witnesses.” He got up to leave, then stopped and turned back to her.
“Are you certain you wish to remain here? Something here, after all, did kill Sir Robert.”
“That is true,” she admitted, “and I have thought of it. But from what you have told me, they had far less reason to keep him alive, did they not? And any who could kill him here, with this amount of protection, could get me anywhere I went. What could I do? Run away? Fight?”
He shrugged. “It had to be said. All right, but be careful. Premeditation for gain is something I believe you are insulated against. But if it is insanity we are dealing with, or espionage, I wouldn’t count on Sir Robert’s protections. There are some unfriendly powers, some not that far from here, who might take great joy in the mess the collapse of Magellan might make.”
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