“Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Alvarez.”
“If you’re going to be knocking me around, you’d better call me Lee.”
I winked at her and her face reddened. She reached out a hand to help me out of the chair.
“Katie says it’s because I’ve grown four inches taller in the last six months. I’m nearly five seven now.”
“Growth spurts can be hard.” I took her hand and pulled myself up from the deep, cushioned chair. “I remember the summer when I grew nearly three inches. Nothing in the house was safe from me.”
She smiled and looked at her feet. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better.”
“Why don’t we see if we can find that black box, Skye? Any suggestions on how we go about it?”
She sat at the desk, and pressed one of six buttons in a console at the edge of the desk. A section of the desk slid open and a keyboard and monitor slowly rose from below. Once it had stopped, Skye leaned in, peering into the monitor.
“This is Daddy’s computer. I know how to get into all his programs,” she added with pride. “The program we want is called Bloodhound.”
Graceful tapping on the keyboard brought up a screen with blinking dots. Most of the dots were in a clump near the bottom of the screen. As she clicked on each dot, short names appeared with a number behind it, such as key1, hat2, glasses3 and so forth. Even Collier’s jackets were numbered.
“Where is this mass?” I pointed a finger to the clump of continuously blinking dots.
“They’re in Daddy’s bedroom. When the police returned his things, Katie put them there. Except for this dot here.” She brought the cursor to a single dot on the side that read ‘flashlight 3’.
“Where is it? Can you tell that?”
“Sure. He could track anything no matter where it was. He linked the program not only to existing cell towers, but also to one of our satellites circling the earth. This way if a chip gets out of cellular range, the dish can pick it up. If you double click on the dot it gives you longitude, latitude, and the physical address.” She tapped the mouse twice and another screen popped up.
“This URL shows the current location of each of the chips. There’s our address. And if you right click the mouse on the dot, it will even give you a Google map visual.” She demonstrated as she spoke and a long shot of a rooftop appeared. “See that? The flashlight location chip is in his car in the garage.”
“That’s amazing, but how do you find small, possibly hidden things?”
“You either use an app on your cellphone or one of these remotes.” She opened a drawer containing several small gizmos that looked like a small TV remote control.
“With something like keys, once you find the approximate location, you put in the corresponding name of the chip, and scan the area. Either your phone or the remote locks onto it and makes a pinging sound that becomes faster the closer you get. The chips are very thin and no bigger than a baby aspirin. They stick on anything, even glasses or jewelry. The life span is like forever. They use solar power. He helped his friend design them. He says…said… they’re child’s play.”
The pride in her father’s work came forward. For a moment her eyes sparkled.
“A couple of years ago, he attached a chip to one of Sharise’s handbags. He thought he knew where she was every minute of every day until he found out she gave the bag to her stand in.” Skye laughed lightly. “That was, like, funny.”
“Is the locator chip anything like the Read-Out chip?”
“Oh, no. They’re only good for one thing, pinging where they are. And they do need to be out in the sun now and then to recharge the solar battery. If not, after a year they’re dead.” She sobered at using the word ‘dead’. I saw her spirit fade before my eyes.
“Skye, is there a way to tell how many locator chips he had working?”
She perked up a bit. “Oh, sure.” She brought her cursor to the bottom of the screen where a small icon of a bloodhound sniffing the ground.
“Your father had a sense of humor.” I was suddenly seeing another side of the controversial man.
“He did,” Skye agreed, but never took her eyes of the screen. “If you click on the bloodhound, it brings you to another page and you can see how many locator chips are active at the moment.”
She took a moment to read the results. “There are fifty-two. Fifty are inside the compound. I can find out what they are attached to just by clicking on them. Daddy named them all.” After clicking through each, Skye remarked, “I didn’t realize he had so many hats.”
“What about the other two? Does that mean they’re outside the perimeter?”
“Let’s see.” She sat down in the chair and pulled in closer to the desk. After a brief search she looked up at me. “One labeled ‘W’ is located in the Sunnyvale Police Department. I can tell because when I right click on it, it automatically goes to a Google map of the building.”
“That’s more than likely his last will and testament. I know they have it. What about the other one? Where is it?”
“Let’s see,” she said, reading the data from the last three chips. “It also isn’t clearly labeled. It says ‘P’, nothing else. The address is in Palo Alto.”
“Do you recognize the address, Skye?”
“No. I wonder what it means?”
I was pretty sure I knew what it meant. ‘P’ for prototype, but I kept the revelation to myself.
“If you give me the location, and loan me one of your pingers, I’ll try to find out.”
Skye chuckled and tapped in a few keystrokes. “I’ve never heard it called a pinger before. I like it.” She pointed to the open drawer. “Take whichever one you like; they’re all the same. Oh, and I just sent the address to your phone.”
“Thank you. Now, Katie said you wanted to talk to me privately, Skye. What about?”
She turned and looked at me, unmasked fear coming into her eyes.
“Daddy’s will. Why do you want to see it? What are you hoping to find?” Before I could answer, her words went on, fast and staccato. “You want to know who might have had a reason to kill Daddy. But he left money to everybody, everybody, but most of it to me. But why would I kill him? I loved my father.”
Her outburst threw me.
“Skye, nobody’s accusing you of anything. I think reading his will might give me a better impression of the --”
“It’s Katie then, isn’t it?” She interrupted in a shrill, almost hysterical voice. “I read Daddy’s will again last night. For every year she stays with me, she gets a million dollars. But that’s not why she’s here. She’s here because she loves me. Not everything is about money.”
She fairly spat the last words out before squeezing her eyes shut. Her lips became taut and thin, so much so it was difficult for me to understand her next uttering.
“It’s not Katie.”
“I never said it was.”
“Besides, Daddy gave her a bunch of money while he was alive. He told me. He used to say, ‘throw money at people up front, right away. Then if they stay it’s because they want to.’ You should see what he pays Marty and Theresa, too. And Mr. Gonzales, the groundskeeper. Even the security guards. Nobody wanted him to die. Besides, Katie loves me!”
I reached out with my hand and touched her on an arm, which shook beneath my fingertips. “I’m sure she does, Skye. I can see that she does. I just wanted to read it for my own understanding. That’s all. But if you don’t want me to, I won’t.”
She was somewhat mollified and gave me a weak smile. Doing a one hundred and eighty degree turn, she said, “No, no, that’s okay. You can read it right now if you want.”
She reached for her knapsack, unzipped it, and pulled out a rolled-up will contained by a rubber band. She slid the rubber band off the blue bound document and it popped open to reveal a thick set of papers. Skye set the will before me in a casual way, but I could still see fear in her eyes.
“Here you go. But I already know that when Daddy died
, Sharise got a million dollars a month or twelve million dollars a year for the rest of her life. It’s set up in some sort of trust. And then there’s Mr. Eastham. He gets all of Daddy’s stocks in Read-Out. Daddy once told me they would be worth over a billion dollars one day. And Mr. Patel…” She paused, a puzzled look covering her face. “Daddy said he knew a secret about him. That’s why he made Mr. Patel quit his job back east and move to California to work for him.”
“Rameen Patel has a secret? What is it?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head and leaned back.
“Tell you what, Skye, why don’t you play a video game or something and give me a half hour, forty-five minutes to speed read the will myself. We can talk after that.”
“Did you want me to leave the room?”
“Not unless you want to. Up to you.” I smiled at her and picked up the blue bound document, one I pretty much know the ins and outs of. Crossing to a comfy leather chair on the front side of the desk, I sat down and started to read.
The first part of the will was pretty straight forward. Part One, Personal Information. I, David Harold Collier, a resident of the State of California, Santa Clara County, declare that this is my will. Part Two, Revocation of Previous Wills. I revoke all wills and codicils that I have previously made. Part Three. Marital Status. I am legally divorced from Mary Louise Fitzhugh also known as Sharise. Divorce decree attached. Part Four. Distribution of Wealth and Holdings. The enclosed two-acre rainforest, my home in Palo Alto, and the surrounding grounds, are to be left as is and in perpetuity to the State of California, for the purposes of research only, with the proviso that my daughter, Skye, be allowed to live there until such time as she chooses to vacate.
I was stunned. Putting aside he seemed to fear the State of California might turn the house into a bed and breakfast unless he stipulated otherwise, he gave away the family home. True, Skye could remain there, but it wasn’t really hers. For me, it wasn’t a financial thing, because the kid was as rich as Croesus, but a sense of continuity, family, and belonging. Okay, another visit to Planet Weird, as far as I was concerned.
I took a deep breath and read on. The yearly sum of eight million dollars was to be taken out of the D. H. Collier Trust and used for maintenance of the rainforest, house and grounds. Apparently, that sum was the known annual running costs of the compound.
The heftier part of the will was the bulk of his estate and left to his one daughter, Skye Collier. The list of holdings and assets went on for three, two-columned, typewritten pages. Croesus would have to take a backseat to Skye. I could see where she’d never have to worry about paying rent anywhere in the world. She could even buy a country if she wanted. But still. Kicked out of your own home.
Reading further, the kid had been right about Craig Eastham. He had a standard ‘right of survivorship clause’ regarding any upcoming stocks in Read-Out, meaning that if one should predecease the other, their share of stocks would revert to the surviving partner. When Read-Out went public, Eastham would make millions, if not billions, and no longer splitting it with his co-founder.
Two things struck me as I read his other beneficiaries. One, he only left ten thousand dollars to each of his employees no matter how long they’d been with him. For a billionaire, I thought that was on the chintzy side. Then I remembered Skye’s remark about how Collier liked to give money up front. I’m sure he paid exorbitant salaries. Probably with his passing, the people who worked for him went into mourning on a couple of levels. I’d run it by Collier’s business manager, just to make sure I was right.
The second thing was the mention of Darlene and Phillip Fitzhugh being left one of the Fiji Islands in the Pacific on which they currently lived, an island valued at fifteen million, six-hundred thousand dollars. It took me a moment to realize they must be Sharise’s parents and Skye’s grandparents.
I knew Collier’s parents were dead, both having died in their eighties. But Sharise’s parents were much younger, probably only in their late fifties, early sixties. No one had mentioned them yet, certainly not Skye, and I wondered if they chose to live so far away from their only granddaughter. Or were they in an enforced exile? Knowing a little of how Collier operated, the latter was entirely possible. I’d check on that, too.
After I read his charities and bequeaths, of which there were enough to call him a generous and honorable man, I looked up and tried to keep my voice gentle.
“I see your grandparents, the Fitzhughs, are in the will. Are you close to them?”
“Not hardly. Like, I don’t even know them. They left for their Polynesian vacation right after I was born and never came back.”
“Do you know why?”
“Who cares?” Her tone was dismissive, hardness returning to her face, taut mouth relaying brittle words. “They like the island life. Good for them. Who needs them, anyway? Daddy said we were better off with them in the middle of the Pacific.”
Before I could react to this, Skye went on.
“But you can see other people had better motives than Katie. I mean, the Fitzhughs get some island worth millions. Besides, Katie would never hurt Daddy. She was…” Skye broke off, pinching her lips together again.
“She was in love with him,” I finished for her.
Skye didn’t answer, but nodded. She inhaled a long breath sprinkled with small, unspent sobs.
“Yes. Once I thought he loved her, too. For a while, I thought maybe they would get married. Sometimes I’d see him sneak into her room when he thought I was asleep.”
She broke off in a self-deprecating laugh then looked away.
“But that stopped. He met Tanya, a Vogue model. That was followed by Allison the actress, and then somebody I can’t even remember.” She sighed. “He went with a lot of women, but he only loved one.” She paused. “Sharise.”
“Ah…Skye…did you know Sharise’s plane landed at SFO a short time ago?”
“It’s on the calendar. She already left two messages and texted me a few minutes ago.”
“You might have to see her, with what’s happened.”
“I know.” Her voice sounded resigned.
“If you don’t want to, talk to your father’s lawyer about an injunction.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s better to meet her and get it over with. I know what she wants. She wants me to live with her now, especially now that he gave this place away. I inherited most of Daddy’s money. She wants to get her hands on it, but Daddy was prepared for that. If she, like, tries anything, the terms of the will take away everything he left her. His lawyers made sure of it.” She looked at me, her expression way too hard and knowing for someone fourteen years old. With a curled lip, she added,
“So eat it, bitch.”
I just think people from Silicon Valley can do anything.
Elon Musk
Chapter Twenty-three
I adjusted the rearview mirror of the car to see fully what I was leaving behind. Hoards of reporters still milled around the gates. A guard was having an argument with Miss Pushy Reporter, who’d broken free again. She’d banged on my windshield as I inched my car out the gate until the German shepherd growled her into submission. Now she was paying for it.
The Collier compound; I was glad to be free of it.
Craig Eastham answered on the first ring. One good thing about being their hired PI, I had access to everyone’s personal information, including their private cellphone numbers.
“Yes? What do you want, Lee?”
“I need to speak with you. Now and preferably away from the office.”
“I’m not at the office. I’m home in Portola Valley.”
“I don’t think you want me to come there.”
I heard an intake of breath. Then an exhale. “Why not?”
“I don’t think we want to chance being overheard.”
Just when I thought he would hang up, he spoke again.
“Where then?”
“How about the Highland Inn Beer Ga
rden? I could use a burger.”
“When?”
“Fifteen minutes?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
Neither one of us said goodbye. We just hung up.
I arrived early, Eastham was late. There’d been a long line and I wasn’t even halfway through one of the Inn’s hamburgers, known far and wide for their yumminess. They were so good the place was still packed with Stanford students at one-thirty pm.
The Highland Inn is one of the oldest businesses on the Peninsula, dating back over one hundred and fifty years. It’s a rustic, roadside spot with an outdoor picnic area offering simply beers & burgers.
When I was a student, I often came here for lunch, eschewing the beer. I had to return to my classes and I didn’t need a buzz on or to be falling asleep at my desk. This day I eschewed the beer because I needed my wits about me.
No one was sitting outside due to the inclement weather. Thus, the inside tables were crammed. Loud, noisy, and sitting in groups, the students made me question if I’d ever been that young or carefree. Depressing though the thought was, I smiled as I watched them.
Burger and coke in hand, I leaned against one of the walls, and kept an eye out on the door. Craig Eastham didn’t see me at first. I took the opportunity to study the man as he entered, not as a Silicon Valley giant, but just as a man.
I compared Eastham’s to Collier’s persona, and found him lacking. Collier had been tall, slender, and fit. The CEO’s hair had been a well-tended and shiny silver; an elegant shock of white running through the top. D. H. Collier exuded the look of a modern-day, successful man loaded with style and panache.
Craig Eastham was no such thing. In his mid to late forties, he was on the short side and could lose a few pounds. His salt and pepper hair was wild and unkempt, too long for the wildness of the curls crowning his low forehead. Like a lot of techies, he had a soft, paunchy look about him from sitting in front of a computer fourteen, fifteen hours a day. The only deviation to the norm was instead of the pallid skin tone of a brainy nerd, Eastham was tan. Maybe taking care of llamas in the California sun had an extra bonus.
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