They walked to an open office occupied by a dark-haired man who looked up as Will knocked. “Mr. Stark?”
“Hello, Cain. I’ve brought a few people to meet you.”
Cain stood up from his desk and walked around to greet them. “This must be your wife and son.” He held out his hand to Hope. “I’m Cain Freeman, in charge of the security of the physical buildings and data processed throughout Pleasanton and the rest of the Stark Enterprises businesses.”
Hope shook his hand, and felt a tiny trickle of Energy from the man. Adam. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Freeman. My husband speaks of you all the time, and your work seems to be the spark of energy this city needs to operate.” She smiled. “Sorry. With all the talking he does about you, I just feel like I’ve known you for an eternity.”
Cain smiled. “Thank you for the very kind words, Mrs. Stark. The pleasure is all mine. Your husband seems to bring out the best in all of us. And please, call me Cain.” He turned to the little boy, who stood staring ahead into space. “This must be Josh, who looks just like his father.” He tousled the boy’s hair. Hope caught the look of shock when the contact was made. Adam had felt the massive Energy stores she was suppressing inside her son, and the look on his face, though brief, showed an awe and understanding of the effort it took to keep the boy hidden from the Aliomenti.
“That’s my son, all right,” Will agreed. “Be nice to him, Cain; he’ll be running the place one day.” Will’s voice pitched higher as he spoke, doubting his own words.
Cain smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be just as innovative as his father.”
“Nothing terribly innovative about me,” Will said. “I just hire very smart people and give them the tools they need to succeed to their greatest potential.”
“That is innovative, Mr. Stark,” Cain replied. “Many leaders try to suppress their strongest talent because they think it makes them look less impressive by comparison.”
Will shrugged. “Glad to hear you’re happy working here, Cain. Is the palm system close to going online for the pickup system? Sheryl told me we had near perfect success doing matching at the pickup depots, except…”
“The twins, right,” Cain said, sighing. “Yes, the systems people tell me that the expanded computing capacity is online, and they just need to finish up the final bit of fiber wiring to the pickup depots. We’ll go online with them one at a time to test the systems over the next few days.”
Will nodded. “Excellent work as always, Cain. I’m going outside with Hope and Josh for a bit, but I’ll swing by later.”
“Of course,” Cain said. “But be careful; it’s raining outside. We’ve got the air temperature control systems to keep the outdoor temperature comfortable for pedestrians, but we can’t do anything about precipitation.” He glanced at Josh. “Perhaps that will be Josh’s innovation when he takes over.”
Will groaned, peeking out the window and spotting the drizzle falling outside.
Hope laughed. “Just put a lid over this place, and then you can control the precipitation.”
Will and Cain stared at her, and she felt a moment of discomfort. “Sorry,” Hope said, her face turning the same shade of crimson as her original hair color. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, not at all, Mrs. Stark,” Cain told her. “In fact, I think it’s a brilliant idea. Our lead nanoparticle researcher told me a couple of days ago that the technique they’re working on now, to build geodesic domes for use as tents by military personnel, could actually be expanded to build something of a similar design of nearly any size. Your comment about putting a lid over the city made me wonder…”
Will nodded. “I had the same thought, Cain. I’ll stop and talk to David later about his progress and about Hope’s idea.” He smiled at his wife. “The snow globe again, isn’t it? That might be the next big project for the city.”
Cain nodded as the Stark family exited his office. “Enjoy your stay, Mrs. Stark and Josh. I hope the rain isn’t too uncomfortable for you. Or you, Mr. Stark.”
“It won’t be,” Will said. “Once we put that lid over the city, we won’t have to worry about rain at all. Won’t it be fantastic? It will be like our own little underground city.”
Both Cain and Hope laughed, loud and nervous.
“Yes,” Cain said. “That would definitely be fantastic. But also a fantasy. I think an underground city is impossible.”
“Impossible?” Will snorted. “Nothing is impossible.”
Hope smiled. “If you’re involved, Will, nothing is.”
XIII
Seeds
2027 A.D.
They found the property they sought, one parcel for sale inside a larger abandoned tract of land several miles from the nearest interstate highway. Only one building stood on the property, a ramshackle shed badly in need of repairs. Timbers forming the exterior walls were warped and allowed outside air, precipitation, and vermin inside. What little furniture remained was beyond repair and unusable.
Peter and Judith didn’t care about that. The critical factors, for them, were the size of the property—several thousand acres of non-tenable land—and the isolated location a few hours’ drive from Pleasanton. It didn’t take long to hold the wordless conversation and agree to go after the entire tract of land, not just the parcel offered for sale.
Theirs was a task of curious origin.
Old Will had made it clear that he thought it best if the fortune he and Hope amassed was retained by them after their supposed deaths. They’d recognized that they couldn’t simply will the money to an Alliance member posing under an alias, nor could they leave the money to a charity managed by the Alliance. Both approaches would result in significant attention from the Aliomenti who would—rightly—find the acts suspicious and move to investigate the beneficiaries. They decided that the best way to move the money would be through a massive series of automated transfers of small amounts of money into hundreds of accounts, all secret, all interconnected in ways impossible to trace, and then maneuver the money around until all of it arrived in a bank controlled in secret by the Alliance.
In short, they’d steal it.
But the Starks couldn’t avoid setting up an estate plan as if such a “theft” wouldn’t occur. From Young Will’s perspective, the money must live on after his death, put to use to continue helping the overall economy survive and thrive. They’d devise processes that their Trustee could following to give and invest the money as they did while living. Such investment activity was fine, for a time, but they needed to get the money away from the Trust as quickly as possible after the Starks’ “deaths.”
Adam’s technical expertise, combined with Ashley’s, made devising the coding to perform the transfers relatively simple. There was only one problem: they couldn’t find the account information in any of Will’s memories. Somehow, they’d need to get that information. The timing suggested that they’d only get final account information set up in the days before the attacks, and they couldn’t guarantee Hope would get the information in time to pass it along, or have the opportunity to do so.
Hope would, they decided, ensure that she built a mechanism into the estate plan to allow Adam into the inner circle of the Trustee, gaining access the account information he needed. That meant Adam would need to gain the trust of both the Trustee, a man named Michael Baker, and Millard Howe, the estate lawyer. And they needed to do it in a way that seemed in line with Will’s character in particular, as Will would be the Stark both Howe and Baker knew best.
They found an odd snippet of conversation Hope and Will held after a meeting with Howe. Hope talked about the wisdom of storing an extra copy of their plan somewhere nobody could find it, and thus allow Howe to ensure nobody had modified the document without their knowledge. Hope had opined that the decision to use one of Stark Enterprises “secure data centers” to store that safe copy was brilliant, because “the site could be anywhere, even right under our feet.”
It was another clue.
&
nbsp; It meant Howe would need to travel to a location called a “secure data center” that could, indeed, be anywhere. Or, at least, the place he’d find the will could be anywhere. After much discussion, they’d realized he’d travel to some far-off place, only to be whisked unawares back to Pleasanton somewhere underground. That spot would be an office in Eva and Aaron’s basement, reached via teleportation from the location Howe thought he was visiting. They could use nanos to confuse the man, and create a mist that dulled sensory perception so he didn’t notice the feeling of displacement from teleportation.
The only problem? They didn’t own land in a spot that fit with the available clues. Peter, who’d offered the idea of buying property for a new safe house and using it as the beginning and ending point for Howe’s journey, found that his plan was well-received by the others, who volunteered him to locate and purchase the property.
That was how Peter and Judith came to be looking at a small house that should be condemned, on a piece of property that most in the area had long forgotten, and found the property to be perfect for their needs. They frowned, pointed out flaws (they’d need to raze the house and rebuild, the only water on the property came from a well, there were no feeds for electricity), and drove the price down during the rapid, indirect negotiations with the distant owner, who in practical terms just wanted the property out of his hands. When the final price was defined, they offered a higher price for the entire tract of land, and the owner, ecstatic at this good bit of fortune—and the small monetary fortune that would soon arrive in his bank account—agreed to their revised offer.
Three days later, funds were paid, documents signed, property liens were confirmed nonexistent, and the couple owned the property, free and clear, with deed in hand. Peter sent word of their success to the Project 2030 team via a brief, coded text message.
Hope’s combination mobile phone twitched. It wasn’t the standard buzz or tone her “human” number would produce upon receipt of the text, because she didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that she’d received a secret message. She was completing her final bits of makeup before she and Will would depart to meet with an estate lawyer named Millard Howe, and she was reflecting upon what she needed to accomplish at the meeting, meshing her current human interests with the key items to further the goals of Project 2030.
On a human level, today was unusual for another reason: it was the first time she would leave Josh’s side, trusting his care to someone else for a few hours. As a human mother highly protective of her son, leaving him alone with anyone else made her nervous. As a centuries-old member of the Alliance, knowing that four-year-old Josh would be cared for in her absence by Eva left her mind far more at ease.
She finished her final makeup work and risked a quick glance down at the phone, read the coded message from Peter, and tapped the screen, releasing a tiny trickle of Energy into the device. As programmed, the phone thoroughly erased all traces of the message she’d just read.
After a final glance in the mirror, she reached for her phone and knocked it on the floor. She stared at the phone, terrified she’d damaged the device… and then burst into tears. Shocked at her reaction, she composed herself, fixed her makeup, and carried phone and purse separately as she headed downstairs, still baffled at her reaction.
Will was already downstairs chatting with Eva. The woman looked nearly seventy years of age, and she’d ensconced herself in a chair. Her eyes tracked Josh, watching as the boy sat on the floor, his blank stare failing to follow the playful black Labrador retriever puppy bounding around the room. Hope caught the emotional delight from Josh as he watched the dog’s antics, as did Eva. The women shared a sober glance, one that communicated the private glee at the happiness the boy felt, along with the public sorrow that his father couldn’t know of that joy.
“We aren’t sure how long this will take,” Will told Eva.
“Take your time,” Eva replied. Her voice as a human had taken on a southern drawl. “I have no other plans for today. The puppy… she is very entertaining and full of spirit.”
As if on cue, Smokey barked.
Hope chuckled. “Smart girl, isn’t she? Eva, I’ll give you a call when we’re heading home.”
Eva nodded. With Hope gone, the task of Shielding Josh’s Energy would fall upon Eva. The house was so thoroughly encased in scutarium that she could drop the Shield for a time and allow Josh to be himself. Hope’s call would alert her to the need to snap the Shield back on the boy, meeting the cruel need of hiding from Will his son’s development. Eva would be exhausted by the effort, as Hope often was. With Josh being so docile, only a spirited puppy could generate the level of fatigue Will would see in Eva when they returned. The comment about Smokey was meant to plant that idea in Will’s mind.
The couple climbed into the back seat of the armor-plated limousine, joined as always by Lance Maynard, who sat apart from them, giving the couple moderate privacy. The drive lasted only twenty minutes, and they pulled up in front of a modest, one story office building. Hope gave the building an appraising look, and then glanced at Will. “I have no idea how successful this man is, but I appreciate that he’s not trying to sell us on his skill with a large, plush office.”
Will nodded. “The people who sent me the reference say he’s worked loads of high profile cases over the last twenty years or so. I did some research. He’s high character and has enough money from his previous work that he doesn’t need to continue to practice, which is why he moved here a few months ago from New York. He wanted to get away from the fast-paced lifestyle and constant influx of new and demanding clients. He’s very good, and very selective. We’re pretty lucky to get an appointment.”
Hope gave him a wry grin. “Do you know who you are, by the way? Will Stark, architect of the American Recovery, richest man in the world, budding philanthropist and impromptu angel investor? I dare say this Millard Howe is antsy at the thought of meeting you, and is hyperventilating in his joy at the prospect of having you as a client.”
Will smiled faintly. “He’ll just be excited to be working with you.”
Hope snorted. “Whatever.”
A handful of paralegals huddled around a desk set off to the side, conversing quietly over documents spread across the surface. They didn’t look up when the bell rang, announcing the opening of the door. A moment later, an older man stepped out of an office and walked toward them, his face a confused mix of exhilaration and sheer terror. Hope elbowed Will in the side. “Told you,” she whispered.
“Mr. and Mrs. Stark? I’m Millard Howe.” He held out his hand, which both Will and Hope shook in turn.
The activity in the office ground to a halt as Howe spoke their names, and everyone turned to stare.
Will, about to say something to Howe, became aware of the gazes upon him. He glanced nervously around the office, and then waved gingerly. “Um… hi, everyone.”
Five minutes later, after the Starks had autographed dozens of papers and accepted gushing outpourings of thanks for the transformation of the city and the employment their businesses had provided for loved ones, Hope and Will were finally seated in Howe’s office. As the lawyer shut the door, Hope looked at Will. “Know who you are, now, mister?” she whispered.
“I still say they’re reacting to the gorgeous blonde,” he whispered back.
“Thank you for coming, and I apologize for the… groupie behavior you’ve had to endure from my employees,” Howe said, moving to sit behind his desk. “I assure you, a reprimand will be delivered.”
“Quite all right, Mr. Howe,” Hope said. She glanced at Will. “My husband does need the occasional reminder of the impact he’s made. I’d prefer you offer them my personal thanks, rather than a reprimand.”
Howe considered her request, and then nodded.
The lawyer pulled out a folder and slid it across the desk. “I took the liberty of drafting some initial paperwork we can use as a baseline.” He stood, walked around the office, and launched into a co
mplex sequence of legal terms that neither Will nor Hope were familiar with, referring in rapid succession to pages and paragraphs and sections in the document from memory.
Howe looked up and found two blank faces staring at him. Hope blinked several times, as did Will. Neither had opened the folder.
Howe’s face softened. “I’m sorry, I’m moving too quickly. Most of my clients have been older, people who believe death from old age is imminent, and who have been considering this for some time. It must be difficult for you to consider. We can walk through it step by step, section by section, to familiarize you with the basic structure of the document, and then talk about how we should customize it for your situation and wishes.”
Will sat staring straight ahead. Hope watched Will, before turning to face Howe. “Mr. Howe, before we do that, I have a question. I’ve heard stories of couples in our… circumstances having people break into their homes, access safes or locked drawers, and altering legal documents like wills to benefit the intruders. Have any of your clients experienced that? And do you have any suggestions for preventing it?”
Howe nodded. “It’s not happened to any of my clients, but I suspect that it’s only a matter of time. You’re right to be concerned. My practice would be to compare my copy of the document to one bought to me by the person named as a beneficiary. If they match, there are no issues. If they don’t… well, then we’d have to go through a process to prove which version is correct.”
Hope nodded, and then, as if in a burst of inspiration, asked a question. “Why not make a third copy?”
Howe considered that. “A third copy?”
Will finally snapped out of his trance, looked at Hope, and grinned. “Love it!” He motioned for her to continue.
“You complete the documents,” Hope explained. “You keep a copy. We keep a copy. And we hide a third copy in a separate location, one that no one else knows about. That copy is the true master copy, the one that’s the true record. It wouldn’t, and couldn’t, be altered. If issues are found with the other copies, we’d know, because the copies the two of us hold won’t match the third.”
Preserving Will Page 19