The Heir

by Paul Robertson

  “It does matter whether he was killed. That would mean there was a murderer somewhere.”

  “Yes . . . Are you suggesting we actually cooperate with the police?”

  “I don’t know.” There were thoughts under the static. “They’re going to need a suspect. What if there isn’t one, or there is one but they can’t find him?”

  “Or if he, or she, isn’t appropriate for their purposes. Exactly. And you would be an obvious choice. This is a substantial attack, and I have no doubt it will be used for political purposes.”

  I was sorting out my anger. There was the anger at Melvin for leaving me his money, without telling me first. Then there was the anger at him for leaving me his Special Framework. Now I had a third layer of anger at him for getting murdered, or at least appearing to, which was ammunition in the hands of a belligerent governor.

  But there was anger beyond that, and it was pointed at that governor, and I did not feel like giving in to his attack. Maybe I was still planning to get rid of Melvin’s money, but at the moment I started having other plans.

  “What should we do?” I asked.

  Fred was grim, but he’d calmed down. “For the moment, wait. He is just setting out a negotiating position. Next, he’ll let us know what he wants.”

  “This doesn’t look like negotiations.”

  “Oh, it is. That’s all it is. This is how the world operates, Jason.”

  “But Bright, or Grainger, or whoever this is, could get anyone they want convicted. Would they do that?”

  “If the stakes are high enough.” And Fred smiled. Maybe he liked high stakes. “Eric. Angela. Katie. And, of course, especially you.”

  I don’t like high stakes, and I was using a lot of energy keeping my lid on. “You’re the last person who saw him alive, Fred.”

  7

  Traffic was thin, and twenty minutes was just enough time to be home by eight. I thought for a moment about indulging my fury, but there were too many other things to think through.

  Had he really been murdered? Sure. Why not? It was way more likely than an accident. So who did it?

  Maybe somebody he’d crushed, or was currently crushing, or about to crush. I had a better idea after the last few days of all the crushees, but that was for the police. There were other names rattling about.

  Brake tampering meant someone who worked on cars. Benefiting from his death meant someone who needed money. Two plus two equals . . .

  I got out my cell phone and dialed.

  “Pamela, I have another job for you.”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Get a credit report on Eric. He has no idea how much he’s been spending for the last few years, and I’d like to make sure he’s not in too much trouble on his credit cards.”

  “I’ll e-mail it to you tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  Or maybe Fred had been thinking I would be easier to control than Melvin had been. Maybe he and Clinton Grainger got together for lunch every week and commiserated about puppets who didn’t do as they were told.

  Or was Angela the kitten really a tiger? Who knew what went on in that relationship.

  This was not going to be pretty. I’d already convicted three people who I should have been trusting.

  Katie was a lot better off with Melvin dead than with him alive. I missed my exit over that one.

  But neither Katie nor Eric knew the will had been changed.

  Maybe it was the governor going for a double dip, getting rid of Melvin with the option of pinning it on the old man’s heir. That was better, if not very real.

  What else? The most obvious motive of all. He died the night he changed his will. Were the brakes meant to fail on the way to Fred’s house? If it had been two hours earlier, Bishop Kern would have been pope.

  “Katie.”

  “Where are you, Jason?”

  “I’m on the way. Is Nathan there?”

  “I think he’s just pulling up.”

  “I’ll be about ten minutes.”

  Money gave lots of people a reason to kill Melvin. Now the money was mine. What am I doing here? Why am I here? Is this what money and power are all about? I was actually just sitting at the curb down the block, but I needed a little more time. Nathan Kern might know about why Melvin changed the will. I’d cool off and give Katie time to soften him up.

  Katie had been shopping.

  The table was set with elegant heirloom china and silver and crystal that had been in the family for generations—just not our family; I’d never seen the stuff before. Rosita was setting out a floral centerpiece, and she had a new uniform on, very professional, with her head held high.

  I found the merchants’ darling in the parlor entertaining our guest. She had spent on herself no less than on anything else, but still exquisitely. The dress was dark green, the scarf was the life work of a thousand silkworms educated in every nuance of impressionism, and the emerald pin holding it on her shoulder made an even greater impression. She hadn’t taken risks with her hair, which was still long and loose, as I liked it.

  That’s why I’d given her the check, to celebrate. She hadn’t spent it all in one place, but she might well have spent it all.

  Nathan was her equal in conspicuous taste. Medium gray Italian suit, with the diamond cuff links option, silk handkerchief the same vibrant yellow as his tie, distinguished graying hair, and what he could teach that detective about mustaches would fill a book.

  And I? I could hold my own with these perfect people. No doubt. I hoped the last two hours didn’t show in my striking features or jaunty demeanor, and the suit that draped my muscular frame cost at least as much as Nathan’s. I promised myself a nice, refreshing temper tantrum sometime very soon, and smiled.

  No more Mr. Kern. I was the man now. “Nathan, thank you for coming.”

  “It’s so good to see you again, Jason,” said Suspect Number One, and I shook his hand.

  “It seems like forever since last Wednesday,” I said.

  “Yes, I understand you’ve had a busy few days.” The pleasantries persisted for a few moments, and then Katie ushered us into the dining room.

  Through the excellent meal we let him talk. He knew how to both speak and listen, but we encouraged him to speak, and he was very interesting. Tomorrow he would leave for a week in some African basket case to review the water and education and health projects that the foundation had funded. I pictured him wafting through villages of grass huts. Would he wear his gray suit? Brown might work better. Or he might try to fit in with the locals with khakis and a pith helmet.

  In front of us was enough silverware for a Third World village to eat with proper manners for a week. Perhaps we should use plastic once a month to show solidarity with the Third World. I would discuss that with Katie.

  Then the conversation turned to the more local projects the foundation funded. The African stuff was new; these were what the foundation had originally been created for. There were After-School Programs and Reading Programs and Food Pantries and Free Clinics, to the point that there were real advantages to being disadvantaged. Grants to be programmed, programs to be granted; projects to be funded, funds to be projected; boards to meet . . . I was getting bored.

  My imagination wandered in other directions. Nathan vs. Felicity, super-heavyweight board meeting smackdown. Felicity might have the Vegas odds, but the smart money would be on Nathan.

  Then we returned to the parlor, and Nathan asked permission and lit one of his little cigarettes, and we bandied over our brandy. The foundation was more than a word to me now, which was the official purpose of the evening. I did appreciate it. There was no question about continuing its funding. I had even gained some respect for its director.

  And I was done with that conversation. Now it was time for the real business. Katie had left us and I made my move.

  “Nathan, it’s very interesting to learn more about the foundation. Tell me about how Melvin was involved. Was he active in it? Did he make deci
sions?”

  He smiled sadly. “He attended board meetings. He suggested board members. He suggested quite a few things, but he never demanded them. And he could have. He had the right to remove any member he wished. That was how the foundation was set up.”

  The parlor was our nicest room, where Katie had smeared the largest slice of the decorating budget. It’s hard, sometimes, to find a comfortable chair that’s also expensive. “Did he have any differences with the board?”

  “Oh, a few, but none major. Obviously, the membership was made of individuals he respected and who had a similar vision for the foundation. He had a hands-off attitude.”

  “Did you get along with him?”

  He laughed, and it was pleasant. “Oh yes. By his choice we did.”

  Somehow the contrast of the dark patterns of the carpet, the walnut end tables, and the ebony fireplace against the pale green wallpaper imposed an atmosphere of calm. Katie and I usually tried to have our arguments in this room.

  “By his choice?”

  Nathan Kern put a graceful finger to his aquiline nose, propelled smoke past it, and considered. “Should I be frank? He can’t defend himself here, can he? But you are his son, and certainly you knew him. Please understand me as I say this, that I dislike speaking anything besides good of a man who is not present.”

  He meant it, too. “I knew him well enough,” I said. “And I’ve learned a lot more in the last few days.”

  “I’m certain you have. Your father had many sides to his affairs, and I only dealt with the altruistic ones. By common agreement, we did not discuss any others. He knew I was aware of them.

  “And I suppose that was why I was working with him, so some good would come of his wealth. A few pluses on the ledger to balance the minuses. That was why he had created the foundation. And I don’t mean that the foundation was his only positive effort, of course.”

  I nodded. “I understand. As I’ve said, I’m only beginning to discover all his efforts.”

  He blew smoke thoughtfully into the atmosphere. It clashed slightly with the room’s colors. “Had your father spoken to you about the changes he made to the will?”

  How helpful to bring that up. “No. It was quite a shock.”

  “I’m sure he meant to discuss it, probably very soon.”

  “He was driving home from Fred Spellman’s house when he had the accident. He had signed the new will only an hour before he died.”

  I was watching very closely. Nathan’s eyes showed his surprise.

  “That very night?”

  “Yes. It was a close thing, apparently, between whether you or I ended up here in the hot seat.”

  Nathan was still and silent, staring into the air. Despite his best efforts, it was still transparent. Finally he focused back onto me.

  “Remarkable.”

  Well, yes. No doubt about that.

  “I had no idea,” he added. “I can see how great a shock this has been. You really had no idea you would be the principal heir?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “I didn’t know until Fred told me last Thursday morning, after the funeral. When did you find out the foundation wasn’t the heir?”

  “When?” He was still bemused. “Well, officially when I met with Fred last Friday afternoon. But I knew, of course. Your father and I had discussed the reasons in detail.”

  It was a good thing I had just swallowed a mouthful of brandy, or I would have choked on it. I set the glass on the table beside me, trying to act calm, trying to be calm.

  “So . . . do you know why he changed his will, Nathan?”

  I was feeling something like panic. Since leaving Fred’s office, all I’d been thinking about was brake lines and motives. Now I was back to how much I really wanted to know this, how it was so important.

  “Yes, I do. As I said, we discussed it at length.” His words came forth with the majesty and calmness of deep wisdom. Or maybe it was cigarette smoke. “I asked him to.”

  “This is your fault?” It was pure reaction.

  “Well, now, not precisely,” he said sympathetically and a little defensively. “I only requested that the foundation not be the principal recipient. I would hardly have been so bold as to suggest who should be.”

  “There weren’t many other choices.” So I was in the line of fire because he had ducked. “Why not the foundation? It was what he had always planned.” I wasn’t used to controlling my anger. I had it under control, but the boiler was going to explode soon.

  And I knew the answer. It was obvious. Nathan was no Melvin Boyer. He might manipulate and bully if he had to, but he was a decent man. I might have done poorly with Clinton Grainger, but Nathan would have been laughable. So I laughed. Nathan smiled with me, uncertainly.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Too much pressure, I guess.”

  “Of course.” He waited, maybe to make sure I wasn’t going to have hysterics. “To answer your question . . .”

  “No, I understand now. It would be impossible for the foundation to manage this empire. It takes someone like Melvin.” Someone nasty, mean, hard, and efficient. Fred thought I’d done a reasonable job my first couple days. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered: Why had Melvin ever even considered having the Foundation manage his estate?

  “I don’t know that you understand,” Nathan said.

  But I did. The layers were peeling away like an onion under Rosita’s knife. If Melvin wanted his empire to survive, Nathan was not the man. I was. I was the man. The Boyer blood was in my veins, as much as I hated it. The doom hadn’t fallen that night when he had signed the will and died in a ditch. It had fallen on me the day I was born.

  Nathan Kern was still talking. “It isn’t a matter of who is most appropriate to manage the Boyer businesses, and their influence.”

  Yes it was. That was the matter, the crucial matter.

  “It is more a matter of whether anyone should.” He leaned back and blew more smoke, and I breathed it in. “Fred Spellman has been tutoring you in the use of power, which he understands as few others. But I don’t mean that I, and the foundation, was the wrong one to wield this power. My opinion is that no one should.”

  What was he saying?

  “Someone has to,” I said. I was disoriented. Wasn’t that Fred’s line?

  He shook his head and continued to blow smoke and sanctimony all over Katie’s furniture. We’d have to have the room fumigated. “I think not. Hypothetically, what would happen if you just gave it up?”

  That was my line. Just last week, that’s what I’d told everyone I was going to do. I agreed with him, right?

  “I disagree, Nathan. That’s not practical.”

  “Is practicality important?”

  This was suddenly very strange. “Yes. At this level it is. And it isn’t practicality. It’s necessity. It’s too important to treat like a game.”

  “What is important? Why is it important? Perhaps those are the questions to answer first.” He meant them literally, not rhetorically. He thought he knew the answers.

  “Right now,” I said, “it’s important to me to figure out what I’m doing. I’ll get to the why later.”

  He backed off, properly. “I’m not in your shoes.” They wouldn’t go with his suit, for one thing. He sighed, wearily. “And this last week has been very difficult for you. This isn’t the time to philosophize. But I wish you would consider that there is an alternative to where you are right now.” He smiled. “I have an early flight tomorrow. Perhaps we should continue this discussion some other time.”

  What? Was the lackey dismissing the billionaire? He would stay and discuss this until I was finished.

  I was finished.

  “Then have a good trip, Nathan.”

  It was time to explode now. Kern was safely away in his Volvo, and with massive self-control, I closed the front door and turned calmly to Katie.

  “I’ve got a couple things to do in my office.”

  “We need to talk about the hou
se.”

  Melvin was murdered. Or maybe not. All I knew was that Governor Bright had thrown a rock right through my front window, and I had to figure out how to put it back through his teeth. And if there was a real murderer, that was a problem, too, because it was probably somebody I knew. I was surrounded by people who were a lot better off with Melvin dead.

  “Don’t you think we need something bigger?” she asked.

  And now that I was just barely settling down into being king, Nathan Kern had to poke his cigarette holder into the gears and jam them up. I was holding on by my fingernails. It was hard enough trying to kill all those questions I was asking myself without him blowing them at me. The foundation could maybe use a new director, somebody who knew when to shut up.

  “I know it’s only been a few days,” Katie said. Angela would know when to shut up. On his second marriage, maybe Melvin had learned from experience.

  “We’ll talk about it soon,” I said. “I’d rather not right now.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “No, I am not, and this is not a good time to talk. About anything. I’ll be in my office.”

  I turned away from her and forced my feet to move, one at a time, toward my office door. I opened and closed it with only necessary force, and sat in my chair. I took a deep breath and stared straight ahead.

  Straight ahead was my computer screen, and the first thing I saw was a six-digit number. Then I saw that it was an e-mail from Pamela. Then I saw it was Eric’s credit card balances. And then I didn’t see anything for a few moments.

  “Jason?”

  Katie was standing in the doorway, staring at me, and at the shattered monitor in pieces on the floor, and at the splintered paneling where it had slammed against the wall. I stared back at her.

  She saw that I was unharmed, and the alarm in her eyes faded. “I think we should talk.”

  I was standing. I wilted into my desk chair, and she sat on the couch.

  “I can’t do this,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “Being the king is too hard.”