Dead Wrong (39 page)

Revenge.
It was the motive for all they had done. No price for this vengeance was too high. The look on their faces told him that.

“And Mary Lou? The reason she left in a huff was because you finally told her everything?”

“We will,” Maureen said sadly. “There’s a limit to what she can handle at one time.”

“You mean she doesn’t yet know she isn’t your real daughter!?”

“She will … soon. Right now she’s angry because she was used as a guinea pig.”

“Another one of Ted’s ideas,” Brenda explained. “The one we were provoking him to come up with.” She was standing behind the couch now. “From his father’s rogues’ gallery, Ted came up with a smooth operator, a doctor whose license had been lifted. He was to take Lou to dinner, get her drunk, and get a sample of blood to check against Charlie’s for a DNA test.

“She woke up with a hangover and a bruise on her arm. When the story hit the papers and the airwaves, she came over to see what was going on. We explained what that much was about. It was a real shock for her. That’s why she’s so angry.” Brenda shook her head. “After she calms down a bit, we’ll explain the rest—everything—to her.

“She’ll be furious, of course,” Brenda added. “But we’re counting on the money she’ll be getting to help heal a bunch of wounds.”

Koesler’s brow knitted. “Money … what money? What money will she be getting?”

Brenda and Maureen exchanged glances.

“Wait a minute …” The light was dawning for Koesler. “That’s what this business is all about this morning,” he said slowly. “The DNA test has indicated that Charlie is definitely not Mary Lou’s father.”

Maureen nodded. “But all of them ‘know’ that Mary Lou is my ‘daughter.’”

“So,” Koesler said, more sure of himself now, “they’re convinced that they’re home free. And they’ve issued the public announcement that they’re going to have the test made because they think they already know what the test will prove.”

“That’s it,” Brenda said. “What they don’t know but will soon find out is that Charles and Maureen did have a daughter, but her name is not Mary Lou.”

“And then?”

“And then,” Brenda responded, “we will demand half of Nash Enterprises. And then,” she concluded, “Ted will lose a love partner and gain a sister—and a business partner.”

“Wow!” The fervent exclamation was all Koesler could muster.

“But,” he said finally, “isn’t there a different way to go about this?”

“What?” Maureen asked bluntly.

“A less conspicuous way,” Koesler said. “What I mean is … if the Nashes were convinced of the validity of your claim, maybe this could be settled—what’s the term?—out of court?”

“No,” Maureen said.

“Wait, Mother,” Brenda interrupted. “I can see some big advantages if we do it—or at least try to do it—Uncle Bob’s way. All the negative publicity would do the company no good. And I have some definite plans for a new environmentally conscious Nash Enterprises.”

“He’d never believe either of us,” Maureen said.

“What if I try?” Koesler asked.

“You’d do that?” Brenda said wonderingly.

“I’ve talked to Charlie Nash before. No reason I couldn’t do it again.”

After some brief thought, Maureen spoke. “All right. It couldn’t hurt. And I have to agree, your way is better. But the agreement will have to be …” She chuckled. “I almost said, ‘in blood.’ It’ll have to be in writing, witnessed by an infinite number of lawyers.”

“You don’t trust
Dad”
Brenda smiled.

“Don’t use that word again,” Maureen said.

Koesler stood. “Before I go …” He looked intently at one, then the other. “It’s over. ‘The comedy is over.’ The opera is ended. Do you think now you can finally bury the hatchet? Your plan seems to have worked perfectly. And some good may come of this. Will you return to the Sacraments now?”

Neither woman spoke for several moments.

Then, after a deep sigh, Maureen spoke. “It’s too early. It’s way too early. There’s lots left to heal. I don’t know. I just don’t know.” Another pause. “That’s all I can say.”

Koesler’s gaze moved again to Brenda. Again she met his eyes unflinchingly. She said nothing, merely shrugged.

“I’ll pray for you,” Koesler said. “I really will.”

C H A P T E R

31

F
ATHER
K
OESLER
was more than mildly surprised at how easily he was granted an audience with Charles Nash. And yes, midmorning, this very time, would be fine.

Of course Koesler did not need to be a psychic to know why the tycoon was feeling magnanimous. He had played a hand that didn’t stand a chance of winning, and he had won. What could Koesler do to him? What could any of his enemies do? He was on a roll. He sensed it.

However, Nash had not advanced to an “open door” policy. The security was as uncompromising as ever. The doorman checked for Koesler’s name among the admittables, then the priest was announced. Once out of the elevator, he was immediately admitted to the huge white room.

This time, Charlie Nash was not hidden in some other room; he was right out in the open. His wheelchair was positioned opposite a straight-back chair. Nash motioned Koesler to the vacant chair. He seated himself as the white-clad young manservant, taking Koesler’s topcoat and hat, disappeared into the adjoining room.

Koesler studied Nash for a few moments. The old man’s mouth resembled a slit in a craggy rock, but, yes, Charlie was smiling. “Heard the news, have you?”

“Yes”—Koesler nodded—“from several sources.”

“You probably think I’ve lost my marbles. Come to see if I should be committed?”

Koesler smiled tightly. “No, I don’t think you’ve lost your marbles. I think they’re scrambled around more than you think, though.”

Nash inclined his head and looked more intently at Koesler. He was unsure what to make of the priest’s reply. He decided to put it on the back burner and forge on. “Stole a little thunder from the Monahan woman, didn’t I? Sort of nipped her move in the bud. Imagine …” There was that look again; it must have been a smile. “… spending most of your adult life planning a coup—almost living and breathing for revenge, and then having it all fall apart on you. All these years she’s been expecting to dump Mary Lou on me as my daughter! Hell, I can be frank with you. You’re not going to tell anyone and it doesn’t matter anymore anyway. But I gotta tell you: I believed it. What a load off my mind. But”—he looked at Koesler intently—“you don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Oh, but I do. I’ve just come from Maureen’s home.”

“They know?”

“Mary Lou told Maureen about her very brief ‘romance.’ And about the bruise around the puncture mark on her arm. That, along with your announcement that you were prepared to be tested for a DNA match, pretty much brings them up to date.”

Nash’s laugh was a cackle. “Generous of me, eh? Like betting on a one-horse race. Between you and me, I gotta give a lot of the credit to Teddy. He’s the one who thought of rigging the game. Him and that Brenda of his.” He shook his head. “And to think I was after you to break them up. Imagine that! Brenda’s maybe the best thing that ever happened to the kid.”

“Well, as William S. Gilbert once wrote, ‘Things are seldom what they seem.’”

“What’s that mean?”

Koesler hesitated. Charlie Nash was in such high spirits, it seemed a shame to bring him down. But, sooner or later, it had to be done. And with the news media snapping at their heels due to Nash’s announcement, the time to do it was now. Definitely now.

Painstakingly, Koesler recounted the story of Maureen Monahan, the Monahan sisters, Mary Lou and Brenda.

It was interesting watching the emotions just below the surface of Nash’s facade. First there was mild amusement, then doubt, then denial, then anger. Then rage exploded. “You expect me to believe this cockamamy pile of bullshit!”

“You? You above all others! I expect you to believe every word.”

“Never! It’s impossible! Why, for God’s sake, man, you want me to believe that Brenda was in on this from the beginning? That she conspired against my son? Hell, before she proved herself, I would’ve agreed. But not now! My God! She even had herself fixed for Teddy!”

“It wasn’t for Teddy. It wasn’t only adultery. It was incest! Teddy is her half brother. Brenda wasn’t going to have any children born of an incestuous relationship.”

Nash began to gabble; a light froth appeared at the corners of his mouth. Koesler was concerned anew for him.

“Well … well …” Nash sputtered, “what about the fact that I challenged Maureen publicly and agreed to a DNA test? You’re trying to tell me that I’ve made this disaster for myself. Do you expect me to believe that she was clever enough to foresee that I’d have the wrong girl tested and then put my head on the block with the media?”

“The reason we have a problem with this is that we’re men.”

“What?!”

“If you or I had been planning this, we would’ve had to back up and start over any number of times.”

“What?”

“But women are able to bounce off obstacles and go right on.”

“What?” The old man’s face was screwed up, his eyes squinted, in an attempt to comprehend.

“Maureen assured me—and I believe her completely—that she had only one plan regarding you: the ultimate possible revenge. If the child had been a boy, the plan would have been different, but it would have gone forward. Now, she was determined to keep after you until you made an error. Then she would pounce.

“So you secretly test Mary Lou’s DNA against yours—and then you announce that you’re willing to take a DNA test with Maureen’s child and make the results public. Now you’ve done it: You’ve made—what she considers—your inevitable blunder. And she’s ready to pounce.”

Nash’s lips worked soundlessly. Then the words burst forth as the spittle flew. “I can’t believe it! I don’t believe it! I won’t believe it!”

“You don’t want to believe it. But you do believe it,” Koesler said calmly. “Let me give you the final argument. You know Maureen about as well as anyone. Now, just a few minutes ago, you said you had believed that you were the father of Maureen’s child. And you believed—I believed—everybody believed—Mary Lou was that child.

“You knew Maureen well enough to know she loved you and there was no way in the world that she would have been unfaithful to you. You granted that her child was yours. There really wasn’t any doubt at all: Her child is your child. In your heart you know that to be true. All you’ve discovered through that test is that Mary Lou is not your child. And you know what that means. If you now submit to the test you’ve told everyone you’re willing to take, you will not test with Mary Lou. You’ll test with Brenda. And you know … in your inner heart you
know
what that result will be.”

Koesler had never seen anything to equal the sudden transformation that came over the old man.

Nash fairly sprang from his chair. It was as if he were a young man. Even the creases in his face seemed to smooth away for an instant. He raised both arms to heaven, his hands clenched. As Koesler, in dismay, started to rise, Nash cried out in an unexpected loud and firm voice, “I am consumed! Good God, it’s the end!”

He pitched forward, almost knocking Koesler to the floor as he fell.

The priest was completely unnerved. He had witnessed heart attacks, he had seen death. But never anything like this.

He grabbed the empty wheelchair and pressed every button he could find. Lots of things happened. The room experienced a drastic change in configuration—walls ground slowly to new positions, forming where none had been before; a gigantic TV screen swung slowly down from the ceiling; and, most distressing of all, the empty wheelchair started to roll on its own. Koesler, in near terror, looked about. The door at the end of the room burst open and the manservant dashed in, expertly dodging the moving obstacles. He hurried to the wheelchair, first pressing the button that halted the chair’s motion, then pressing the others so that the walls and TV returned to their former positions.

“Call 911, quick!
Quick!”
Koesler said.

“No, no! Mister Nash has own crew. I call!” He hurried to a phone on the stand near the hospital bed.

Koesler could not hear what was being said, but, satisfied that aid was being summoned, he immediately became engrossed in trying to help in the only way a priest could in this situation.

He knelt next to Nash, who lay face down in a crumpled heap. Koesler turned him over as gently as he could. Nash’s eyes were open wide but seemed to see nothing. His mouth was grotesquely contorted as if struggling for every precious breath.

Koesler grasped the dying man’s hand and bent his head close to Nash’s ear. “Charles,” Koesler shouted, “you’re dying. In a few moments you’ll be judged by a loving God! Give Him your love now. If you’re sorry for all the sins of your life, squeeze my hand!”

In response there was something … a pressure. A conscious act …? A dying twitch? There was no way to tell.

As far as Koesler was concerned, it was enough. He shouted in Nash’s ear, “The Lord, Jesus, absolves you. And I, by His authority, absolve you from every bond of excommunication or interdict inasmuch as I am able and you need such forgiveness. Therefore, I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. May the suffering of our Lord Jesus Christ, the merits of the Blessed Virgin Mary and all the saints, whatever good you have done or evil you have suffered, be, for you, a remission of sins, an increase of grace, and the reward of eternal life. Amen.”