The Heir (11 page)

“I’m getting them from his office this afternoon.”

“Good. You should get them into a more secure place, as well.”

“I’m planning to.”

We said our good-byes, and I noticed the time. It had been exactly one week ago that Fred had read us Melvin’s will, and the world had turned upside down.

I took Stan Morton to lunch. Not too direct, not too elusive.

“I’ve got an issue with Governor Bright.”

We were high above the ground, in a very expensive French restaurant, at a table in the corner of two long windowed walls. Stan leaned forward, the better to hear my newsworthy words.

“Oh, do you?”

“I’m not sure the dealings between him and my companies have always been completely legitimate.”

Stan blinked, once, then swallowed. “Of course they haven’t been.” I was really getting to like him.

“I wouldn’t have known. I was never involved.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me you’re surprised?”

“Shocked. It’s amazing how innocent I’ve been.”

“I see.” He leaned back. “So what’s your issue with the governor?”

“What I just said, that I’m worried about what might happen to my businesses if anything became public. And I’d be especially worried for him. It might hurt me, but it could really hurt him.”

“Is he worried?”

“I don’t know. I think you should have someone ask him. Or it would be even better to ask Clinton Grainger. Maybe this afternoon, if you could manage it. I could write out the questions for you.”

“My reporters know how to ask their own questions.”

“Sure. It could be something like, ‘Are you worried that Jason Boyer might go public with details of Melvin Boyer’s deals with Governor Bright? The governor would have much more to lose than the Boyers.”’

“I understand. So what’s your real issue with the governor?”

“No comment.”

He smiled. “If you’re trying to send a message, we’ve got a classified section.”

“I’m not sure the governor reads the classifieds. I could call him, but politicians always pay extra attention to reporters.”

“Yeah, I get it. I should charge you for a full page ad.”

“No problem. What does that cost?”

“In this case . . .” He paused. “I’ll put it on your account and bill you later.”

“Then I want account credit for all the extra newspapers you sell,” I said.

I was again shown into Angela’s parlor. Without Katie, the greeting was much more formal, but I was as respectful as I could be.

“I need to go through Melvin’s office,” I said.

She nodded. “I understand. Will you take anything?”

“Yes. All his papers.”

“I suppose they really are yours,” she said. We were back to the way we’d always been—uncomfortable and softly hostile.

“I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“It’s no matter.”

I could see her getting colder by the moment.

“Is the man you mentioned, Emmanuel, still here?”

“No. He hasn’t been back since the accident.”

I was in the office for two hours, packing and searching. Melvin had never chosen to own a computer, so I didn’t have to deal with that. I wasn’t reading everything, just organizing it in my boxes, but I could already tell the future was dim for Harry Bright.

I took only the state government file; I left the files on the foundation. That would be another day’s job. And I was getting the creeps, too. The room was so much his, I felt like he’d walk in. Then I’d sure be in trouble. But after the last few days, I was mad enough to stand up to him.

I carried the boxes out to my car and looked in to Angela’s parlor to say good-bye, but she was not there. I didn’t look for her. It was only as I was accelerating down the driveway that I saw a brief flash of pink and platinum in a second-floor window.

I stopped at my bank and got a big safe-deposit box.

Katie’s mother joined us for the evening. Francine had helped look at houses. She was in her usual crusty mood, torn between the pleasure of her daughter’s good fortune and the pain of that fortune being through me. Behind every successful man stands a supportive wife and a very suspicious mother-in-law.

“Did you enjoy your afternoon?” I said to her. I wanted to see what she’d have to complain about.

She glared at me over her glasses. “Those big houses are so exhausting to look through.”

It’s almost a game. “I’ll tell Katie to look at smaller places.”

“If the big ones are too expensive, just say so, Jason.”

“That’s not what he meant, Mother,” Katie said.

“She has a point, dear,” I said. “You should let her pick some houses to look at, ones she thinks I deserve.” I smiled sweetly at the dear little lady. “Maybe some one-room shacks.”

She smirked back at me. “When I see what you move into, I’ll know the truth about this so-called billion dollars. Have you seen an actual bank statement, Katie?”

“You two deserve each other,” Katie said. It might be true. Sometimes I’m not sure but that I actually like Francine.

But our banter was cut short. Eric, scrubbed and shiny, was being presented.

Whatever-random-item-was-on-the-first-rack-at-Macy’s Eric was gone. But instead of the feared Jason-Boyer-clone casual, tailored, and wealthy look, Katie had started from scratch and invented a whole new Eric—Eric the Untamed and Adorable.

“We started with play clothes today,” Katie said. “We’re just experimenting.”

He changed twice in order to show the whole line, he was enjoying himself so much. Denim, leather, burnt oranges and dark blues—Katie was a master and he was a blank canvas.

Katie had not neglected herself. In the spirit of the morning, she’d snagged herself a leather jacket. It would be for those moments when she wanted to walk on the wild side, like maybe if we went to a restaurant where we had to park our own car and walk all the way from the lot.

And the little tykes had even remembered Daddy. I received a new windbreaker, which I liked, to keep on the boat, and I wondered how such a nautical preppy item could have been found within twenty miles of the establishments they had been patronizing.

And that had been only half of the exciting day!

Katie and Francine had viewed five houses and considered two as barely possible. Much more touring was planned.

Could they show me anything? I asked.

Of course! There were glossy photographs of stately estates and massive manors. I timed myself to look through them for at least three minutes and forty-five seconds.

“Harriet said it’s a wonderful time to be looking. There’s quite a bit on the market.”

So Katie would have plenty to do. I thanked her for her hard work and encouraged her to keep it up. She needed very little encouraging.

“And you can keep going with her,” I said to Francine, “if you’ll be civil. You could use the exercise.”

“I’m always civil, to her,” Francine said.

“Is she?” I asked Katie.

“Of course. You might try it yourself.”

But we were really all happy. Katie was buying a new house, Francine was having some excitement, Eric was feeling loved, and I had something of my own to look forward to.

“I’m going out of town this weekend,” I said. “Down to Washington, on business. Just by myself.”

11

I hadn’t heard from Fred by Friday morning. If Stan’s lackey had not yet penetrated to Clinton Grainger, he surely would before the sun set.

I kissed Katie as she rushed out the door, made three business-related calls, and packed and carried my suitcase out to my car.

But the drive to the airport was interrupted. I pulled off the road as my phone rang, as it would be a distracting call.

“Come into town at once,” Fred ordered. Stan’s lackey had been successful. If only I could get my own lackey to be as subservient.

“I’m on my way out of town.”

“Grainger is sitting in front of me.” In my chair, probably. Now what to do? This was more of a reaction than we’d expected.

Fred had said it himself—don’t talk with the man unless I was ready to deal. Well, I might as well talk to him.

“Okay, Fred. It’ll take me a half hour. Keep him happy.”

“Neither of us is happy.”

That Fred, such a clown. As I turned the car and headed back, I thought about the jovial Uncle Fred of my youth. One week had erased that fraud quite thoroughly. I called the charter office at the airport and told them I’d be late.

Thirty-seven minutes later I stepped out of the elevator onto the thirtieth floor. Fred’s office door was at the end of the hall. I decided they hadn’t waited long enough.

If I hadn’t been in a hurry to get on with my trip, I would have waited longer than five minutes. But finally their impatience was rewarded and I made my entrance into their gloomy den.

No pleasantries were exchanged.

“Mr. Grainger has been asking me about a newspaper reporter,” Fred announced, pretending ignorance. Grainger just turned to stare at me.

I sat on the sofa. “What’s your question?” I asked the watery eyes.

“Are you threatening the governor?” they asked back.

“It seemed the governor was threatening me.”

Pause. Hard thinking. “This is dangerous,” Grainger answered.

“I didn’t start it.”

“Your father did.”

“Not this round.”

Pause again. More hard thinking, this time with wrinkled brow. “Are you serious?”

It was time for sentences with more than five words. “It’s been two weeks since Melvin died. I’ve only been on this job for five days. I think the governor needs to back off until I’ve had time to make some rational plans. Otherwise I’ll do something irrational. A friend told me I was a bull in a china shop, and I’d consider the governor a big Ming vase right in the middle of the aisle.”

“I can’t call off a murder investigation,” Grainger said.

Good, we were communicating. “Do you have any real evidence that Melvin was murdered? Or have you fabricated it all?”

“Do you have any evidence that the governor is corrupt?”

“Boxes of it.”

Spit it out, Clinton. Was the old man really murdered?

“I believe the evidence was not conclusive,” he said.

“Give me a straight answer.”

“I don’t know.” A little frustration, perhaps? “A routine investigation had already been started. Detective Wilcox was directed to make sure something was found. I don’t know whether the evidence was fabricated or not.”

“Then un-fabricate it.”

“I can’t interfere with the state police.”

“Then I’ll give my boxes to the FBI, and I know you can’t interfere with them.”

“I’ll discuss this with the governor.”

I’d been in the room less than four minutes before he left. I like efficient people.

Fred glared at the door as it closed behind his guest. Then he glared at me. But not as angrily.

“You told me you wouldn’t negotiate.”

“I’m not. I’m dictating.”

“It seems to come to you quite naturally.”

“It’s in my blood.”

He shrugged. “The risk of real conflict is now very high, and it is your fault. You handled the conversation reasonably well, though.”

“Thank you, I guess.”

He nodded. “Yes. You are hotheaded and impatient, but I can see the same instincts your father had.”

“I take back the thank-you.”

He only smiled. “You are leaving town?”

“I’ll call you Sunday night, when I get back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Washington. I’m taking a vacation.”

Fred was suspicious. “What is in Washington?”

“There are museums.”

He didn’t buy it. “Why are you going to Washington?” He was asking a lot of questions.

“Melvin lived there twelve years. I want to see the townhouse. It was a second home when I was in college.”

He was still not satisfied. “I don’t believe you are going for sentimental reasons.”

“I don’t care what you believe.”

“Are you meeting with anyone?”

I was choosing to not be annoyed by the interrogation. “I’m not planning to. I just want to get away. I haven’t had time to think this week.”

Fred’s gears were cranking. “Meet with Forrester.”

Yuck. “Senator Forrester? I don’t want to.”

“You need to. It’s time.” He picked up his phone. “Get me Bob Forrester.”

I chose to be annoyed. “Wait a minute.”

“He can help you against the governor.”

A powwow with Senator Forrester was not something I’d really been anxious to schedule. All us rich and powerful types, even marginal ones such as I had once used to be, had passed beneath the shadow of his loftiness. Not that most of us would ever be accepted socially.

“If I want help, I’ll ask.”

“Governor Bright may ask him first.”

My growing impression was that Bright headed the sleaze faction of state politics and Forrester headed the snob faction. “Would they work together?”

“They never have. Your father prevented it.”

Melvin had been able to move back and forth between the two factions so easily.

The phone buzzed. “Yes?” Fred said to it. Then, “I’ll hold.”

“I have a question,” I said. “I met Big Bob at Melvin’s townhouse in Washington about ten years ago. He wouldn’t shake my hand. He obviously despised me, and Melvin, and everything to do with us. Was it personal or was it just general contempt?”

“Both.” Fred chortled a bit. “He doesn’t care much for anyone beneath him, which would be everyone. Newly rich upstart industrialists are especially painful to him.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good personality trait for a political career.”

“Yes, most patricians don’t dirty their hands with politics.”

I could see the vague outline of something. “So Bob Forrester is ambitious?”

“Extremely. There is a driving force in certain people.” Fred was philosophizing. It was soothing to him, after the seismic tremors I was causing to his world, to contemplate the unalterable nature of humans. “And anyone who is driven can be manipulated.”

Yes, the outline was becoming clearer. It was Melvin’s hand. “So there was a deal.”

Fred smiled. His pupil was learning quickly. “Of course there was.”

“Melvin sold him the Senate seat. What was the price?”