The Heir (6 page)

The balance sheets dealt with some real big numbers, and they weren’t in the debit column. The cash flows looked like Niagara Falls. These were companies that did not keep their market share by cutting costs and competing on price. These were companies that didn’t bother with competing at all. But of course, these businesses did not operate in a normal framework. It would be very important to keep a close working relationship with the governor.

George handed me the next sheets. “You may be familiar with the personal real estate you own.”

There was the big house and the townhouse in Washington. He hadn’t used the other houses much, except as knickknack shelves to set Angela in when he wanted to pretend they were vacationing. She’d jet off for a few weeks, and he’d drop in for a couple weekends.

“And here are a few other assets.”

The cars, the library, the art.

“I own a Matisse?”

George laughed. “Not a significant one. I believe it’s in the Washington townhouse. Most of the art is impressionist and later, but nothing very modern. There are three that are very valuable—a Monet, a Cezanne, and a Picasso. They’re in the main house.”

I probably had seen them. “I never thought of him as a collector.”

“Most of these he bought years ago, when he was in the Senate. And all of the jewelry went to Mrs. Boyer.”

I still hadn’t heard a bottom line, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. “So I guess you don’t just keep all the cash in a checking account. Where is it all?”

“No, not in a checking account. Most of the wealth is in the assets, the stocks and real estate. But as you see, there is a substantial revenue stream. All the businesses are profitable and generate excess cash, which appears as stock dividends. Most of that cash has been reinvested in the other assets—for instance, the real estate and media properties, which have started generating their own profits in the last few years. And he kept a large reserve that he could get to easily.”

“Could I get to that right now?” I just wondered.

“The probate will take a few days. He had the trusts designed to make the process easy. However, I have the authority to use my judgment in putting certain accounts at your service. You would just need to sign these papers.”

I accepted the service of the accounts. “And what about the foundation?”

George shook his head. “That is outside of my responsibilities. You would have to speak with Mr. Kern.”

“Then we’ll stay inside your responsibilities.” It was time to find out how far off Eric’s guess had been. “What is it all worth?”

“This spreadsheet gives a good snapshot of that.” He handed me one final paper with a summary list of everything and a total at the bottom in a little box. I was amazed, and I didn’t pretend not to be.

I stopped at my bank—which it literally was—and opened a new account to put my new money into. Then I followed Pamela’s directions out to the west edge of the city and found the particular factory I owned.

The board meeting that afternoon was short and sweet. The room looked out over a factory floor on one side and properly grimy smokestacks and brick buildings on the other side. Light refreshments costing more than a worker’s weekly paycheck kept us happy as Fred and Pamela introduced me to a few of my company presidents. I’d had just enough time after lunch to look through George Elias’s papers and learn the company names and what they made. I acted responsible and caring and interested. We decided to keep up the good work, and I would get more involved as I was able. I also met with a couple union leaders so I could be stern and tough. They were so heavily bribed, though, that they would have groveled if I’d been Shirley Temple.

I guessed that most of those people had seen right through my big cheese act, even though Fred told me I’d been very impressive. They were all twice my age and there was no rational reason that I should be their boss. No one asked me bluntly, What right did I have to be here? No one but me.

Driving back into town against the rush hour traffic, I started thinking about the governor and his chief of staff. Clinton Grainger would not pretend to be impressed.

And I thought about what I’d seen. The empire was vast but concentrated. It was all in one state, mainly in heavy industry, and dependent on government largesse and lack of strong competition. It was obvious why Melvin had kept such tight control on the governor’s mansion. It was obvious why I needed to.

Clinton Grainger did not impress me. He was nondescript, flabby, a poor dresser, and he had bad hair. Even his eyes were blank where I’d expected some flash of brilliance to sneak out, and his voice was whiny. No wonder he was the brains behind, since he’d never make it as the politician out front.

“I’m so glad to meet you,” he said, and it sounded like he had a clothespin on his nose.

“And likewise,” I said. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long.”

“Yes.” There was no sign of intelligence. Of course, Fred Spell-man had fooled me for years.

“There’s a lot of ground to cover.” We established ourselves on opposite sides of the white tablecloth.

“You went sailing over the weekend,” he said. What did that mean?

“I often do,” I said.

He peered at me. “Are you serious about running your father’s businesses, Mr. Boyer? Or are you just going to spend his money?” Fred had said, Be direct. Grainger was being very direct. I was being sacked before I even knew the game had started.

“I was taking a few days to decide.”

“That’s a lot of time to make a decision.”

I was in way over my head, and there were sharks in the water. I had to think of what to say next, and I could see Grainger counting each second against me.

But why was I here, anyway? To impress this slob? The old Jason wouldn’t have cared what Clinton Grainger thought about anything, so why was the rich and powerful Jason worrying?

I didn’t want to play this game. I stood up. “To tell the truth,” I said, “it’s been a long day and I’m not very hungry.”

He was surprised, and he stared up at me. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes. I’m done with this conversation.” I dropped a fifty on the table and started walking. He was up and after me.

I waited at the curb a moment until he caught up.

“Mr. Boyer . . .”

“And please give Mr. Bright my regards,” I said. “I still hope we can work together, as partners.”

Clinton Grainger stared at the darkening night, then turned to me with his blank eyes and bulbous nose. Then he shook his head. “He doesn’t like partners.” He shrugged; he was giving up, too. “Good night, Mr. Boyer.”

I called Fred to report, and he was not impressed by my actions. “We’ll just have to wait for his response.”

“I guess that will be soon?”

“Yes, and unmistakable.”

It wasn’t late when I got home, and Katie met me in the hall.

“I don’t like this,” I said.

“What happened? How did everything go?”

“Terrible. I nearly died.”

“What?” She stepped back and looked me over for blood. “What happened?”

“I met with my financial adviser to find out how filthy rich I am and then I had a board meeting to hear how much more filthy rich I’m going to be and then I had dinner with the most powerful man in the state government to show off my filthy riches.”

“Were you in an accident? What did you mean about dying?”

“What I said. Jason is just about dead. He barely survived, right at the end.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Forget the melodrama. You’re doing what you need to be doing.” Then she smiled. “And you still look like Jason.”

“The big bad wolf has eaten granny, and now he’s wearing her clothes.”

“You talk like Jason.”

“That would be harder to fake.”

“Now tell me what happened. What did George Elias say?”

I shrugged. “Let me sit down.” I led the way to the study and called for Rosita to bring me some milk and a sandwich. I don’t mind lying, but I’d told a real whopper to Grainger. I was plenty hungry.

I took my time. When I was done, and Katie had been very patient, I took my new checkbook and wrote her a check for a million dollars.

“Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Her mouth dropped open when I handed it to her. “What is this for?”

“You need me to tell you? Just take it. Celebrate a little. Have a party. Buy a new dress.”

“But . . .”

“That’s nothing, Katie. You want to know what I’m worth now? Guess.”

“I can’t.”

“Yeah, I bet you couldn’t. Remember Eric said fifty million?” I shook my head. “Wrong. Way wrong.” I was being mean, but I couldn’t help it. I was feeling a lot of pain from the day, and I wanted to share it.

“That seemed like a lot.”

“It is a lot. Way too much for one person. That’s why the truth hurts even more.” I looked her in the eye. “A billion dollars.”

“Jason!”

“Yeah. Who’d have thought? He acted rich, but not that rich.”

It took her a few seconds to get her breath back. “A billion dollars?”

“That’s right. That’s not an M, it’s a B. You have hit the jackpot, cupcake. Call your momma and tell her she was wrong. No, I think I’ll call the little rapscallion myself.”

“It’s all ours?”

“To the last brass farthing. If you invested a billion dollars in the bank, do you know what the interest would be? Two hundred thousand. Per day. You could even have hard feelings against the old man for being stingy, with the paltry thirty grand a month he was giving us.”

“What are we going to do?”

“If we keep on a budget and don’t spend too much, we’ll manage somehow. A billion dollars isn’t what it used to be, you know.”

She took a deep breath and we both calmed down. “That’s not what I meant. Oh, never mind. Are you all right?”

I wasn’t. A billion dollars weighs a lot, and right then I was feeling it all. “I want to get to bed.”

“Come this way.” Mama Katie took command.

6

Tuesday morning I went running. I do it for exercise and I don’t push myself, but that morning I set a world record in the four mile Run Away From Your Problems event. Katie was still asleep when I left, and was just coming down to breakfast by the time I came back in.

“That was fast.”

“Paparazzi. You have to sprint to keep ahead of them.”

“Really?”

“No.”

She was waiting when I came back down from my shower, and we ate together. We always eat breakfast looking out over the garden.

“What are you doing today?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I want to meet more of the people who worked for Melvin. And I want to catch Nathan Kern before he goes to Africa tomorrow, to talk about the foundation. That’ll be dinner out again tonight.”

“Could we have him over here?”

Our house could use the blessing of his presence. “Yeah. I’ll have Pamela set it up. It’ll be friendlier, in case he has hard feelings about not getting Melvin’s wad for the foundation.”

I finished breakfast, and Katie was still there watching me. “Did you see Angela yesterday?”

“We had lunch downtown,” she said. “It was very nice.”

“Does she know what she’s doing with her life?”

“No.”

“She has no money worries.”

“She’s very lonely. And she’s afraid to make friends.”

“She should be. She’s a rich, single, lonely sitting duck.” Besides, she didn’t know how to make a friend. She never had.

“I told her we’d take care of her.”

“I guess we have to.”

“She had a husband. Now she’s by herself, and she never has been before.”

A little kitten in the deep woods. I’d never get the adoration from Katie that Melvin did from Angela, and I’d hate it anyway. Maybe when I was older. Maybe for my second wife I’d pick an Angela.

“We’ll take care of her,” I said. “We’ll assign you to watch her, and I’ll keep Eric under control.” Who needs kids? “Maybe we could set her up with Nathan.”

Katie’s eyes lit up. “What an idea, Jason. I’m going to think about it.”

“Katie, I was joking.”

“But still . . .”

“And they could adopt Eric. They could be the parents he’s always wanted.”

“Now, that’s being silly. When are you seeing Eric again?”

“I’ll call him today.”

I didn’t. It was a long day and I was being very conscientious regarding my many responsibilities, which involved mainly sitting upstairs in my little office and talking on the phone to people whose names were on lists that Fred Spellman and George Elias had given to me.

I left the house to meet with Stan Morton of the newspaper and television empire. We talked about his daughter Natalie, whom I hadn’t seen since Yale, except at my wedding and then at hers. She was married to one of Stan’s vice presidents, but I was sure that this morning, she was thinking about the fish that got away. It wasn’t her husband’s fault that he wasn’t the richest man in the state. She’d just make him feel like it was.

But Natalie did not inherit her claws from her father. Stan was a reasonable man, pleasant and to the point, and with the kind of beard grown by people who don’t want to shave every morning. He was independent and not about to take orders from anyone about what his paper and television station were going to say. But he also knew where his bread was buttered. I had three of his nine board members in my pocket, and I was his biggest stockholder. We cordially reached an understanding that we would discuss anything of mutual interest and parted on friendly terms.

I met with Fred for a few minutes and then with two more of my corporate presidents, and then Pamela called with the disaster of the day.

“Nathan Kern will be at your house at eight.” That was not the disaster. “And, Jason, do you know Felicity Nottingham Cavalieri Gildanov?” That was the disaster.

“This is a person, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes, it certainly is.”

I thought so. I’d heard of her in the news—kind of like I’d heard of the
Titanic
—but didn’t know the exact details.

“She would like to meet with you,” Pamela said.

“Well, put her on the list, and I’ll get to her if I want to.”

“That might be difficult.”

“Isn’t she with the opera?”

“That’s right. She has a tour arranged for you at two o’clock.”