The Test (5 page)

“Plans?” Frank wondered why Carl was using the present tense.

“The assets of the trust will be distributed to the following beneficiaries according to the provisions so dictated and disclosed below. The beneficiaries are my six children, irrespective of blood or legal relationship. Specifically they are Carla Parnell, Ashley Parnell, Rory Stevens, Senator Francis Parnell, Daniel Parnell, and Monica Monroe. All are to be treated equally under the provision of the trust. Each is to receive outright a million dollars.”

“What?” Frank blurted. “How ludicrous!”
One million of a two-billion dollar estate?

He wanted to shout out that his father must have been totally nuts, that he vowed to contest this insanity, but again Meredith's firm grasp on his arm held him back. Without Meredith, Frank knew he would have blown his stack right there.

“Frank, please be patient. I'm not finished.” Carl shifted his weight and slowly found his place in the document. Frank could feel the reproachful eyes of his uncle on him.

“What I'm going to read next are the words of your father. What is communicated here comes from the depth of his soul. Well, why don't I stop editorializing and get on with it?”

“Yes, why don't you?” Frank mumbled as he perused the semicircle. Dan didn't appear to be listening. Gina sat next to him, quiet and serene. Ashley appeared alert and interested. Carla shifted restlessly in her chair. Rory and Chan were trying to pretend they were bereaved. And beside him, Monica sat silently examining her new family. The woman must be worth millions; she didn't need more.

Carl started reading from an ordinary sheet of paper. Dad's last message.
Drivel about contrition and hope. How after Vivian died and he was diagnosed with cancer that he had this epiphany. How he faced his failures as a father.

For Dan and Frank, I wasn't there after their mother died—too busy with my career. For Rory, I should have pushed for a legal adoption. For Ashley and Carla, I won't be around to see them mature. And for Monica, I regret not being a part of her life.”

Ashley and Rory started to sob. Chan put his arm around Rory. Meredith kept her hand clamped on Frank's arm. Carl read on:

In the end, only values and character count. Not money, not fame, not career. Here's where I fear I have failed you.

“Weird,” Meredith mouthed to Frank.

I kept asking myself: is there a way to use my financial success to help correct my failures?

Carl paused for a sip of water. The room was absolutely quiet. Even Dan and Carla seemed to be tracking this ridiculous effort at a confession.

To sort out a code of values, I created a personal credo. This will be my legacy to you, that these values be passed from generation to generation.

So much money at stake and his dad was going on about values? Smack in the aftermath of the Bush-Gore screw up? The inauguration just two weeks away? The one hundred seventh Congress in session? His committees—Armed Forces, Judicial, and Intelligence—all with hectic hearing schedules? And he was sitting here listening to drivel on family values.

Carl read slowly:

My value system has four parts God, family, community, and profession.

First, God. It wasn't until the last year of my life that I realized that faith is our most treasured gift, our absolute anchor. Faith is not just a private affair; its very essence is rooted in a public acknowledgment so that it can be passed from generation to generation.

Second, family. I should have spent more time with each of you in your formative years. I left too much of the responsibility to Kay, and then to Vivian. I let my professional ego interfere with dedication to my family. For this I beg your forgiveness.

“That's not true, Dad,” Ashley sobbed. Carla leaned against her with a “Shush,” and Meredith patted her hand.

Not you, Ashley, Frank almost said aloud. You were Dad's special little shadow. Remember the time he took you on that world tour in the company plane?

Carl read on:

Third, community, By founding the Parnell Foundation, I want to give back to the world community that had been so generous to me. I trust that the foundation will flourish under your leadership and that you will extend the abundance of the family widely and generously.

So far, no mention of funding his political career, Frank thought. How could he afford to worry about the world community? Maybe someday, but certainly not right now. Frank could see that the rest of them were eating this up, especially Rory who liked to consider herself the do-gooder of the century.

Fourth, professional, career, and financial responsibility. You have had access to the best in education and to the family's
financial resources. Now you will need to demonstrate responsible management of your own funds.

Carl stopped for a moment. The women, with the exception of Monica and Meredith, were fumbling with tissues, and Dan still looked shaky. Frank watched aghast as Carl looked pointedly at Cardinal Sean. No, he wanted to scream. Could Dad have left all that money to the church?

But the cardinal simply nodded and Carl continued to read.

It is my last wish that you embrace these values as your own. As an incentive, the allocation of all assets in this trust will rest on your demonstration of these values.

What kind of a scam was this?
Frank's mind reeled as he watched the two old men exchange a knowing look. Everybody else wore a quizzical expression.

As further encouragement, I have arranged for a test to measure your personal acceptance of these four credo values.

Carl paused and reached for a glass of water.

Carl Schiller is the trustee of the trust. He has a thorough understanding of my intent, he will administer this “test” and score it according to the guidelines I have provided. He will also give you the personal note that I left for each of you.

Trust? Credo? Test? Personal note? Frank struggled to process what he'd just heard.

The test will be given one year from now. Remaining assets of the trust will be distributed according to the results.

Frank's mind flew to the date, January 6, 2002. He almost missed the next part.

Should collective scores not justify distribution of the entire trust, any remainder will default to the Parnell Foundation.

Frank, who hardly ever used obscenities, not even in his head, could think only, “I'm fucked.”

Carl's hand's shook more intensely as he read further.

I hope you all know how much I love you and how deeply I hope to inspire you to embrace your legacy.

“That's the end,” announced Carl, “except for administrative details.”

Frank spoke first. He didn't care if he sounded sarcastic or obnoxious.

“Wow, what a reading, Carl,” he began. “Is this real? Or some kind of a joke?”

“No, Frank, it's not a joke.”

“Well, certainly it's not legal. Certainly it's not sane. Get your firm on this and get it sorted out. This is craziness.”

Meredith increased the pressure of her hand on Frank's leg.

Nobody else said a word. Frank looked toward Ashley. She had more common sense than the other three. She sat biting a fingernail, thoughtful, but not upset. She wasn't going to jump into this.

“At the end,” Cardinal Sean broke the stunned silence, “your father was desperate to go back in time and focus on the values that he now realized were so important. But of course, he couldn't, so he decided on this type of incentive to encourage you all to make positive change in your lives.”

“Look, Cardinal Sean,” Frank interrupted, in no mood for a homily, “Dad was obviously senile. You said ‘desperate,' right? ‘Wanting to go back in time.' That's crazy talk. All I'm saying is that this trust needs to be contested. Okay? Now I suggest we let Meredith handle it with Carl. That we sell the properties, and get on with our lives.”

“Let me assure you,” Carl stated. “that your father took every precaution against the type of allegation you're suggesting.”

“Frank, I know you're unhappy, but Dad was not senile,” Rory
blurted. “His thinking was very clear until he lapsed into the coma at the very end.”

“Look, Rory, I don't think you're the one to get involved here. Is this why you insisted on spending so much time with him the month before he died? I wouldn't be surprised if you concocted this whole farce.”

Rory turned several shades of red.

“Frank, we're all in a state; I know you didn't mean that,” Chan said, starting to rise from his chair. Frank wondered what the hell his stocky brother-in-law was going to do. Punch him out?

“It's okay, Chan.” Rory tugged his arm and her husband sat back down. “Somebody had to stay with Dad. Ashley was in school. It wasn't about money.”

“For God's sake,” said Chan. “Don't you realize how tough it was on Rory? Spending all that time away from the kids to be with Paul at the end?”

“We all appreciated what you did, Rory.” Ashley spoke up, “You were inspirational.”

“Inspirational?” Frank couldn't hold back the sarcasm. “Don't any of you understand what's going on here?”

“Would it be okay if I said something?” Frank had almost forgotten that Monica was sitting next to him. She didn't belong here, he thought, and he planned to check out that story about Dad and this woman. Insist on DNA. No two ways about it, she was not raised as a Parnell. She had been legally adopted by another family, and she surely didn't need money.

“Certainly,” said Carl, hoping, Frank guessed, that she might reverse the downward spiral.

“I came here today to fulfill a promise to a man I wish I'd known better. I think that what Mr. Parnell tried to do for his family before he died is so wonderful. To have thought all this through about how we can all become better people. I come away inspired and impressed.”

You picked up a cool million bucks and are just greedy for more
, Frank thought, but didn't say.

“But,” Monica continued, “I want to make this perfectly clear. I am renouncing my inheritance. The money Mr. Schiller mentioned I will sign over to the Catholic Charities in Detroit.”

Cardinal Sean beamed at Monica. His lucky day, thought Frank. Not a problem for the little lady, raking in megabucks from concerts and CDs. What a disingenuous gesture. It made Frank want to throw up.

“Monica, that's most generous,” said Carl, putting down the sheaf of papers. “We have now concluded the official business.”

Frank was too stunned to notice that Carla nearly tripped over his feet in her haste to leave the room. Ashley jumped up to follow as Carl concluded, “I will be in contact to give each of you your father's personal message and to answer any questions. Now, Cardinal Sean, would you please conclude with a prayer?”

Frank tuned out as his uncle droned on about Dad, his soul, and how we would all carry forward his brilliant legacy. At the final sign of the cross, Meredith steered Frank out of the house. Frank's parting remark: a mumbled, “I will bury Rory.”

F
EBRUARY
2001

Muting the Rolling Stones CD, Carla grabbed the cordless phone. “Yes, this is Carla Parnell.”

The gravelly voice on the phone introduced herself as Miss Lopez from the New York City Health Department, and then asked for her confidential code.

Carla felt a surge of nausea. Maybe she should just hang up. Last week, Hank, a guy she used to boink—before Bunky—unloaded that he was HIV positive. A sweet guy—straight, or so she'd thought—trying to make it as a model.

“Face it, we're high risk,” Hank told her with tears in his eyes. “What I understand, if you got the virus, you'd better know it. Like Magic Johnson. He's got it. Right? And he's gonna be okay.”

Sex and drugs. Carla's friend, Jan, the one who'd taken her to her one and only Narcotics Anonymous meeting, had said that there was a connection—a cross addiction—between sex and drugs. Parties, drugs, sex, blackouts. Before Carla came into her million from her father, she'd been so desperate for money that she'd signed on to an escort service as “Roxie Randall.” It hadn't been too bad, better than turning tricks in the streets.

So with Hank's urging, she'd had the HIV test, and a hepatitis test as the Health Department suggested.

“Frances of Assisi.” It took her a moment to remember the code she'd made up. “Frances” for her middle name and “Assisi” for the patron saint of animals. “Do you have the results?”

“You'll have to come in to see one of the counselors.”

Carla's knees buckled and her voice sounded tiny. “Why?”

“Routine protocol,” said the scrappy voice. “We're open nine to noon and one to four.”

Carla sank back against the pillows. Normally, she'd consider her private doctor. She had great health insurance—one of the Parnell family perks—but with that Peggy Putnam bitch, who managed all the Parnell affairs, sticking her nose in everybody's business, she couldn't take the risk. Just the thought of that Putnam woman made Carla cringe. What right did she have to tell her what she could and could not do? When Carla had complained to Uncle Carl, it must have backfired because Putnam started to make her life a living hell, scrutinizing every penny she charged to the Parnell house account.

But Carla knew that she could count on her housekeeper, Sara Waring, to stick by her. Sara had worked for the Parnells ever since Carla had been a kid. It had been Carla, not Ashley, who had been there when Dad interviewed Sara sixteen years ago. Carla would always remember that day. Her mom was supposed to do the interview, but she had an emergency with a patient. So Dad had picked up Carla at school, and they'd driven to Manhattan. Just Carla and her dad. Not even a limo driver.

Ever since, Carla knew she'd been Sara's favorite. A tiny woman with mocha-colored skin, deep brown eyes, and black curls that she always wore piled on top of her head, she lived with her husband and mother in the Bronx. She commuted by subway, and stayed in the maid's quarters if they needed her for evening affairs or over the weekend. Without Sara, Carla wasn't sure how she'd survive. Sara protected her from her family and the assholes in her building.