The Heir (20 page)

“I will not answer any further questions at this time,” he said, still glaring. “I will only promise you that the police will uncover every crime, and that every person responsible will be brought to justice.
Every
person. Any further questions may be directed to my press office. Good night.”

With his head high and a steely glint in his eyes, he turned and left the room.

Then we saw a different head staring at us. “This is Bill Sandoff. As you have just seen, Governor Harry Bright has bluntly given his answer to the allegations of corruption brought against his administration. While he did not flatly deny charges against his senior officials, he has made a strong accusation of his own, that those charges are politically motivated, or worse. Obviously, the investigations of fraud
and
of the Boyer deaths are now linked. Could Melvin and Angela Boyer have been murdered in connection with corruption at the highest levels of government? Will the facts take the investigators to the governor’s office? And what of Jason Boyer, whose motives for exposing his father’s business deals have been called into question? The answers to these, and many other questions, are now of the utmost importance. Bill Sandoff, Channel Six News.”

Good questions, especially the last one. What of Jason Boyer? He was turning off the television, that was what.

“Jason.” In her expectations of billionaire existence, Katie had not imagined an event quite like this. She didn’t even know what to ask.

“It’s okay.” I didn’t know what to answer. “But you can see what its going to be like for the next few weeks.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

“I’m doing my best.” I took her hand in mine. “This is just part of the job. I didn’t start it.”

She nodded. “All right, Jason.” She was shaken. This was outside her experience, and she needed some way to deal with it.

Then the confused look drained from her face, replaced by her own steely glint. She knew her part in this war. “Tomorrow night we’ll be in our new house.”

And finally Eric had regained his voice. “What did he mean, our mother’s murder?”

“He meant Angela,” I said.

“Oh.” He was breathing; I could see shoulders moving. Otherwise, he didn’t look very alive.

“Get some sleep, Eric. You’ve been through too much today.”

“Okay.”

Maybe some food would have helped, but if they felt like I did, they weren’t hungry. I called the police to ask them to keep our street clear.

I was still waiting for a good night’s sleep, but again I didn’t get it. I couldn’t keep my mind clear. Friday afternoon on the boat, I’d thought it would be painless to get addicted to power. Tonight it was very painful.

22

Thursday morning police barricades stood a hundred yards on either side of our driveway, and they were besieged.

The newspaper had made it through. I only glanced at the governor’s picture and name in the headlines, and tossed it into my office.

“I have to go,” I told Katie. “I’ll be back by noon.”

“I’ll be all right. The vans will be here in half an hour.”

I could imagine the stir that would cause on the street. “Call me if you need reinforcements.”

“Mother’s coming.”

“We could ask the police to keep her out.”

Katie smiled. “I’ve asked her to move into the new house with us.” It was hard to tell, but she was teasing.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll be nice to her.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Eric was munching cereal in the kitchen. Rosita fluttered around him, drawn to hunger like a moth to a candle.

“Motorcycle Boy,” I said, “I need you.”

Ten minutes later, at eight o’clock, we were in our leather disguises, pushing the Goldwing through the backyard, through the gate into our back neighbor’s yard, and then zoom zooming out his driveway. At eight twenty, my chauffeur dropped me off at the lobby and prepared to head back to guard Katie.

“One assignment,” I said to him as I handed him the helmet and jacket. I had not worn the leather pants. “If Katie doesn’t need you, read everything in the paper. I want to know it all.”

“No problem. I think I remember how to read.”

My own bodyguard awaited on the top floor. Pamela leaped from her desk when she saw me, gave me an actual hug, and nodded at my office door.

“Fred’s in there.” I had no idea what he thought of the performance the night before. “And Mr. Donovan will be here at nine.”

“If you hear gunshots, call the police,” I said, and opened the door.

Fred occupied a large chair that had not been there before. No detail, however small, could escape Pamela, and my lawyer was not small. Just in case the chair was inadequate, there was a matching sofa against the wall.

He watched me round my desk and settle behind it; the tables were turned between us.

“What do you think?” I said.

“You are the two biggest fools I’ve ever seen.” He paused for a breath. “You both deserve everything that is going to happen to you.”

“Then tell me what you think is going to happen.”

Fred had a lot of steam to vent, but he corked it. “Clinton Grainger may be able to salvage the governor. I don’t know why he would try, except that he’s put ten years into Harry Bright’s career.”

“The investigation is going to sink Bright. There’s no way he’ll come out of this.”

“If it were left to the state police, they might whitewash the charges. But I don’t believe Grainger can manipulate this Mr. Donovan you’re meeting. The evidence is too complete. Besides, the publicity is too immense.”

“So Bright is toast. What could happen to me?”

“That is more complex.”

He hadn’t seen this much action in a long time with Melvin. “I think you’re enjoying this,” I said.

“Nonsense. Although it is interesting to watch the events unfold.”

“Or to unfold them. The only thing that could hurt me is a fixed murder investigation. Anything else they dig up will just hurt the governor.”

“I doubt you will profit from it, either. I mean that literally.”

“I’ll survive.”

Fred shrugged—which can actually be measured with very sensitive seismic equipment. “Then the real question concerns Clinton Grainger. It is only a matter of time before he abandons Bright.”

“He’ll look for a new politician to invest in?” There would be plenty of eager clients.

“Most likely. Therefore, he will need to decide whether you would be an obstacle to building a new power base in someone else.

In which case, he would want to disrupt you as much as possible while he still has the governor as a platform.”

“How would he do that?”

“Blackmail, most likely. He prefers quiet methods. But he could go public if he needed. The governor’s outburst put your name in the headlines, and not favorably. And he may still be able to convict you of some crime.”

“I haven’t committed any.”

“I know, and you know, that it doesn’t matter. If not murder, at least something. Harry Bright may be doomed, but now it is you and Clinton Grainger locked in the room with a gun. You said he’d searched your office and your father’s.”

“There was nothing in mine he could use. I don’t know about Melvin’s.”

“Didn’t you take everything?”

“Just the files about Bright and the state contracts. There were a few other things that I hadn’t got to.” I tried thinking like a billionaire. “Could we buy Clinton?”

“Oh, maybe. He may not be interested. He advises politicians.”

“I might be a politician.”

My mouth said it, and I guess I wasn’t real surprised. Despite the pain, my addiction to power was apparently growing, and politics was part of the family business as much as building roads and sewers. Hadn’t Melvin been saving me a Senate seat?

Fred nodded. He might have been assuming that the seeds he’d planted before my trip to Washington had had time to sprout. “I see. Then we should have a meeting with him soon.” He even had a protective, fatherly look in his eye. “Let me be part of it, though.”

“I will.” Seriously, I would be a politician? I tried to remember how I’d felt three weeks ago when I’d bit Fred’s head off for suggesting it. I didn’t feel that anymore. What am I doing here?

No, change the question. What can I be doing here for the good of my fellow citizens and my state? “If you say Melvin had planned for me to run for the Senate, I will fire you.”

“I’ve already said it, so it needs no repeating. At the moment, it adds interesting possibilities. Harry Bright will leave a vacuum, and someone will need to fill it. He would have won a second term in two years. Now there will be a scramble. You need to pick a suitable . . . you wouldn’t run for governor, would you?” He was suddenly alarmed.

“No. That’s not a fun job.”

Fred was relieved. “Exactly. The Senate is much more appropriate. For the governor’s mansion, we need to pick a suitable candidate to back, and events will start moving very quickly. If you and Grainger could cooperate on that, it would be an excellent beginning.”

It was disorienting, this new Jason. I was getting to know him, although his interest in politics was still a revelation.

The telephone on my desk buzzed, rescuing Fred and both Jasons from further discussion on the subject. “Mr. Boyer? Mr. Donovan and Mr. Kelly of the FBI are here.”

“Thank you, Pamela. Send them right in.”

The door opened, and right in they came.

It took thirty minutes to get them back out. I gave them the papers I had and opened the locked room to show them the rest. I assured them of complete cooperation by all my executives and officers. I apologized that somehow everything had leaked the day before, just as I’d finally been ready to call the authorities.

They were from Boston; standard procedure to use out-of-state agents in a government corruption case. They admitted they’d had an eye on Melvin for years but never had any evidence. And they appreciated my coming forward.

“I just want to do what’s right.” There was nothing else for them to say after that inanity, so they finally left.

But Fred had enjoyed it. “Very interesting. You may pull this off.”

“I just want to do what’s right,” I said again, and we laughed together.

We trudged through the next meeting. There were seven gentlemen, of whom I had met five, all thirty years older than I, competent, hard working, loyal to their liege lord. They’d had their job to do—managing large companies, meeting payrolls, balancing budgets— and they’d done their job with honor and pride. All of them were compromised, and all of them were reluctant criminals, and now they wanted to know if they would be punished for their loyalty to Melvin. These were not the Evil Four whose hands were bloody; these were the Tainted Seven—three presidents, two vice presidents, two financial officers—who’d held their noses and closed their eyes but had not quit.

I apologized that they had been caught off guard, but the matter had been very sensitive, and I’d been forced to move quickly. I told them I’d stand behind them, cover their expenses if there were any, defend them completely. But I insisted I wouldn’t play the old game anymore.

They were as relieved as they could be, and said they were glad to leave the old regime behind. The old king was dead, long live the king. They filed out, and I wondered about honor among thieves. Don’t worry, faithful subjects. When the bullets fly, I’ll be standing right there behind you.

“Tell me the specifics of how this will affect your financial position,” Fred asked when the room was clear. Even if he was in front of the desk instead of behind it, he was still feeling very comfortable in his chair.

“I’ve been figuring that out for the last couple weeks. Like I said, I’ll survive. There’s a lot of work already in the pipeline and the payment schedule won’t change. The next big contracts up for bid won’t even start paying out for at least a year. So if we don’t get even a single job more from the state, it’ll be a year and a half before we feel it. And Melvin had been investing more in the legitimate businesses for the last three years. They’re still a small percentage, but they’re growing.”

“Assuming that Bright is impeached or resigns and is no longer a threat,” Fred said, “you will still be vulnerable politically if there is a perception that your wealth is at risk. If this becomes a substantial financial reversal, your influence will suffer.”

“I’ll make sure no one perceives that.”

Now I was glad there were no mirrors in the room. I’d make sure there never were. It would be too distracting to have to look myself in the eye.

Fred heaved himself up and headed for his own duchy. I strolled out to Pamela. “This will be tricky. I want to meet with Clinton Grainger. Can you try to arrange that?”

She smiled at the challenge. “Of course, dear. I’ll see what I can do.”

“You can let him pick the location, if that will help. And schedule Fred to be in on it. And one more thing. There’s a person named Wilcox with the state police. I want to meet with him. And get me Stan Morton.”

“He’s called twice. And so have most of his peers.”

“Hire a receptionist with a real mean voice.”

Then I called my dear wife. “I have one more call to make, and I’ll be done.”

“It’s complete chaos here,” she said. She sounded like it, too.

“The cavalry is on the way.”

“A troop of horses is all I need.”

Maybe she was joking, or maybe she was past joking. I kept it brief with Stan.

“Do you need anything from me?” I asked him.

“An interview would be nice. You’re starting to become the reclusive young Jason Boyer. I’m keeping the heat on Bright, but I have to cover the other angles.”

“Okay, probably tomorrow. I’m moving to a new house today.”

“Haven’t you been watching? Everybody in the state knows it.”

Poor Katie. “No, and I haven’t looked at the paper, either.”

“Well, it’s gone national. Harry Bright’s the front page in the
Times
and the
Globe
.”

“Thanks. Do whatever you have to. If you want to be fair, you can say a couple nasty things about me.”

“Tell me a couple that no one else knows.”

“Talk to you later, Stan.”