The Heir (22 page)

“Thanks, Pamela. If there’s anything else, let me know.”

“Yes, sir. Have you been watching the news?”

“No.”

“The four executives you fired yesterday have been charged with lots of crimes.”

“Lots?”

“Lots and lots. They are all in custody for the moment, until they get out on bail.”

“Oh well. I’m not surprised.”

The Gang of Four. I was hungry for Chinese. After I hung up, I looked for Katie.

“Is Rosita planning dinner tonight?” I asked.

“No. I told her not to.”

“Did you even have lunch?”

“Just a sandwich . . . no. I never ate it.”

“Tell her to order a mound of cashew chicken and pork lo mein, and anything else she thinks would go with it. And I’ve got a meeting downtown tonight, late.”

I went to my new office. The movers had done a good job; even my books were in the right order on the shelves. I organized and filed for a while, and then I remembered Nathan. I never had called him, and he would have received the file I’d sent him with no explanation. I finally found him at home.

“Jason? This is Nathan.”

“Pamela said you called,” I said.

“Yes. I realize you’re having a very busy day, and I’m sorry to bother you. But I received the envelope you mailed to me. I looked through it briefly, and I thought I should call.”

“That’s fine. I was going to call you, but I forgot. I didn’t need you to do anything with it. I just wanted to have a copy of the papers in a safe place.”

“Oh, of course. I understand.”

“The FBI has a copy now, and so does the newspaper and everyone else, so you probably don’t need to keep it.”

“I should destroy it, then?”

“Whatever. That would be okay.”

“I will, then. I’ve been following the news since yesterday. Jason, I’m very impressed that you’re doing this.”

Quickly, I booted up the platitude server. “I wanted it all to come out.”

“I said I thought it would be a noble thing.”

“I don’t know. It won’t really hurt me much, and I’ll have a clean conscience. I may not even need the foundation anymore. I won’t have any evil deeds that I need good deeds to balance against.”

He must have known I was joking, but he still took it seriously.

“Well, that would be your decision of course, Jason.”

“I’m not being serious. But I’m looking forward to being rich without being corrupt.”

“That’s not easy to do.”

“I’ll give it a try.” I was really just trying a little banter, but he was the wrong person for light conversation. I should have just answered his question about the envelope and hung up.

“You might consider it first.” It would have helped if the man had a sense of humor. Or maybe he did. Maybe he was joking, too. “Remember, it isn’t the source that makes the wealth good or bad. It’s often the wealth itself that is the issue.”

“Well . . . I will remember that. But this is a fresh start and maybe that will make a difference.”

He knew when to yield. “In any case, I’m sure your actions yesterday and today will produce great benefits.”

“Thank you.”

“And I hope that it can all be settled peacefully. Have you communicated at all with the governor or his staff?”

“I’m meeting with his chief of staff tonight.”

“Mr. Grainger? Oh, really!” He paused—apparently another phone had rung. Then he was back. “Have you spoken with him before?”

“Twice, briefly. You know him?”

“I’ve worked with him on a number of inner-city projects that the governor took a personal interest in. He has the governor’s ear, Jason. If anyone can work things out, he’ll be able to.”

“I’m hoping we can work something out.”

I feared that the joy with which I was anticipating dinner might be diminished slightly by that conversation. But it wasn’t.

Dinner was very nice. I’d seen no sign of Francine—she didn’t drive after dark, so she’d been gone for a while. Eric was still with us.

I complimented Rosita on her excellent dinner as she cleared away the white cardboard and chopsticks, and she said it was an old family recipe. We even looked into the kitchen to see her progress in organizing her new domain.

Two new maids were to report to work tomorrow, and gardeners were already employed. Home, sweet home.

At ten o’clock I gave Katie instructions to get to bed early, and I left for the Hilton. It was a longer drive downtown from this house.

Now I had time to think.

I didn’t believe it anymore, what Nathan had said. Wealth and power don’t corrupt. It’s just that corrupt people often became wealthy and powerful.

I had changed in four weeks. It wasn’t for the worse, though. Maybe I’d said I’d never take the money, but I knew better now. I’d done nothing wrong in getting it, and I wouldn’t have to do anything wrong to keep it. I was going to keep it. I will be rich, I will be powerful. I accept it. Melvin Boyer knew his son, and he’d made the right decision.

Angela? Five days ago I’d been slapping myself about being at fault for her death, but that wasn’t really a reasonable way to look at it. I’d smothered a political attack against myself. I’d had every reason to believe that the suspicion of murder was unfounded. Unfortunately, I’d been wrong. But life goes on. For the rest of us, anyway.

The police were still clueless. They wouldn’t have been able to prevent it even if they had kept the investigation open. I’d made the right decision.

Melvin? I’d had nothing to do with his death; that was all on his own head. With as many enemies as he’d made, it was a wonder he’d lasted as long as he did. Melvin Boyer. Now, there was a paradigm of corruption, a man who was ruthless to begin with. He’d made his fortune because he was cruel and smart and lucky. But a person didn’t have to be that way to be rich. I wouldn’t be. I had him as an example of what to avoid.

Had he always been that way? I didn’t know him back in the beginning. He probably was. It was already showing when he was married to Ann.

I’d know it if I was becoming like him. I know that I’m not the kind of person he was. And I’m at the exit now, and I’ve wasted this whole time. I need to be ready to deal with Clinton Grainger, and Fred will be there, too, and this is no time for stupid arguments. So shut up.

24

I parked on the street. It’s not safe downtown at night, but I would have killed anyone who tried to mug me in that dark half block to the hotel. It was still quarter to eleven. I found the bar and a booth in it and sat in the shadow.

Ten minutes later, as inconspicuous as a blimp, Fred joined me. Once he was settled, though, the gloom swallowed him, and he was just a presence in the dimness.

“Three of Bright’s cabinet secretaries resigned an hour ago,” he murmured. “Transportation, Finance, and Education.”

“Education?” I didn’t even know who that person was.

“The ship is sinking and there’s not enough lifeboats.”

“Is it going down that fast?” I asked.

“Eileen McCloskey, the education secretary, is making her move to challenge him. She would make an interesting candidate if she can be controlled. She’s certainly trying to sink him now, so we could consider her an ally. And she won’t be the last.”

What pleasant people. Had power corrupted them, or had they been nasty from birth?

“So, who owns Malden, the lieutenant governor?”

“Forrester. Your father brokered the deal between him and Bright.”

“So if . . . I mean, when he becomes governor, Forrester is in control.”

“No. Henry Malden is a nonentity. He presides over the state senate and funnels information to Forrester, but he has no political skills. Forrester wanted an informant and Bright wanted a lieutenant who would never be a rival. As governor, Malden will be completely lost.”

“Then who will be in charge?”

As if I’d needed to ask Fred Spellman such a question. “Whoever is strongest,” he said.

“Anything else?”

“I have been advising several of your executive managers on how they are to respond to subpoenas.”

“We’re cooperating.”

“Yes, yes,” Fred said. “But the lines must be kept clear.”

“Whatever. We’ll tough it out. Do you have any suggestions for this evening?”

“Grainger may have something constructive to suggest concerning the current crisis. But mainly you’re both just looking. Remember, you’ve wrecked his main project. He may be holding a grudge. He’s going to abandon ship sometime, but his timing may depend on you.”

“I agree with what you said this morning,” I said. “I’d like him at least neutral. As long as he stays on the governor’s staff, he can use the governor against me.”

“Exactly. So convince him his future is better as your friend. Give him a small hint and see how he responds.”

Friend.
The word grated somewhat, in the context of our conversation and setting. It implied trust, and decency—certainly the wrong word.

“What else might he do to fight back?” I was really just thinking aloud. We’d been through everything.

“I haven’t thought of anything else. He may indicate something tonight.”

On that note, we waited. Noisy, jumbled minutes were passing outside our booth. A television played over the bar, music, talking, lights splattering the room, but we were no part of it. We were the dark and silence that the life of the room broke through and sank back under.

At almost midnight the black deepened as Grainger slid in next to me. I hadn’t seen him come into the room. I shifted around into the back corner.

“Busy day,” he said. “I can’t stay long.”

That bordered on the moronic, but there wasn’t any better way to begin. The man’s alleged genius certainly wasn’t in conversation. I tried to think of something equally obvious to say.

“Bright’s career is over,” I said. “I had no choice.”

“Maybe.”

“What should I have done?” I wanted to see how personally he was taking it.

“It doesn’t matter. The governor doesn’t have many choices, either.”

It was hard to tell if that was a statement or a threat. His voice was expressionless, and his face would have been if I could have seen it.

“I made a business decision, to clean house,” I said. “There were too many risks the old way, including Bright as a business partner.” I leaned toward him. “Slamming me with a murder scandal didn’t add to the working relationship.”

“You shouldn’t react too hastily.” He sounded weary and carefully patient.

“Last month you said I took too long to make decisions.”

“That was a different situation. You’ve done a lot of damage, and it could have been avoided.” It was the first time I’d heard him speak with any inflection to his words, and it was condescension. “It’s going to take a lot of effort to repair.” Poor Clinton, having to clean up my mess.

Fred rumbled to life. “Don’t use that tone. You are speaking to adults here, not that toddler you baby-sit. The governor is finished, and you know it. The issue here is to manage the endgame.”

“I’m not conceding that,” Grainger said.

“You should,” I said. “I don’t want to have to do any more damage.” “What else will you do?” Grainger asked.

“That depends on you,” I countered. “What will you do?”

“Your cabinet is self-destructing,” Fred added. “The police are just getting started. It would be pointless to prolong this. You know you can’t win.”

“The governor is paying me to prolong this.”

“How much is he paying you?”

That was enough for Clinton Grainger to understand the real reason for the meeting. Even in the dark, I could feel his unblinking eyes on me. “I’m not a mercenary, Mr. Boyer.”

“I don’t think he’ll be paying you much longer,” I said. “I’m patient.”

“It hasn’t seemed that way.”

“I do what I have to do.” And I’d said what I had to say. “And I appreciate that you were willing to talk with me. We’ll see what happens next.”

“I’m not interested.”

“That’s up to you. I really am patient, and I won’t have to wait long.”

“You keep assuming that.” He stood. “You may be surprised.”

“You know it’s over,” I said.

“Not yet. I can cause damage, too.”

“Nothing can save Bright.”

“Mr. Boyer, be careful about throwing stones. You have more glass in your own house than you think.” He paused, but I didn’t take his bait. “Don’t call me again.”

“I won’t unless I have to,” I said.

With that, he slipped back out from the enemy lines into no-man’s-land and was gone. We waited a few minutes to let him get away clear, in case anyone was watching.

Fred and I stood at the curb by Fred’s car. “Apparently the governor will launch some attack tomorrow,” he said.

“What was he talking about?”

“We’ll find out. He acted as if it would be substantial.”

“I’ll be at home. Call me if anything happens.”

I pointed at the car parked ahead of Fred’s on the street. “Isn’t that Grainger’s car? It has a governor’s mansion parking sticker.”

Fred scowled. “He’s meeting someone else.”

“He might just be getting food.”

“No, he’s discussing our meeting. I don’t like it. He has more ammunition.”

I shrugged. “It can’t be that bad. Call me anytime.”

25

Fred did call anytime. It was less than five hours later when Rosita knocked on my bedroom door and I groped through the dark in my pajamas, trying to find my office in that huge new house.

“Jason,” Fred said, indignant enough for both of us. “Turn on your television. Clinton Grainger is dead.”

It hadn’t even been five days since the last time someone had said that. Just with a different name.

But Fred didn’t dissolve into sobbing. He kept talking. “He was gunned down outside the hotel last night, beside his car.”

At least I wouldn’t have anything to do with this funeral. I switched through the network morning shows. Katie and I had compromised; there was a television in the breakfast room, but it was small.

At first it was only on the local news breaks, but then the New York anchors picked it up. No one hesitated to lump everything together.

“A third murder in Governor Harry Bright’s corruption case last night,” one face said to a national audience.