The Heir (33 page)

“This is Jason Boyer.”

“We’re stopped. There are five lawsuits against you so far.”

“What lawsuits?”

“By stockholders. They claim you’re devaluing their stock by your attacks on the governor. We can’t do anything with your stock until they’re thrown out.”

“Then get them thrown out.”

“It’ll take time, and I’ve only got so many people here.”

“If you need more people, get them.”

“Yes, sir. And your wife’s injunction against selling or liquidating is still in force. Whoever is advising her knows they have the trump card.”

“Do whatever it takes.”

I hung up. What had I been reading weeks ago? It had been
Bleak House
by Charles Dickens, where there are so many lawsuits over a dead man’s estate that the whole thing is eaten up by the lawyers’ fees. The villain in that book was a lawyer.

“I’m still not here,” I said to Pamela, “and I will be gone for a few minutes.”

Down twelve floors.

I’d missed the first part of the thug’s attack on my office, the part where he pushed past the secretary. So at Fred’s office, I reenacted it.

His secretary looked up from her desk as I came through the outer door and she reacted fast, pushing buttons and scrambling out of her chair.

“Mr. Spellman is with clients,” she said and planted herself between me and the inner door, so I would have to physically shove her aside to get to it. No problem. I got to it and threw it open.

There they were—what a spectacle.

Katie was in the big chair. I only saw her shoulder and brown hair, which I’d recognize anywhere. She was wearing a dark purple-and-black dress I remembered from the day we’d looked through the new house. No pearls. She didn’t turn.

Eric did. He was on the sofa and he started, guilty as Benedict Arnold, his eyes and mouth wide open.

“Jason . . .” he said.

But my attention was on Fred at his desk, the source of all evil.

“Stop it,” I said.

“I am stopping you. And you are intruding.”

“And you are fat,” I said.

“And you are an imbecile. Now get out.”

“That’s what I said when your man came to my office a few hours ago, but he wouldn’t. He just kept talking. ‘The court orders you to give her money,”’ I mimicked the man’s voice, right into her ear. “‘The court orders you to give her the house.’ I might have given you the house to get it over with, but not now.”

“Jenny,” Fred said into his intercom, “call the police.” To me, “I know better than to ask you to negotiate. You’ve proven you can’t, one of your many flaws.”

“And you,” I said to Katie. She didn’t turn. “Three years we’ve been married, and one day is all it takes?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She was shaking, staring ahead into space.

“Get out,” Fred said.

I was back to Fred. “I’m not ready yet. As corrupt and rotten as you are, it’s not enough. You have to pull them in and destroy them, too.”

“As long as your wife’s divorce suit against you stands, you are prevented from doing further damage,” Fred said. “Fortunately she understands the importance of that.”

“And she understands the importance of money. How much did he promise you, dear?”

“Jason . . .” She turned to me. I could see the torment in her, the same as the torment in me.

“You’re divorcing me!” I said. “What am I supposed to think?”

“He said only I could stop you.”

I could hardly speak. “Don’t stop me. Katie, don’t stop me.”

It was too much for her. She was starting to break. We stared at each other, except neither of us could see anything through tears.

“But, Jason . . .” It was Eric. I turned to him for just a moment, and when I looked back, Katie had turned away from me. I exploded at him.

“Why are you even here?”

He cringed back. “Fred wanted me.”

“They just want to use you. You’re no match for him, Eric. Get away from him.”

He exploded at me. “Stop telling me what to do!” For two seconds he was defiant and angry; then he buckled. “You’re always ordering me around.” Now he was whining. “I can take care of myself.”

“Then go ahead. I’m sure tired of doing it.”

“Now will you leave?” It was Fred. “No one wants you here.”

“Please leave, Jason.”

Katie said it. The one last wall standing toppled.

“Don’t stop me!” I said, or yelled, or screamed. “I will do this. You will not stop me.”

“I will stop you!” Fred roared.

“You’ll have to kill me,” I said. Then his hand was in his drawer again, and I was beyond any caution to wait and see what he was reaching for, and I had my own gun in my hand. There was sound— Katie, panicked and screaming.

And then I was hit hard, Eric throwing himself into my left shoulder. I was close to Katie’s chair and I fell against it, still on my feet. He lashed out at my face. My right arm was pinned but I got my left hand on his back and pushed him down. He was still off-balance and he fell.

On the floor, he scrambled back, ready to lunge again. But the fight was over.

“Go. Now.” Fred had not moved, but there was a heavy black revolver in his hand, pointed at me. Katie stopped her fool screaming.

“The police are in the lobby,” the secretary’s voice said. “They’ll be up as quickly as they can.”

I walked out.

I must have taken the elevator, but I only knew that I was back at my desk and the sky out the window was clouded and Pamela was staring at me from the doorway, white as a sheet. Standing in front of me was Nathan Kern.

“Jason?” He’d said it more than once. “What happened, Jason?”

In my ears and eyes, Katie was still screaming and Eric’s face was red and enraged.

“I went to talk to Fred.”

“What happened? You look terrible.”

Nathan’s face was getting clearer, and Eric’s was fading.

“Katie and Eric were there. We . . . it didn’t go well.”

The screaming was fading, too.

“Your lip is bleeding.”

I felt it. “It must have been when Eric hit me.”

“Oh dear!” Nathan’s astonishment was probably comical, but I still couldn’t focus.

“I’m okay,” I said to Pamela. She slowly backed out and closed the door. “We screamed at each other and I pulled out a gun,” I said to Nathan.

As slow as I was thinking, he was slower. He gaped. “Was anyone hurt?”

“No. Not by the gun, at least.”

“But why? Why did you have a gun?”

“Just . . . Fred had one. I wasn’t going to use it. Then Eric tried to tackle me.”

“Where did you get it?”

The gun was worrying him. “I just bought it. Today.”

“Do you still have it?”

It had been in my hand. I looked; it wasn’t there. The holster was empty, too.

“No.” What had happened to it? I couldn’t remember. “I thought I had it.”

“But you don’t?”

“I must have dropped it when Eric hit me.” I had some impression of setting it down.

“Then it would be in Fred Spellman’s office?”

“Yeah.” I really didn’t remember. “It must be. I’m not going to call and ask him.”

“I will.” Nathan was more upset than I was, nervous and quivering. He tried to lighten up. “You look frightful, Jason. I’m afraid your lip might become quite swollen. You go clean yourself up, and I’ll call Fred.”

I headed for the washroom out in the hall. Pamela nabbed me as I passed her desk.

“Let me look at that.” She had a damp washcloth and she cleaned off the blood, very carefully and precisely. Nathan was calling Fred. Mommy and Daddy were taking care of me, and I didn’t mind. No police had yet appeared. At least Fred hadn’t sent them after me.

“That should do,” Pamela said. “It isn’t bad. I don’t think it’ll show.”

I trusted her expertise on busted lips more than Nathan’s. “I have a feeling my picture will be in the papers this week.”

“I could put some makeup on it.”

“No thanks.”

When I got back into my office, the call had apparently been completed. Nathan was sitting on the sofa, smoking a little cigarette, still shaking.

“I’m sorry, Jason. I hope you don’t mind.” He stubbed it out in an ashtray he apparently carried with him. His fingers jabbed the cigarette into it like a hen pecking corn. “I’m not used to stress like this.” He took a breath to clear his smoke. “Fred says he has the gun and will not give it back.”

“He can have it,” I said. I was thinking at about regular levels now. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh! Ha! Yes. I was quite taken aback by the way you came in. But you must have been surprised to see me, also. Our phone call this morning left me uneasy. I wanted to say again, in person, that I’ll do anything I can to help.”

“Thank you, Nathan.” I was sort of done with being tended to. “I appreciate it.”

“I mean it! I know you’re having difficulties. Jacob has briefed me on some of them. You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

“I can’t think of anything you could do.”

The next question took lots of effort. “You said you saw Katie?”

“She was there.”

“Did you . . . Is she going through with the divorce?”

“Yes.” I was listening to her anguished voice. “I think she is. I don’t know. Maybe she won’t.”

“Could someone talk to her?”

“It’s the money, Nathan. She wants it too much.” I calmed myself. “And Fred’s using her. He’ll never let go of her.”

“But isn’t there some other way?”

“I could give in to her. I could offer her twenty million dollars, or fifty million, and she’d take it. But then she’d be gone, and I don’t want to lose her. I want to fight for her. Maybe I can convince her.”

“You have to try,” Nathan said. “Don’t give up. You’ll need her support after all of this, more than ever.”

But she was lost, and his words were pushing me back over the edge. “It doesn’t matter!”
After all of this
was only a vague and threatening image in the dark, and there was nothing I wanted of it.

“You should go, Nathan.”

He tried to answer, but there was no answer. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

The door closed behind him. What would I do afterward, after it was over? Was there anything to do? I was collapsing just at the thought of it. There was nothing I wanted of life. I’d seen through it, and there was nothing but Fred’s evil and Katie’s greed and even Eric’s mindless drifting.

I changed back into the clothes from Sunday.

“I’m leaving,” I said to Pamela. “I won’t be back today.”

“Please be careful.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

I drove. Storm clouds piled above the road, and mid afternoon was twilight in their shadow. At three o’clock I was at the marina. I hadn’t decided to come here. It was reflex.

The sky was thick and heavy gray and the wind was hard out of the west. I could see whitecaps in the bay beyond the inlet. I put out; the sail caught a gust and went stiff as plywood and yanked the boat out into the turmoil.

I let it run. We fled the land, the boat and I, caught in the wind’s vise and with no thought of escaping it. The spray was heavy as rain, stinging my eyes. The open water of the bay was rough and confused against the boat and against my skin.

Clear of the bay were real waves, and I outran them. I would mount one, the deck inclined steep enough to fall from if I didn’t hold on, and then the boat passed over the crest and hung and then fell itself into void, slamming the water six feet down.

Black was soaking the clouds just like the salt water was soaking my clothes. I was freezing cold and wet, but I was flying and putting ever more miles between me and everything that was back there. There was no going back against that wind. Behind me was a red flare of sunset flat on the horizon.

Hours passed, and miles. I’d been blown north of Martha’s Vineyard and into Nantucket Sound. Before me was pitch black. I would have to choose to not race into it. Despair was driving me harder than the gale, and I’d have to overcome them both to turn away from the night’s empty chaos. I had no reason to try.

“What am I doing here?”
I screamed it into the screaming wind, and the clouds answered with a downpour.
“Why should I live?”
The Atlantic ahead of me had an answer, a dark answer and an ending. I flew toward it. The storm took me and held me, and my boat became an eagle in the night rain and I was soaring into blackness.

When I did turn, it was almost too late. For a while I thought it was. I was almost out of Nantucket Sound and I thought about just grounding on Monomoy Point, but I cut the corner in time. It was a steep tack. The waves were almost straight on portside, Monomoy Island was leeward, and the boat was bucking like a bull. Then I saw buoy lights bobbing wild, and I got between them. The water flattened, I fought the sails down and started the motor, and threaded the needle into Chatham on Cape Cod.

Then I was walking on firm ground. I had to talk to Katie. There must be some way out.

I rented a car. It was after nine o’clock.

The rain on the windshield was the same rain I’d stood in on the deck, but on the road it was not an element, just an annoyance. Here in the car I could oppose the forces against me. The roads didn’t toss and the wind didn’t touch me.

The radio had come on when I started the engine. I forced myself to listen to the news.

“. . . took the oath of office with just his wife in attendance. Governor Malden has given no sign what actions he will take to restore order to either the statehouse or his own agencies. He begins his administration with only seven of Harry Bright’s cabinet members still in office.

“Yet even the momentous events in the capitol today have been nearly overshadowed by the startling news of a split in the powerful Boyer family, itself rocked by scandal and murder. In a widely watched television interview Saturday, Jason Boyer had positioned himself as a rising power in state politics and business. Now, two days after their flawless appearance, Boyer and his wife of three years, Katherine, are headed for divorce amidst a storm of lawsuits.

“Neither was available for comment. Speculation has been wild, however, after sources in police headquarters confirmed that Mrs. Boyer met late this afternoon with investigators assigned to the inquiry into the murders of Melvin and Angela Boyer and Clinton Grainger. While Police Commissioner Miguel DeAngelo had previously denied that Jason Boyer was a suspect, this evening he back-pedaled, stating that Mr. Boyer was, quote, ‘obviously a person of great interest to us, including his movements at the times of the murders.’