Paul Robertson - The Heir

“Yes, Jason?” said Pamela’s voice. She sounded ready to be yelled at.

“It’s okay. I won’t blame you. This is something else. I need an office. Did Melvin just work out of his house?”

“Mostly. And he had offices at two of his plants, but he didn’t use them much.”

“Who’s on the top floor of Fred’s building?”

“Oh, let’s see. I don’t know, but I think it’s bank executive offices.”

My building, my bank. “I want some rooms up there.”

“An office and a conference room?”

“Put in an office for you, and I don’t need a conference room. And I want a secure room for storage.”

“I’ll find a contractor who can do it quickly.”

From my bedroom window, I could see the downtown skyline ten miles away. For a while I watched the building I’d just confiscated. What was happening? In two days I’d become what I thought I would never be. I stared at the mirror, and the Why Am I Here? wasn’t there. There was someone else looking back at me out of my eyes-the Big Bad Wolf looking out from under Granny’s nightcap.

It was Melvin.

Why had he done this to me? What was he thinking, when he sat there in Fred’s parlor and signed that new will? And then tried out the aerodynamic properties of a Mercedes sedan. If that merging of car and tree had happened two hours earlier, Nathan Kern would be jousting with Clinton Grainger and the governor. And I would not be on Felicity’s board. I was having hard feelings toward Nathan.

I looked back out at the skyline, black against the late afternoon. I could almost touch it. Instead, the phone rang, and it touched me.

There was an interesting new note in Fred’s voice, of anger and annoyance and maybe worry.

“Come here, right away.”

Billionaires are not talked to in this manner, and Fred knew it. “What’s wrong?” I said.

“The governor has made his move.”

I gave Katie instructions to keep Nathan entertained if I was late.

I was there in twenty-five minutes, and someone was in my chair.

“Jason, this is Detective Wilcox, of the state police.” Fred was exasperated.

“Thank you for coming,” the man said, and my first impression was of the nastiest little mustache I had ever seen in my life. We completed the formalities.

Detective Wilcox was very good. His political instinct was sharp as a knife. He apparently had long had the wealthy-industrialist-and-high-powered-lawyer beat, and he was respectful, confident, circumspect, authoritative, well-dressed, trustworthy, loyal, clean, and reverent. His only flaw was the little pencil mustache. What was he thinking?

“Now, Detective Wilcox, let’s get down to business.” Fred leaned forward imperiously. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how busy a man Mr. Boyer is.” A man of Wilcox’s experience would understand that this had better be very important.

He was not intimidated. He turned to me. “I’m afraid we have some disturbing information for you, Mr. Boyer, concerning your father’s death.”

“What?”

“His car had been tampered with.”

It was suddenly the same feeling I’d had when Fred had read the will-ring of iron around my chest.

“We completed our laboratory analysis last week, and there is no doubt,” Wilcox was saying. “The brake lines had been drained.”

“I see.”

I could see. That rotten, wretched old man, that idiot! An accident maybe can’t be prevented, but getting murdered was pure malicious carelessness, specifically to spite me and ruin my life.

“This is a serious statement, Mr. Wilcox.” Fred was in high dudgeon himself. “Do you realize the implications?”

“Very much. We have examined the evidence in every way, and we are completely sure.”

I could feel a new wave of rage building, and this one was a tsunami. I stuffed it down to save for later, when I could really let it rip. “You had better be sure,” I said.

Fred switched from indignant to menacing. “Very sure.”

The mustache was not impressed. “We are. May I ask you some questions, Mr. Boyer?”

“Not yet.” Fred leaned back in his chair. “Is Mr. Boyer under any suspicion?”

“We do not have any specific suspects.”

“That is not a specific answer.”

Wilcox frowned. “Everyone associated with Melvin Boyer has to be regarded with suspicion at this stage of the investigation.”

Fred turned to me. “Do you understand, Jason? Be very careful in what you say.”

I was not in any careful state of mind. “Why did you wait a week to tell me?”

“We were verifying the evidence.”

Verifying the evidence. The first word that came to my mind was fabricating. Fred had said that the governor’s response would be unmistakable, and I was not mistaking it. I was so angry at Melvin for leaving this mess.

“Right,” I said. “I’ll make a statement. I have no idea who might have killed Melvin, if anyone really did. He was a wealthy and powerful man, and there would be lots of people who were enemies or benefited from his death. You know all that. I don’t know anything else.”

“Could you list these enemies?” Wilcox’s mustache quivered. I was supposed to start fingering people?

“You find them. I’m not going to do your job.”

“Who benefited from his death?”

“Mr. Spellman will provide you with a copy of his will. Other than that, if you want to go fishing, you’ll have to find a different pond.”

Wilcox could see his fishing license was about to expire. “Mr. Boyer, don’t you want us to find your father’s murderer?” Was he surprised, or was this an attempt at intimidation? I was just too mad to put up with it.

“He’s dead, and the rest doesn’t matter. And if anyone is trying to use this, or has manufactured this, to cause me trouble, then he isn’t very bright.”

Wilcox blinked. “Let me assure you we will use discretion. We’re only investigating a crime. We have no other purposes.”

Fred snorted. “I understand your purpose.”

Wilcox had left. I was in a hurry, but the situation required discussion. “Is this the governor asserting his independence?”

“Certainly.” Fred scowled. “He wants to show us we are not above the law, and he can yank our chain whenever he wants. The police will question your family and associates, and embarrassing information will be leaked.”

I was thinking about our special legal framework. “That could hurt Bright as badly as us.”

“He controls the police. They’ll uncover whatever he wants and nothing else. But the investigation could spread anywhere. The Boyer name will be demeaned.”

There was a lot of static in my brain. “Do you think Melvin was murdered?”

“It was my first assumption when I heard about the accident, but I didn’t think it was appropriate to discuss. There were other things more important. And for the governor’s purposes it would certainly be convenient… but not necessary.” Then he paused. “I’m sorry, Jason. I didn’t mean to trivialize your father’s death. We should take some time to think this through before we plan our next step.”

“It does matter whether he was killed. That would mean there was a murderer somewhere.”

“Yes… Are you suggesting we actually cooperate with the police?”

“I don’t know.” There were thoughts under the static. “They’re going to need a suspect. What if there isn’t one, or there is one but they can’t find him?”

“Or if he, or she, isn’t appropriate for their purposes. Exactly. And you would be an obvious choice. This is a substantial attack, and I have no doubt it will be used for political purposes.”

I was sorting out my anger. There was the anger at Melvin for leaving me his money, without telling me first. Then there was the anger at him for leaving me his Special Framework. Now I had a third layer of anger at him for getting murdered, or at least appearing to, which was ammunition in the hands of a belligerent governor.