Paul Robertson: The Heir

“Did you get along with him?”

He laughed, and it was pleasant. “Oh yes. By his choice we did.”

Somehow the contrast of the dark patterns of the carpet, the walnut end tables, and the ebony fireplace against the pale green wallpaper imposed an atmosphere of calm. Katie and I usually tried to have our arguments in this room.

“By his choice?”

Nathan Kern put a graceful finger to his aquiline nose, propelled smoke past it, and considered. “Should I be frank? He can’t defend himself here, can he? But you are his son, and certainly you knew him. Please understand me as I say this, that I dislike speaking anything besides good of a man who is not present.”

He meant it, too. “I knew him well enough,” I said. “And I’ve learned a lot more in the last few days.”

“I’m certain you have. Your father had many sides to his affairs, and I only dealt with the altruistic ones. By common agreement, we did not discuss any others. He knew I was aware of them.

“And I suppose that was why I was working with him, so some good would come of his wealth. A few pluses on the ledger to balance the minuses. That was why he had created the foundation. And I don’t mean that the foundation was his only positive effort, of course.”

I nodded. “I understand. As I’ve said, I’m only beginning to discover all his efforts.”

He blew smoke thoughtfully into the atmosphere. It clashed slightly with the room’s colors. “Had your father spoken to you about the changes he made to the will?”

How helpful to bring that up. “No. It was quite a shock.”

“I’m sure he meant to discuss it, probably very soon.”

“He was driving home from Fred Spellman’s house when he had the accident. He had signed the new will only an hour before he died.”

I was watching very closely. Nathan’s eyes showed his surprise.

“That very night?”

“Yes. It was a close thing, apparently, between whether you or I ended up here in the hot seat.”

Nathan was still and silent, staring into the air. Despite his best efforts, it was still transparent. Finally he focused back onto me.

“Remarkable.”

Well, yes. No doubt about that.

“I had no idea,” he added. “I can see how great a shock this has been. You really had no idea you would be the principal heir?”

“Not at all,” I said. “I didn’t know until Fred told me last Thursday morning, after the funeral. When did you find out the foundation wasn’t the heir?”

“When?” He was still bemused. “Well, officially when I met with Fred last Friday afternoon. But I knew, of course. Your father and I had discussed the reasons in detail.”

It was a good thing I had just swallowed a mouthful of brandy, or I would have choked on it. I set the glass on the table beside me, trying to act calm, trying to be calm.

“So… do you know why he changed his will, Nathan?”

I was feeling something like panic. Since leaving Fred’s office, all I’d been thinking about was brake lines and motives. Now I was back to how much I really wanted to know this, how it was so important.

“Yes, I do. As I said, we discussed it at length.” His words came forth with the majesty and calmness of deep wisdom. Or maybe it was cigarette smoke. “I asked him to.”

“This is your fault?” It was pure reaction.

“Well, now, not precisely,” he said sympathetically and a little defensively. “I only requested that the foundation not be the principal recipient. I would hardly have been so bold as to suggest who should be.”

“There weren’t many other choices.” So I was in the line of fire because he had ducked. “Why not the foundation? It was what he had always planned.” I wasn’t used to controlling my anger. I had it under control, but the boiler was going to explode soon.

And I knew the answer. It was obvious. Nathan was no Melvin Boyer. He might manipulate and bully if he had to, but he was a decent man. I might have done poorly with Clinton Grainger, but Nathan would have been laughable. So I laughed. Nathan smiled with me, uncertainly.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Too much pressure, I guess.”

“Of course.” He waited, maybe to make sure I wasn’t going to have hysterics. “To answer your question…”

“No, I understand now. It would be impossible for the foundation to manage this empire. It takes someone like Melvin.” Someone nasty, mean, hard, and efficient. Fred thought I’d done a reasonable job my first couple days. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered: Why had Melvin ever even considered having the Foundation manage his estate?

“I don’t know that you understand,” Nathan said.

But I did. The layers were peeling away like an onion under Rosita’s knife. If Melvin wanted his empire to survive, Nathan was not the man. I was. I was the man. The Boyer blood was in my veins, as much as I hated it. The doom hadn’t fallen that night when he had signed the will and died in a ditch. It had fallen on me the day I was born.

Nathan Kern was still talking. “It isn’t a matter of who is most appropriate to manage the Boyer businesses, and their influence.”

Yes it was. That was the matter, the crucial matter.

“It is more a matter of whether anyone should.” He leaned back and blew more smoke, and I breathed it in. “Fred Spellman has been tutoring you in the use of power, which he understands as few others. But I don’t mean that I, and the foundation, was the wrong one to wield this power. My opinion is that no one should.”

What was he saying?

“Someone has to,” I said. I was disoriented. Wasn’t that Fred’s line?

He shook his head and continued to blow smoke and sanctimony all over Katie’s furniture. We’d have to have the room fumigated. “I think not. Hypothetically, what would happen if you just gave it up?”

That was my line. Just last week, that’s what I’d told everyone I was going to do. I agreed with him, right?

“I disagree, Nathan. That’s not practical.”

“Is practicality important?”

This was suddenly very strange. “Yes. At this level it is. And it isn’t practicality. It’s necessity. It’s too important to treat like a game.”

“What is important? Why is it important? Perhaps those are the questions to answer first.” He meant them literally, not rhetorically. He thought he knew the answers.

“Right now,” I said, “it’s important to me to figure out what I’m doing. I’ll get to the why later.”

He backed off, properly. “I’m not in your shoes.” They wouldn’t go with his suit, for one thing. He sighed, wearily. “And this last week has been very difficult for you. This isn’t the time to philosophize. But I wish you would consider that there is an alternative to where you are right now.” He smiled. “I have an early flight tomorrow. Perhaps we should continue this discussion some other time.”

What? Was the lackey dismissing the billionaire? He would stay and discuss this until I was finished.

I was finished.

“Then have a good trip, Nathan.”

It was time to explode now. Kern was safely away in his Volvo, and with massive self-control, I closed the front door and turned calmly to Katie.

“I’ve got a couple things to do in my office.”

“We need to talk about the house.”

Melvin was murdered. Or maybe not. All I knew was that Governor Bright had thrown a rock right through my front window, and I had to figure out how to put it back through his teeth. And if there was a real murderer, that was a problem, too, because it was probably somebody I knew. I was surrounded by people who were a lot better off with Melvin dead.

“Don’t you think we need something bigger?” she asked.