Paul Robertson: The Heir

And now that I was just barely settling down into being king, Nathan Kern had to poke his cigarette holder into the gears and jam them up. I was holding on by my fingernails. It was hard enough trying to kill all those questions I was asking myself without him blowing them at me. The foundation could maybe use a new director, somebody who knew when to shut up.

“I know it’s only been a few days,” Katie said. Angela would know when to shut up. On his second marriage, maybe Melvin had learned from experience.

“We’ll talk about it soon,” I said. “I’d rather not right now.”

“Are you all right?”

“No, I am not, and this is not a good time to talk. About anything. I’ll be in my office.”

I turned away from her and forced my feet to move, one at a time, toward my office door. I opened and closed it with only necessary force, and sat in my chair. I took a deep breath and stared straight ahead.

Straight ahead was my computer screen, and the first thing I saw was a six-digit number. Then I saw that it was an e-mail from Pamela. Then I saw it was Eric’s credit card balances. And then I didn’t see anything for a few moments.

“Jason?”

Katie was standing in the doorway, staring at me, and at the shattered monitor in pieces on the floor, and at the splintered paneling where it had slammed against the wall. I stared back at her.

She saw that I was unharmed, and the alarm in her eyes faded. “I think we should talk.”

I was standing. I wilted into my desk chair, and she sat on the couch.

“I can’t do this,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Being the king is too hard.”

“You don’t know how to be a king? You can learn.”

“I don’t know why to be a king.”

“There’s no answer to that, Jason.” She was speaking very gently, holding in her own frustration. “You were born into your family. Your father made his decision and wrote his will. That’s why.”

“It isn’t. It’s no reason I have to accept it.”

“I was hoping we were past that.”

I held out my hand to her, and she took it. “We are,” I said. “Somehow it happened.”

“I will always be with you,” she said.

“But I need a reason to live this life that’s been dropped on me. It won’t work unless I know why I’m doing it.”

“What would a reason look like? What reason did you have before?”

“I’ve never had one. I just can’t ignore it anymore.”

“What reason did your father have?”

It was time. “Melvin was murdered.”

Her mouth dropped. “By who?”

“I don’t know.” I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if an innocent person’s first thought would be about the victim or the killer.

But she was shaking. It was all too much. I had my arms around her, and one of us was sobbing, or maybe both of us. I wanted so much to get out of it, to go back, but I couldn’t.

Instead I was compelled to fight back. And through the night, I slowly realized how strong that compulsion was.

Wednesday morning at nine o’clock I sat in Fred Spellman’s smoke-free office planning the destruction of the governor. Not everyone in the room was in agreement.

“Jason. There is no cause for reckless behavior.” Fred’s glare was withering. Too bad he was a minority of one.

“He started this war.”

“He did not… this is not a war. I told you this is simply a negotiation.”

I was a majority of one. “I’m not interested in negotiating. I want to take him down.”

He leaned back in his chair, and I could feel the whole building lean with him. He shifted the glare from wither to pierce. “All right, then. First. Do you even have any idea how to overthrow a powerful politician entrenched in office?”

“No.”

“Second. Have you thought through the consequences? Who do you expect to take his place? What if a prolonged fight shuts down your state contracts? What about Senator Forrester?” He leaned forward a little. “And what if you lose?” Then back again. “Those are just a few questions, and I could list more. You’ll be letting a bull loose in a china shop. An angry bull.”

“We’ll deal with whatever happens.”

“We will?” He moved forward, his wide, angry face jutting toward me. “We will? You have no idea what forces would be unleashed.”

“Then I’ll find out.”

His eyes went cold. “Third. Why? This is not necessary. We can make a deal. That’s what he wants.”

“I said I’m not interested.”

“You should be.”

“I don’t want a deal.”

“You’ve only been in this position less than a week. You are not ready to make a decision like this.”

I stood up from the armchair and looked down on him. There was some point over his desk where our glares met, and it must have been pretty hot there.

“First,” I said. “I’m not going to be weak. He started it. Let everyone see what happens if they cross me, and no one else will. Second. He’s messing with me and my family.”

“This is politics, Jason,” Fred snapped. “If you’re going to get your poor little feelings hurt, you have no right to attempt anything this serious.”

“I’ve got five rights, Fred-B, O, Y, E, and R. And a billion more, too. You’re the one who told me I had no choice, that I had to take Melvin’s place. Well, I am, my own way. Bright might think that threatening me with a murder investigation is just a friendly game, but I don’t take it that way.”

“I’m sure he would settle for a deal. A different division of construction profits, your pledge to continue to support him. Clinton Grainger would know exactly what he would accept.”

“That would be a surrender.”

“It would be a deal.”

“Until he tries the next thing. If a man has a gun and he’s trying to kill you, and you’re locked in a room with him, you can either dodge bullets forever or kill him first.”

“No. You can deal. There is always a deal.”

“I don’t trust him.”

Fred rolled his eyes. “What do you care about trust? Do you expect to meet anyone at this level you can trust? No, we make the deal but tighten the screws everywhere else. We arrange a nice public meeting between you and Senator Forrester. The next time the state awards a major contract to a competitor, we make sure they have enough labor problems to be an embarrassment. That’s how your father operated.”

“And he was murdered.”

“Perhaps. I don’t think you are contributing to your own longevity. More likely the opposite.”

Was that a threat? “Here’s my third reason,” I said, sitting back into the deep chair. “I want the investigation stopped.”

“Why? Do you know who killed him?”

“No.” Second time in less than twelve hours I’d been asked that.

“If you struck a deal, the investigators would be instructed to leave you alone.” He shook his head. “Just days ago you wanted nothing to do with any of this. You were going to be rid of the money and power. Now you can’t wield it fast enough.”

“I’m still going to be rid of it. But I’m going to take care of this first.”

We were both somewhat exhausted, and we took a short break to breathe and think. Fred studied me. “Do you want to know who killed your father?”

“He’s dead. It doesn’t matter how.” I couldn’t imagine knowing. I didn’t want to know. “If he really was murdered.”

“Do you think he wasn’t?” Fred asked.

“Of course he was. An accident would have been too trite.”

He nodded. “All right. Let me think about all of this.”

“I’ll be back this evening,” I said. “I have a lot to do today, and I don’t want to waste time.”