Paul Robertson - The Heir

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.”