Paul Robertson: The Heir

“Don’t know.”

We reactivated the phone during lunch so I could call Jacob Rosenberg. I was hungry enough to drink the stuff the hospital was providing, but it didn’t help my disposition.

Should he resurrect the legal process he’d begun two weeks ago?

“Wait.”

Any other instructions?

“No.”

Nothing was resolved-nothing was any better. Why am I here? Had anyone ever found an answer to that question?

I was feeling the loss of Nathan. Not the real, evil man, whom I had never liked anyway. I was grieving for the phantom I’d briefly had of a man who knew the answers, the man I could respect. Who could give me what I wanted.

Was there anyone? I would have given everything I had for someone to help me. But the money was worth nothing to me now, the whole billion dollars and empire that went with it. It was all I had and it would also be worthless to whomever I was looking for. Everything I did have that I valued was lost and I’d gotten nothing for it.

I needed a reason to live. I needed someone to help me.

My eyes wanted to close, so I let them. When they opened I was still dreaming.

“Pamela.”

No, it wasn’t a dream.

“Well, look at you,” she said. “I brought some chicken soup.”

“I’m glad… you’re here.” For a long time to come every smile would be precious, and she had some real dazzlers. “How… did you

… get in here?”

She smiled again-I was so nai ve. “My job is to get things done, dear. Now, Jason, I know you don’t want to worry about business or reporters or politicians. I’ll take care of everything until you’re ready.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything specific you want me to do?”

“Stan Morton,” I said. “Come here… no cameras… and then Fred.”

“I’ll get them.”

“I’m sorry… about… wrecking… the office… and the chair.”

She sighed. “That’s fine. I’m sorry you had to.”

I wasn’t ready for her to leave. “I don’t know… what to do. .. now.”

“Just get finished with Stan and Fred. Then you’ll have time to think.”

“I… don’t want to think… anymore.”

She just looked at me for a while with her kind grandmother eyes. “You’re still here, Jason. I almost lost you.”

“You’d be… better off.”

“You wouldn’t, though.” She smiled again, just pure sweetness. “I’ve been praying for you boys every day for twenty-five years. I think you’re going to find what you’re looking for. Now, what is the doctor saying?”

“I haven’t… seen one… today,” I said.

Eric chipped in. “He was in here while you were asleep.” He turned to Pamela. “They think they can save his arm. And his mouth will be okay. But… well…” He trailed off.

“What?” She was concerned. I was, too. I hadn’t heard this.

Eric turned to me, eyes worried.

“Your hair. It won’t recover. I’m sorry.”

“Dope.”

Stan Morton managed to take time out from his busy schedule to visit the poor invalid.

“Is that you?” he said from the doorway.

I shook my head. “Elvis.”

“That wouldn’t be as big a story. Where have you been?”

I nodded to Eric.

“Mr. Boyer would like to ask for your help,” he said.

“Oh, yeah? What? And can’t he talk?”

“He has asked me to speak for him. He would like to have one week to rest. After that, he would like to give an interview. He would appreciate your help in arranging that, and deciding who should participate.”

“Do you know…” He had to stop and start over. “Do you know who’s out there? Everyone! The networks, the magazines, every newspaper in the world!” He attempted to calm himself. “There’s a reporter from Beijing staying in my guest room. Beijing, China!” The attempt hadn’t worked. He tried again. “We’re supposed to wait a week? Come on, Jason. Just answer two questions for me, that’s all.”

“What?” I said.

“Where have you been, and how did you figure out it was Kern?”

I would have smiled, but I couldn’t. I pointed to Eric.

“Mr. Boyer is extremely fatigued,” Eric said.

“He looks okay to me.”

I was going to start laughing, which would really hurt.

“You need to give him another week,” Eric said. “He’s really banged up.”

“There are two hundred reporters in the parking lot. If I don’t come out with something, it’ll get real ugly. Give me something. I know: today is Saturday. Where were you one week ago? Where did you spend the night?”

Saturday night, a week ago.

“Dumpster.”

An hour later, Fred’s arrival in the lobby was announced.

“Should I leave?” Eric asked.

“No.”

“I’d be glad to.” He meant it.

“You’re my… bodyguard.” I’d have been glad to leave, too. But the confrontation would have to happen sometime. And maybe even Fred would be repelled by the devastation he was such a big part of.

Soon we heard the heavy tread. They make hospital doors wide to accommodate wheelchairs and a certain type of lawyer. Sitting was another matter. He stood and stared at me for quite a while, and then he looked for a chair. The hospital issue was one size fits all, but not all at the same time.

“Here,” Eric said, jumping up and pushing the two chairs we had together. Fortunately they had strong legs and no arms.

“Thank you.” He sat and scowled. “I don’t know what we have to say to each other.”

“I… can think… of some… things.”

“I suppose. I’ll ask one question, then. What are you going to do with the Boyer assets?”

At least he didn’t waste time faking sympathy for me, or faking any moral sense at all. I tried to think how to say what I wanted in the least painful way. That is, the least painful for my jaw.

“Isn’t… it obvious?”

“Not to me.”

No, not to him. “Look at me,” I said.

“You’re blaming your calamities on being wealthy?”

“Look at… Harry Bright.”

“You and he made decisions, and his ruin was the outcome.”

“Look… at Nathan… Kern.”

He hesitated. “He was weak.” That was the greatest crime Fred knew.

“He… killed… my wife.”

He waited a decent five seconds before answering. “I’m sorry.” It was not an apology, just a condolence.

“He killed her… to get… my money.”

“I understand.”

“You… used her… you’re guilty… as Kern… that she died.” I hadn’t meant for the dialogue to go this way, but his hard heart was infuriating me.

“I did not intend for anything to happen to her!”

“Look… at yourself.”

He was finally silenced.

He stood and left, and I was left wondering why I’d called him, because it couldn’t have gone any other way than it had. It took a long time for the atmosphere to fill the empty space he’d left. The last lingering traces of the triumph over Nathan Kern had finally been blown away.

My war with evil was over. I’d caused damage, but my own losses were much higher, and Fred and all the others like him would just rebuild. The money and evil had won.

I was back at the beginning. The questions were unanswered, if there were any answers. No one was pursuing me, but it was only a matter of time before I would be back at the window, looking out into the black.

And I still had the money that I wanted to be rid of. What was I supposed to do with it?

“Wow.” Eric was very relieved that Fred was gone and that his own name had not come up.

Just at that moment, I did not want to deal with Eric.

“I want you… to get… something,” I said.

Man’s best friend snapped to attention. He was needed! “What?”