Paul Robertson - The Heir

“Most of these he bought years ago, when he was in the Senate. And all of the jewelry went to Mrs. Boyer.”

I still hadn’t heard a bottom line, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. “So I guess you don’t just keep all the cash in a checking account. Where is it all?”

“No, not in a checking account. Most of the wealth is in the assets, the stocks and real estate. But as you see, there is a substantial revenue stream. All the businesses are profitable and generate excess cash, which appears as stock dividends. Most of that cash has been reinvested in the other assets-for instance, the real estate and media properties, which have started generating their own profits in the last few years. And he kept a large reserve that he could get to easily.”

“Could I get to that right now?” I just wondered.

“The probate will take a few days. He had the trusts designed to make the process easy. However, I have the authority to use my judgment in putting certain accounts at your service. You would just need to sign these papers.”

I accepted the service of the accounts. “And what about the foundation?”

George shook his head. “That is outside of my responsibilities. You would have to speak with Mr. Kern.”

“Then we’ll stay inside your responsibilities.” It was time to find out how far off Eric’s guess had been. “What is it all worth?”

“This spreadsheet gives a good snapshot of that.” He handed me one final paper with a summary list of everything and a total at the bottom in a little box. I was amazed, and I didn’t pretend not to be.

I stopped at my bank-which it literally was-and opened a new account to put my new money into. Then I followed Pamela’s directions out to the west edge of the city and found the particular factory I owned.

The board meeting that afternoon was short and sweet. The room looked out over a factory floor on one side and properly grimy smokestacks and brick buildings on the other side. Light refreshments costing more than a worker’s weekly paycheck kept us happy as Fred and Pamela introduced me to a few of my company presidents. I’d had just enough time after lunch to look through George Elias’s papers and learn the company names and what they made. I acted responsible and caring and interested. We decided to keep up the good work, and I would get more involved as I was able. I also met with a couple union leaders so I could be stern and tough. They were so heavily bribed, though, that they would have groveled if I’d been Shirley Temple.

I guessed that most of those people had seen right through my big cheese act, even though Fred told me I’d been very impressive. They were all twice my age and there was no rational reason that I should be their boss. No one asked me bluntly, What right did I have to be here? No one but me.

Driving back into town against the rush hour traffic, I started thinking about the governor and his chief of staff. Clinton Grainger would not pretend to be impressed.

And I thought about what I’d seen. The empire was vast but concentrated. It was all in one state, mainly in heavy industry, and dependent on government largesse and lack of strong competition. It was obvious why Melvin had kept such tight control on the governor’s mansion. It was obvious why I needed to.

Clinton Grainger did not impress me. He was nondescript, flabby, a poor dresser, and he had bad hair. Even his eyes were blank where I’d expected some flash of brilliance to sneak out, and his voice was whiny. No wonder he was the brains behind, since he’d never make it as the politician out front.

“I’m so glad to meet you,” he said, and it sounded like he had a clothespin on his nose.

“And likewise,” I said. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long.”

“Yes.” There was no sign of intelligence. Of course, Fred Spell-man had fooled me for years.

“There’s a lot of ground to cover.” We established ourselves on opposite sides of the white tablecloth.

“You went sailing over the weekend,” he said. What did that mean?

“I often do,” I said.

He peered at me. “Are you serious about running your father’s businesses, Mr. Boyer? Or are you just going to spend his money?” Fred had said, Be direct. Grainger was being very direct. I was being sacked before I even knew the game had started.

“I was taking a few days to decide.”

“That’s a lot of time to make a decision.”

I was in way over my head, and there were sharks in the water. I had to think of what to say next, and I could see Grainger counting each second against me.

But why was I here, anyway? To impress this slob? The old Jason wouldn’t have cared what Clinton Grainger thought about anything, so why was the rich and powerful Jason worrying?

I didn’t want to play this game. I stood up. “To tell the truth,” I said, “it’s been a long day and I’m not very hungry.”

He was surprised, and he stared up at me. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes. I’m done with this conversation.” I dropped a fifty on the table and started walking. He was up and after me.

I waited at the curb a moment until he caught up.

“Mr. Boyer…”

“And please give Mr. Bright my regards,” I said. “I still hope we can work together, as partners.”

Clinton Grainger stared at the darkening night, then turned to me with his blank eyes and bulbous nose. Then he shook his head. “He doesn’t like partners.” He shrugged; he was giving up, too. “Good night, Mr. Boyer.”

I called Fred to report, and he was not impressed by my actions. “We’ll just have to wait for his response.”

“I guess that will be soon?”

“Yes, and unmistakable.”

It wasn’t late when I got home, and Katie met me in the hall.

“I don’t like this,” I said.

“What happened? How did everything go?”

“Terrible. I nearly died.”

“What?” She stepped back and looked me over for blood. “What happened?”

“I met with my financial adviser to find out how filthy rich I am and then I had a board meeting to hear how much more filthy rich I’m going to be and then I had dinner with the most powerful man in the state government to show off my filthy riches.”

“Were you in an accident? What did you mean about dying?”

“What I said. Jason is just about dead. He barely survived, right at the end.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Forget the melodrama. You’re doing what you need to be doing.” Then she smiled. “And you still look like Jason.”

“The big bad wolf has eaten granny, and now he’s wearing her clothes.”

“You talk like Jason.”

“That would be harder to fake.”

“Now tell me what happened. What did George Elias say?”

I shrugged. “Let me sit down.” I led the way to the study and called for Rosita to bring me some milk and a sandwich. I don’t mind lying, but I’d told a real whopper to Grainger. I was plenty hungry.

I took my time. When I was done, and Katie had been very patient, I took my new checkbook and wrote her a check for a million dollars.

“Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Her mouth dropped open when I handed it to her. “What is this for?”

“You need me to tell you? Just take it. Celebrate a little. Have a party. Buy a new dress.”

“But…”

“That’s nothing, Katie. You want to know what I’m worth now? Guess.”

“I can’t.”

“Yeah, I bet you couldn’t. Remember Eric said fifty million?” I shook my head. “Wrong. Way wrong.” I was being mean, but I couldn’t help it. I was feeling a lot of pain from the day, and I wanted to share it.

“That seemed like a lot.”

“It is a lot. Way too much for one person. That’s why the truth hurts even more.” I looked her in the eye. “A billion dollars.”