daughter Natalie, whom I hadn’t seen since Yale, except at my wedding and then at hers. She was married to one of Stan’s vice presidents, but I was sure that this morning, she was thinking about the fish that got away. It wasn’t her husband’s fault that he wasn’t the richest man in the state. She’d just make him feel like it was.
But Natalie did not inherit her claws from her father. Stan was a reasonable man, pleasant and to the point, and with the kind of beard grown by people who don’t want to shave every morning. He was independent and not about to take orders from anyone about what his paper and television station were going to say. But he also knew where his bread was buttered. I had three of his nine board members in my pocket, and I was his biggest stockholder. We cordially reached an understanding that we would discuss anything of mutual interest and parted on friendly terms.
I met with Fred for a few minutes and then with two more of my corporate presidents, and then Pamela called with the disaster of the day.
“Nathan Kern will be at your house at eight.” That was not the disaster. “And, Jason, do you know Felicity Nottingham Cavalieri Gildanov?” That was the disaster.
“This is a person, isn’t it?”
“Oh yes, it certainly is.”
I thought so. I’d heard of her in the news-kind of like I’d heard of the Titanic -but didn’t know the exact details.
“She would like to meet with you,” Pamela said.
“Well, put her on the list, and I’ll get to her if I want to.”
“That might be difficult.”
“Isn’t she with the opera?”
“That’s right. She has a tour arranged for you at two o’clock.”
“I’m not going to tour the opera.”
“Dear, I’ve told presidents of the United States that your father-was unavailable, but this is one lady I’m leaving to you.”
At two o’clock sharp I arrived at the gilded portal of that great and so very important and beneficial institute, our state’s own War-wick Opera House-home of that beacon of enlightenment and uplifting purpose, that instrument of civilizing culture, that bedrock of society, the State Opera. For over two hours I was honored, even privileged, to be in the company of the dignified, gracious chairwoman of that splendid temple of worthiness. She was all that a person of such exalted position should be, and much, much more. Much, much, much more. The sights I saw that precious day will stay with me always. But even that magnificent stage, the glistening lobby-itself a showcase of the first order-paled compared to the words I heard, the many, many descriptions, enlightening lectures, entire college courses on the sophisticated genius, the ancient history, the crucial importance of the most devastatingly wonderful achievement in the entire accomplishment of all mankind, the opera. It was with the greatest regret, and difficulty, that I cut short my visit to that hallowed place due to other pressing business, and I could only hope that my donation, on the spot, of one hundred thousand dollars would somehow mitigate my praiseworthy and admirable hostess’ sublime sorrow that I could not stay for the second half of her tour.
“You got off easy,” Fred said when I called.
“Melvin put up with that battleship?”
“He called her Stalin. You’re going to be on her board of directors.”
“No.”
“Yes you are, Jason.”
“I said no.”
“It doesn’t matter what you say to me. You’ll have to deal with her.”
“Fred, after this afternoon, I could do it. I could say no to her.”
“Don’t. Kindly say that you would be honored. Every person who could realistically be a rival to you is on that board, including Harry Bright and Bob Forrester. She has forced them all onto it, and you need to be there.”
I was not in a good mood when I got home. Katie steered clear, and I had to sit still in my office for a few minutes before I could trust myself with the telephone.
“Yes, Jason?” said Pamela’s voice. She sounded ready to be yelled at.
“It’s okay. I won’t blame you. This is something else. I need an office. Did Melvin just work out of his house?”
“Mostly. And he had offices at two of his plants, but he didn’t use them much.”
“Who’s on the top floor of Fred’s building?”
“Oh, let’s see. I don’t know, but I think it’s bank executive offices.”
My building, my bank. “I want some rooms up there.”
“An office and a conference room?”
“Put in an office for you, and I don’t need a conference room. And I want a secure room for storage.”
“I’ll find a contractor who can do it quickly.”
From my bedroom window, I could see the downtown skyline ten miles away. For a while I watched the building I’d just confiscated. What was happening? In two days I’d become what I thought I would never be. I stared at the mirror, and the Why Am I Here? wasn’t there. There was someone else looking back at me out of my eyes-the Big Bad Wolf looking out from under Granny’s nightcap.
It was Melvin.
Why had he done this to me? What was he thinking, when he sat there in Fred’s parlor and signed that new will? And then tried out the aerodynamic properties of a Mercedes sedan. If that merging of car and tree had happened two hours earlier, Nathan Kern would be jousting with Clinton Grainger and the governor. And I would not be on Felicity’s board. I was having hard feelings toward Nathan.
I looked back out at the skyline, black against the late afternoon. I could almost touch it. Instead, the phone rang, and it touched me.
There was an interesting new note in Fred’s voice, of anger and annoyance and maybe worry.
“Come here, right away.”
Billionaires are not talked to in this manner, and Fred knew it. “What’s wrong?” I said.
“The governor has made his move.”
I gave Katie instructions to keep Nathan entertained if I was late.
I was there in twenty-five minutes, and someone was in my chair.
“Jason, this is Detective Wilcox, of the state police.” Fred was exasperated.
“Thank you for coming,” the man said, and my first impression was of the nastiest little mustache I had ever seen in my life. We completed the formalities.
Detective Wilcox was very good. His political instinct was sharp as a knife. He apparently had long had the wealthy-industrialist-and-high-powered-lawyer beat, and he was respectful, confident, circumspect, authoritative, well-dressed, trustworthy, loyal, clean, and reverent. His only flaw was the little pencil mustache. What was he thinking?
“Now, Detective Wilcox, let’s get down to business.” Fred leaned forward imperiously. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how busy a man Mr. Boyer is.” A man of Wilcox’s experience would understand that this had better be very important.
He was not intimidated. He turned to me. “I’m afraid we have some disturbing information for you, Mr. Boyer, concerning your father’s death.”
“What?”
“His car had been tampered with.”
It was suddenly the same feeling I’d had when Fred had read the will-ring of iron around my chest.
“We completed our laboratory analysis last week, and there is no doubt,” Wilcox was saying. “The brake lines had been drained.”
“I see.”
I could see. That rotten, wretched old man, that idiot! An accident maybe can’t be prevented, but getting murdered was pure malicious carelessness, specifically to spite me and ruin my life.
“This is a serious statement, Mr. Wilcox.” Fred was in high dudgeon himself. “Do you realize the implications?”
“Very much. We have examined the evidence in every way, and we are completely sure.”
