There were several other injunctions and court orders thrown down in front of Petrelli and DeSantos. Boies had told me that these were only stopgaps, and in some cases, pretty weak stopgaps. Most of them were from favors that my legal team had called in from various Federal judges, since almost none of this was actually under Federal jurisdiction. If Petrelli wanted to fight it, he would ultimately get his day in court, although it would probably not be with DeSantos running his legal team. He seemed as contemptuous of Petrelli's lawyer as I was. At that point, Boies turned things back over to me.
"Now, as to your claims against my assets. You have no claim! The legal theory that you and your mother form a second family and are thus entitled to half of my wealth is ridiculous on its face. No court has ever found this to be realistic. The same goes for any claim for back child support. Your mother had the claim against me, not you, and for whatever reasons she had, she never came after me for support. Maybe if she had I would have agreed to something. However, she didn't. You, on the other hand, have no legal standing to make such a claim."
I pointed over at Tucker. "That's my estate lawyer. My lead estate lawyer, I should say. He heads a team of estate and tax lawyers larger than DeSantos entire firm. He's the guy who wrote my will. So, since we've already established that you can't get any money out of me in a lawsuit, let's see what else you might get from me. Tucker?"
Tucker took off his glasses and tossed them on the table. "Under the provisions of Mister Buckman's current last will and testament, any and all children of Mister Buckman will receive on his death $10 million each. Mrs. Buckman will receive much more, but inasmuch as you have no relationship to her, you have no claim against her. The vast bulk of Mister Buckman's estate will be transferred to the Buckman Foundation, Mister Buckman's charity. Again, you have no claim against that. Mister Buckman is currently 48 years old and has a life expectancy of another 30 years. You will be 60 years old before you ever see anything other than legal bills. Further, even as we speak, Mister Buckman's will is being rewritten to specifically exclude any children not the issue of Mister Buckman and his wife Marilyn Buckman. In order to get anything, you will first have to invalidate Mister Buckman's new will, which you will not be able to even attempt until after his death, during probate, again, in 30 years."
That hit Petrelli like a bombshell! He had a look of horror on his face, and his head whipped around to stare at DeSantos. "You said..." The two of them began to argue with each other, snarling like a pair of loud Italian cats.
I gave a disgusted look to my team, and let them wrangle another moment or two. Finally I got sick and tired of them, and bellowed out, "ENOUGH ALREADY! SHUT UP!" The two agents stepped up behind the bickering assholes and they shut up. They settled down and turned to look at me. "So, you can't sue me for any money now, and you'll be an old man before I die and you can get any other money. Here's my offer. This is a onetime only offer, and there will be no counteroffer. Take it or leave it."
The two men looked at each other, and then turned back to me. I continued, "First, I will pay you $10 million. You will be explicitly cut out of my will. You are going to get the same payout as my children, only you won't have to wait until I die."
Petrelli looked horrified as he realized his free billions were gone. DeSantos however had a look on his face that said he still thought he was smarter than me. I continued, "That will be the payout for simply being a recipient of my DNA. Your mother also left you something. Obviously it was not her intelligence, wit, or charm, since you have none. She did, however, leave you her diaries. I am willing to buy those diaries from you, for another $10 million. You will turn over all the diaries. They will be destroyed without ever being published."
Petrelli began to look hopeful again. I still wasn't done. "Finally, in compensation for the loss of your mother, and the terrible pain of growing up without a father, there will be a lump sum payment of a further $5 million, to ease your suffering. That amounts to $25 million, to be paid out in four payments of $6.25 million a year. After that, I won't be the President, so whatever embarrassment value you think this has becomes nil. You will agree to never discuss this agreement or the terms of the agreement. If you refuse to turn over all the diaries or violate the terms of the agreement it becomes null and void, and you will be required to pay back any and all payments, plus penalties."
I nodded to David Boies, and he pulled out another document and slid it across the table. "These are the terms.", he said. "They are nonnegotiable."
I had argued about buying the bastard off – in every meaning of the word! Maybe I could go along with the $10 mill inheritance package, since it was the same amount my other kids would get. The other $15 was blackmail and nothing more. I'd rather spend twice that to bury him.
Instead I was faced with a solid wall of my lawyers and senior staff, all of whom wanted this thing buried. I met with David Boies privately and he put it bluntly. "Carl, grow up! This guy can keep this going for years. You can make it expensive for him, but you can't stop it. He can fight this forever, starting one law suit after another, and eventually he will win one. The stays will run out, the court orders will be overruled, the diaries will be unsealed. At some point a court somewhere will rule that the diaries can be published, and that the two of you will get to argue over who gets the proceeds. Do you want your wife and children reading about your sweaty fun and games in the back seat of your father's car?"
"We never did it in my father's car!"
"Oh, shut up! Nobody cares! Do you really want to spend the next four years of your Presidency as a late night joke? Who do you want to play you in the TV movie!?"
"Shit!", I muttered.
"Here's something else to think about. The more you fight this, the more valuable the diaries become. The longer you fight, the more people will want to see what you are fighting about. I had some of my people look into the value of the diaries. Conservative estimate, $30 million, moving on up to $50 million. Like I said, grow up. Make the damn deal!"
So I made the damn deal. I offered $25 mill to a guy who figured $25 kay was a decent year. The papers sat on the table for a moment, and then Petrelli reached out for them. DeSantos' arm snaked out and he grabbed them first. He began looking them over. "We need some time to review this."
Boies looked at me and I nodded. He responded, "Twenty-four hours. In the meantime, the Federal Marshal downstairs will accompany you back to New York, where you will turn over the diaries. They will remain in Federal custody until this is resolved."
DeSantos gave an almost imperceptible nod. It was time to end this. I stood up. "I have wasted far too much of my life messing with this idiocy. Mister Petrelli, I have no idea why your mother never informed us of your parentage. That was her decision, not yours and not mine. What most disappoints me is how anybody with half my genes could act the way you do. You may be my offspring, but you are certainly not my son. I hope to never hear from you again." I left the lawyers in the room, and took the agents with me. Enough of this!
Chapter 158: The Calm Before The Storm
I wasn't surprised when DeSantos agreed to the terms, and had Petrelli sign the papers the next day. The marshal returned to Washington with the signed papers and the diaries. The diaries were turned over to the Federal Court while the final paperwork was finished. Eventually the diaries were turned over to me. I went home to Hereford that weekend and left Marilyn in D.C. I never read them. I just grabbed a box of kitchen matches and went up to the helipad and threw the diaries into some old cardboard boxes, doused them with lighter fluid, and set them on fire. It was chilly, but I didn't really care. I just stood there and watched, occasionally kicking unburned pages back into the fire, until nothing was left. I didn't think I would ever understand why Jeana had never come forward, but I just didn't want to read her diaries to try and find out. That just seemed too private and personal. It was so long ago, and so bittersweet.