“That’s right,” Wilcox said. “As far as we can tell from your father’s papers and the bank records, none of this was part of the original reason he decided to change his will.”
Then Melvin died. Nathan claimed no part of that. He didn’t know how to drain a brake line, or even that a car had such a thing.
Nathan hadn’t known that Melvin had uncovered the embezzling. After Nathan had talked to Angela about being on the board, she had looked at Melvin’s papers. She didn’t understand them, except that something was making Melvin angry. She wrote Nathan the letter to say she would have nothing to do with the foundation.
He called her but she was even more determined. She told him she’d call me and tell me to fire him. She’d show me the notes.
“She called… me,” I said. “She… only said… she wouldn’t… be… on the board.”
“And then you called Kern. That’s when he knew she hadn’t tattled on him. Could she have been blackmailing him?”
“She didn’t… like… black. Only… pink.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’d… have to… know her.”
“I’ve talked with other people who knew her,”Wilcox said. “She was apparently eccentric, if that’s what you mean.”
Nathan flew to Washington, but then he drove back to meet with her. He asked to see her privately. But he quickly saw that she was irrational, that his position was threatened, even hopeless. And Angela, helpless fool, had her gun out for protection. How easily he took it and used it. He had the letter she’d sent and saw how it could be made into a suicide note.
It had all been so quick, so natural. It hadn’t been planned-it was self-defense. So much was at stake. After he killed her, he took the incriminating files from Melvin’s office.
The suicide facade fell through very quickly. He realized it wasn’t going to be so easy.
Then Clinton Grainger called. He’d seen copies of the notes, delivered earlier by his agent who had broken into Melvin’s office. He could tell they would be worth something against me, and he wanted to see if he could blackmail Nathan onto his side.
I’d called Nathan the afternoon before I met Grainger at the hotel and told him about the meeting. He had hardly a qualm at that point. He bought his own gun that afternoon. He called Clinton and said he wanted a meeting that night, which they arranged for the hotel after our meeting.
And all the while Nathan was working on me, trying to convince me how terrible the money was, how I needed to get rid of it. It was all about to fall into his lap when Katie got in the way.
She was the one who could stop my plan, so she had to be stopped herself. He tried to think how he could stop the divorce or talk her out of her lawsuits and obstruction. But he knew there was only one way.
Then, in my office that afternoon, I’d walked right in with my gun in my hand. I’d set it on the sofa. I’d looked so dazed, he realized I might not even know I had it. He slid a cushion over it. I was clueless.
In those few seconds he’d made his plan to kill Katie-and perhaps get me accused of it by using my gun. It would jeopardize my ability to transfer the money to the foundation, but it would also give the police a suspect. Nathan was getting very worried they would find Melvin’s papers in Grainger’s office, or that Angela or Grainger had talked to someone else. There were too many loose ends.
So he went to see her that evening.
“What… did she… say… to him?”
“He claims she wasn’t open to changing her mind.”
“He’s… lying.”
“How do you know?”
“She… let him… in.”
Wilcox considered. “You might be right. It would look a lot worse if he’d killed her even though she was willing to back down on the divorce. It would prove premeditation. And he hadn’t expected you to show up just minutes later.”
I was tired of talking. And living, too. I closed my eyes. She really hadn’t had to die. I wanted to die.
I didn’t feel like telling Wilcox where I’d been, which frustrated him. But he was in no position to push. And I’d thought of one other thing.
“Airport. JFK.”
“In New York?”
I nodded. “Car. I rented.”
“The white Mercury.”
“Thousand dollars… in it. I don’t want it back.”
“Right. It’s evidence. I’ll make sure it doesn’t disappear. We’ll put it in the widows’ and orphans’ fund. One more question,” he said. “Any idea why your father wanted to change his will in the first place?”
“No.”
If only I did.
“Wow.” Eric had heard the whole thing. “Everybody is so…” He didn’t know what word to use.
“Evil.” Or whatever. “It’s the money.”
He was getting it. “That’s what you kept saying.”
“I… hoped… Nathan could… help me.”
“And then you found out he was the killer.”
“I hoped… he knew… something stronger… than the money.”
“And he didn’t. That’s why you tried to jump off the building.”
“Yes.”
He was using brain cells he never had before. “So… I guess that means you didn’t find anything.”
“No.”
“What are you going to do when you get out of the hospital?”
“Don’t know.” This thing would be on my jaw for a month. Another reason to not live that long.
“And… Jason… what about…”
“Melvin.”
“Yeah. So, did Nathan Kern kill him? Or else, who did?”
“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.