Free The Heir by Paul Robertson

can he? But you are his son, and certainly you knew him. Please understand me as I say this, that I dislike speaking anything besides good of a man who is not present.”
    He meant it, too. “I knew him well enough,” I said. “And I’ve learned a lot more in the last few days.”
    “I’m certain you have. Your father had many sides to his affairs, and I only dealt with the altruistic ones. By common agreement, we did not discuss any others. He knew I was aware of them.
    “And I suppose that was why I was working with him, so some good would come of his wealth. A few pluses on the ledger to balance the minuses. That was why he had created the foundation. And I don’t mean that the foundation was his only positive effort, of course.”
    I nodded. “I understand. As I’ve said, I’m only beginning to discover all his efforts.”
    He blew smoke thoughtfully into the atmosphere. It clashed slightly with the room’s colors. “Had your father spoken to you about the changes he made to the will?”
    How helpful to bring that up. “No. It was quite a shock.”
    “I’m sure he meant to discuss it, probably very soon.”
    “He was driving home from Fred Spellman’s house when he had the accident. He had signed the new will only an hour before he died.”
    I was watching very closely. Nathan’s eyes showed his surprise.
    “That very night?”
    “Yes. It was a close thing, apparently, between whether you or I ended up here in the hot seat.”
    Nathan was still and silent, staring into the air. Despite his best efforts, it was still transparent. Finally he focused back onto me.
    “Remarkable.”
    Well, yes. No doubt about that.
    “I had no idea,” he added. “I can see how great a shock this has been. You really had no idea you would be the principal heir?”
    “Not at all,” I said. “I didn’t know until Fred told me last Thursday morning, after the funeral. When did you find out the foundation wasn’t the heir?”
    “When?” He was still bemused. “Well, officially when I met with Fred last Friday afternoon. But I knew, of course. Your father and I had discussed the reasons in detail.”
    It was a good thing I had just swallowed a mouthful of brandy, or I would have choked on it. I set the glass on the table beside me, trying to act calm, trying to be calm.
    “So . . . do you know why he changed his will, Nathan?”
    I was feeling something like panic. Since leaving Fred’s office, all I’d been thinking about was brake lines and motives. Now I was back to how much I really wanted to know this, how it was so important.
    “Yes, I do. As I said, we discussed it at length.” His words came forth with the majesty and calmness of deep wisdom. Or maybe it was cigarette smoke. “I asked him to.”
    “This is your fault?” It was pure reaction.
    “Well, now, not precisely,” he said sympathetically and a little defensively. “I only requested that the foundation not be the principal recipient. I would hardly have been so bold as to suggest who should be.”
    “There weren’t many other choices.” So I was in the line of fire because he had ducked. “Why not the foundation? It was what he had always planned.” I wasn’t used to controlling my anger. I had it under control, but the boiler was going to explode soon.
    And I knew the answer. It was obvious. Nathan was no Melvin Boyer. He might manipulate and bully if he had to, but he was a decent man. I might have done poorly with Clinton Grainger, but Nathan would have been laughable. So I laughed. Nathan smiled with me, uncertainly.
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “Too much pressure, I guess.”
    “Of course.” He waited, maybe to make sure I wasn’t going to have hysterics. “To answer your question . . .”
    “No, I understand now. It would be impossible for the foundation to manage this empire. It takes someone like Melvin.” Someone nasty, mean, hard, and efficient. Fred thought I’d done a reasonable job my first couple days. The more I