Part 6 (2/2)
The clock struck half-past twelve and Robert had yet to get down to bra.s.s tacks, but VanHorn prided himself on his patience.
”So,” the old man was saying, ”this situation will have to be handled with the utmost discretion.”
Neils was way ahead of Sullivan. ”No problem.”
”No one knows about the boy. That was how it was supposed to be.”
”Understandable, considering the circ.u.mstances.” Sure, Robert Sullivan had wanted to deep-six an illegitimate grandson just to keep up appearances. It hadn't occurred to him then that the kid might just be the last of the line, so to speak. VanHorn drew hard on his cigar and let out a puff of sweet, aromatic smoke. He feigned interest just to keep the old boy talking while taking a mental inventory of the Persian rugs and flintlock rifles locked behind the beveled gla.s.s doors of the gun case. Was that a Renoir mounted over the fireplace or a good fake? ”You don't know the name of the couple who adopted him?”
”No...I...well, my wife was alive then and my son had just pa.s.sed away, but we thought there would be more grandchildren. Legitimate ones. Beatrice hadn't married, of course, not yet, she was still pining for that sailor-Roy Panaker his name was...” His voice trailed off, as if weary from years of disappointment.
”How about the lawyer?”
”Dead. Tyrell Clark. A ladies man with a gambling problem, or so I was told. He was an a.s.sociate with our firm for a while, didn't get along with some of the partners, and struck out on his own. Always a little on the shady side, Clark eventually got himself into a mess with the IRS and debtors. He popped off not long after the adoption.”
Robert's mouth pinched into a little frown. ”His practice-what little there was of it-was sold by the government to one of Clark's compet.i.tors, a man by the name of Millard Kent. I've tried discussing this with him, but his firm is a little more reputable than Clark's was. No one's talking. I wonder if there are any files.” His cold eyes turned to VanHorn. ”Sometimes in a case like this, if everything isn't exactly on the up and up, it's better if there isn't a paper trail.”
”But the couple had to sign doc.u.ments, get the kid a birth certificate, go through the proper channels...”
Sullivan lifted a shoulder and sipped from his drink. ”I'm sure there are loopholes in the process that we can dig up. It shouldn't be too difficult because Tyrell had more than his share of trouble with the bar-his work wasn't always exactly on the up-and-up. He was never disbarred, mind you, but he left our firm with his tail between his legs because he came close.”
”Yet you chose him to handle the adoption.”
Robert scowled at the remains of his drink. ”For just that reason,” he admitted with a long sigh. ”I didn't ever want some b.a.s.t.a.r.d grandchild showing up on my doorstep with his hand out. I saw all the problems my brother Frank had with one of his, so I thought-and now I realize my complete and utter sn.o.bbery about the situation-anyway, I thought I wanted the kid to disappear. He was a cancer, a blight on the proud Sullivan name, you see.” He smiled wistfully. ”It's funny how your perspective can change when you're facing your maker.”
Neils chose to ignore Robert's statement on his own mortality. It didn't have any bearing except that he didn't want the old boy to kick off before this deal was done. ”The parents are probably going to fight you.”
”Who cares? The way I see it, they were lucky enough in the first place to adopt the boy. Now it's time for him to come home-to his rightful spot.”
”Which is?”
”Heir, of course.”
”How does your brother feel about this?”
”Frank?” Robert made a scornful sound. ”Frank's never understood about family, about right of succession, about the responsibility responsibility that comes with our station in life. In fact, he's always enjoyed the privilege of wealth, but oftentimes has acted...well, common, for lack of a better word.” that comes with our station in life. In fact, he's always enjoyed the privilege of wealth, but oftentimes has acted...well, common, for lack of a better word.”
”He'll find out.”
”I know. I plan to talk to him later in the week. But the less you involve my brother and his family, the better.”
”Does your daughter know about this?” Neils asked, wondering at the old man's power trip. Arrogantly superior, Robert Sullivan believed that he was right and everyone else was wrong, just because he'd been born first in line. No, that wasn't right; according to his notes, there had been an older brother who had died before ascending to the Sullivan throne. His name-William or Charles or something very British.
”Beatrice.” Robert's frown deepened as he left his cigar to burn in a crystal ashtray. ”Yes, she knows I'm hiring someone, but it's best to leave her out of this as much as possible. She didn't want the baby then, doesn't want him interfering with her life now. Really, she's quite upset about it. Doesn't understand why I can't just let Frank and his boy, Collin, inherit everything.”
”She's not in line?” VanHorn said, lifting his eyebrows.
”She's a woman.”
”So what if there were no sons?” VanHorn asked, disbelievingly. This was nearly the turn of the century, for G.o.d's sake; no one believed all that women-are-inferior-garbage today.
”Having no sons,” Robert said succinctly, ”would be a problem-basically unacceptable.”
”I'd think Beatrice would be fighting tooth and nail for her own interests”
”Unfortunately, she's not interested in the family business or a.s.sets. She's content to collect a check every month and never question where it comes from.” He sipped his brandy, set his snifter on a nearby table, and removed his gla.s.ses. Polis.h.i.+ng the lenses slowly with a monogrammed handkerchief he'd drawn from his breast pocket, he said, ”Remember, this arrangement is best left between you and me. Beatrice and I have already talked. I can't just show up with her child one day and not prepare her, but keep her in the dark as much as possible. I'll handle Beatrice.” The old man's jaw hardened.
”Does anyone know where Roy Panaker is?” Neils prompted.
”Not to my knowledge.” Robert was suddenly impatient. ”You'll have to find him, of course. Set the ground rules. I a.s.sume it will be necessary to pay him off, but rather than making him rich, it would be better to dig up a little dirt on him, something unscrupulous you can use to bribe him and keep him in line, so that there's no way he'll risk exposure if he ever finds out about the boy.”
”He hasn't been interested yet?”
”Probably has no idea, but I'd like to be rea.s.sured that he won't be a problem.”
Neils nodded, as if everything Robert was saying was commonplace, that bribery and invasion of privacy didn't matter-which they didn't-it was just the magnitude of Robert's request that blew him away.
”When that time comes, if if it comes, when you have to talk to Beatrice, let me know. I'll arrange a meeting, but it's best that you don't contact her. There's no telling what she'll do. Unfortunately, Mr. VanHorn, my daughter isn't very stable.” it comes, when you have to talk to Beatrice, let me know. I'll arrange a meeting, but it's best that you don't contact her. There's no telling what she'll do. Unfortunately, Mr. VanHorn, my daughter isn't very stable.”
A secret meeting.
What could it be about? What did Robert Sullivan and Neils VanHorn discuss within the walnut-paneled walls of Louisburg Square?
Royce didn't have all the details, d.a.m.n him. The butler was too discreet to press his ear to the door, too afraid of losing his highly prized t.i.tle of head servant in Robert Sullivan's household.
The d.a.m.ned hired help. You paid them through the nose, and still they only pa.s.sed on the bare essentials, information that could be easily soaked in while removing dishes or setting a fire.
But Royce did report that Robert Sullivan had dined at home with a man named Neils VanHorn, a private investigator and not a professional of the stature Robert Sullivan usually hired.
”Let's just say his overcoat was a tad frayed at the cuffs,” Royce had said. A tattered coat and boots with holes, for G.o.d's sake. Royce had actually spied black spots on the soles when VanHorn had the audacity to prop his feet up on the oxblood leather furniture. Feet up as he'd burned through one of Robert's Havana cigars.
Something was in the air...power swirling, spinning in a fierce maelstrom.
And Robert was behind it, manipulating and twisting, always the mastermind, always the ruthless patriarch.
Well, he wasn't going to proceed unchecked.
The old man had to be watched.
Carefully watched.
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