Chapter 17

Chapter

Seventeen

T wo months after the explosion, our doorbell rings.

I am reading; You are cooking.

You answer the door; I hear murmurs, an unfamiliar male voice.

"All right, come on in, I guess." I hear Your voice, wary and cautious. "What is this about?"

"I have to speak to Miss de la Vega, Mr. Ryder. I'm sorry, but I cannot divulge anything to anyone except her."

I am showing now. I have taken to wearing loose dresses and yoga pants with stretchy waistbands. I put my e-reader down, and wait. You appear first, casual and perfect in jeans and a tank top, barefoot. The visitor is tall and thin, slightly hunched, as if expecting a blow any moment. Balding, only a fringe of graying dark hair remaining. Dressed in an expensive three-piece suit, complete with a pocket handkerchief and a matching tie, and carrying a slim brown briefcase.

I stand up. "I'm Isabel de la Vega."

A hand, extended. "Good afternoon, Miss de la Vega. My name is Michael Yancey Bowen. I'm a senior partner at Bowen, Brown, and Callahan."

"How can I help you, Mr. Bowen?" I put on what I think of as my Madame X persona, cool, aloof, superior. I have almost forgotten her, I think, and it is a relief to know I can still summon her indifference when I must.

"My firm represents the interests of Caleb Indigo, and by proxy, the entire Indigo spread of companies."

"And again, how can I help you?"

Michael Yancey Bowen glances at a chair kitty-corner to the coffee table. "May I sit?"

I gesture, imperiously, to cover the nerves I feel. "Please. Would you care for coffee or tea?"

"No, thank you." Michael takes the chair, sets the briefcase on the coffee table, and opens it with a flick of thumbs against latches. Withdraws a manila folder, turns it to face me, and sets it down in front of me. "As you may be aware, Mr. Indigo was an extraordinary businessman. He was extremely wealthy, and conservative with his wealth, considering the scope of his assets. He owned the high-rise here in Manhattan, a few vehicles, a private jet, and a small estate in the Caribbean. Other than that, there wasn't much...except a startlingly massive amount of liquid assets in banks and tax shelters all over the world."

"What does this have to do with me, Mr. Bowen?"

Bowen gestures at the manila folder and the small stack of papers therein. "The tower, along with all of his other physical assets, businesses, and subsidiary corporations, have been sold. He had no outstanding debt, so everything sold was at a rather tidy profit, and added to the already significant sum of money he possessed in movable liquid assets."

"Again, Mr. Bowen, what does this have to do with me? Spit it out. I have no time for wading through legalese."

Bowen gestures insistently at the folder. Withdraws an expensive pen from an inside suit coat pocket, taps the topmost paper. "Mr. Indigo had a standing will, which I personally drew up for him several years ago, and which he had me update four months ago. The update was simple, but sweeping."

The line Bowen tapped, near the bottom of the paper, is a number. A large number. Three commas between dollar sign and period.

"One more time, Mr. Bowen; what does this have to do with me ?"

"The update made four months ago was to make you the sole inheritor to all of his assets upon his death."

"What?"

"Once the tower, estate, and various businesses and enterprises were sold, the sum total to be distributed upon signature acknowledging receipt, is fourteen billion, eight hundred seventy-seven million, five hundred forty-three thousand, two hundred and thirty-one dollars and twenty-one cents."

My brain is spinning. "And twenty-one cents?"

Bowen checks the number. "Yes, twenty-one cents."

"You're serious?"

"About the twenty-one cents?"

"No, Mr. Bowen, not about the twenty-one cents. About—what did you say? Fourteen billion and what?"

"Fourteen billion, eight hundred seventy-seven million."

I am, yet again, having trouble breathing. "The fucking bastard left me fourteen billion dollars?"

"So it would appear, Miss de la Vega." Bowen flips the page over, starts rattling off the procedure for accepting the money.

It's more complicated than merely signing, apparently. I'm not listening.

I stand up, pace away from Bowen, the table, the will. Bowen keeps talking, and finally I pause, turn, hold up a hand. "Apologies, Mr. Bowen, but please... shut up for a moment."

I find myself going upstairs, out onto the roof terrace. Breathe in, breathe out. Find a seat, stare at the sky, the pale azure dotted with shreds of clouds.

I hear You, feel You sit on the lounge chair behind me, feel Your arms go around my shoulders. You pull me backward so my back is to Your chest. "I told Bowen we'd visit him at his office, that you'd need time to process this."

"Thank you, Logan."

"Fourteen billion dollars, Isabel. That's a fuckload of money. It'd make you one of the wealthiest people in the world."

"I can't believe he was worth fourteen billion dollars, Logan. I knew he was rich, but... that rich? Where did he get it all? Not from escorts and bride services. Not from Madame X."

"No, obviously not. He had fingers in everything. Real estate, stocks, technology. I think his real money came from the tech side of things, though. He owned a company that owned a patent on a medical device of some kind, something that every hospital, every doctor's office, every military base all over the world uses. He didn't invent it, but he bought the company that did, which was floundering in obscurity from lack of marketing and distribution resources. He recognized the value in the patent, and got it out there. Got the accounts one by one, until the owners of some truly sizable hospitals started catching on, and it took off like wildfire. This was while you were in the coma, I think. Before that it was all real estate, stocks, and a bunch of small companies all over the spectrum. After that medical device caught on, he was set."

"But . . . fourteen billion dollars?"

"It's a lot of money, Is."

My heart is twisting. "Too much. And it's... his ."

"Think about it, okay? Even coming from him, it's fourteen billion dollars, Isabel. You don't just turn that kind of money down."

"I . . . I can't, Logan. I just can't."

"No one could."

I shake my head. Stand up. Pace furiously. "No, Logan, you don't understand. I can't take it. Not a single dime. I can't. I won't . I can't take anything of his. He owns enough of me as it is. Even in death, he's trying to own me, control me. If I take that money, I'll still belong to Caleb Indigo."

"You're serious."

I turn and look at You. "Money has never really meant anything to me, Logan. Not in any real practical terms. It's just a number, objectively speaking. A large number, but just a number. I can't accept anything from Caleb. I can't have anything to do with him. I have to be done."

"I get that. I really do. But please, think about it. Just for a day or two, at least."

I shake my head. "No, Logan. I don't need to, and I don't want to. I'm not going to change my mind."

"You're absolutely sure that this is what you want to do? Just say, ‘No thanks, keep your fourteen billion dollars'?"

"You make it sound foolish, Logan." I am irritated. A little mad at You, honestly. "I am taking ownership of myself in turning down this money, Caleb's money. I didn't win the lottery. I didn't earn it. It is Caleb trying to manipulate me from beyond the grave. Turning down Caleb's money is the only thing I can do. I cannot and will not be his creation, his creature, his slave, his possession any longer. If I accept the money, regardless of how much it is, I would be putting myself back under his thumb. Selling myself to him, yet again. It would be just the same as if I'd never walked away from him at all. If I want to be free, truly free, of Caleb's domination of my life, then I have to be free of any and all ties to him. And that includes his fortune, vast as it may be."

You move to stand in front of me. Take my face in your hands. "I didn't mean to make it sound like you're stupid for not taking it. It's just... it's a fucking lot of money. I don't think there is another person in the world capable of saying no to fourteen billion dollars."

"Saying the number isn't going to make it any more real to me, Logan. I am incapable of comprehending the reality of that much money. I don't think anyone really is, but me least of all. My life thus far has not afforded me the kind of experience necessary to understand the value of money." I grasp Your wrists in my hands. "And what's more, I do not need to. You are not poor, by any measure. You will provide for my every need or want, and more besides. I have total faith in that, and in you. I do not need Caleb's money, because I have you. And hopefully, someday, I will earn money of my own."

"I'm with you, babe. I support you."

"But do you understand?"

"Yes, I do. I have a different view of money, because I've worked so hard for so long, because I came from nothing. I don't pursue wealth as a goal in and of itself; I pursue success. I enjoy what I do and want to be the best at it, and fortunately, being the best means I make a lot of money in the process. Having the money I do means I'm better able to fathom the reality of what fourteen billion dollars looks and feels like, what it can do for you. It means I can better understand what you're refusing. But it's not my choice."

"If it were your choice, if it were you making this decision, would you keep it?"

You take a moment, think about it. "I'd be a lot more tempted to rationalize why I should keep it, let's just say that."

"Let's go, then. I want to be done with this once and for all."

You are thinking again, and do not immediately respond. You look at me. "Can I make one small suggestion?"

"What?"

"Don't just refuse it outright. It'll get... I don't even know, really, parceled out. Wasted, gobbled up by whoever can get their hands on it."

"So what should I do with it?"

"Donate it. You know how many charities you could fund with that money? There's an endless amount you could do with it. With even the tiniest percentage, you could fund an entire school district for years . You could put an entire city full of kids through college. You could feed thousands of people. Put in wells in Africa. Build shelters for homeless people. My point is, don't just walk away from it. You don't have to keep it for yourself, but don't just... leave it sitting on the table. Take it, but use it for others. You could form a nonprofit, fund it with Caleb's money, and literally spend the rest of your life putting that money to use helping people. That's—fourteen billion dollars, Isabel?—that's world-changing money. Use it to change the world."

"You'll help me?"

"Of course."

"Then let's do it." I feel a fever coming over me, ideas spinning through my head one after another too fast to pluck any single one. "When you talked about the charities you donated to, I got this—rush, from hearing you talk about it. And just thinking about it now, I'm getting excited. What better way to use Caleb's money than to make the world a better place with it?"

"So you want to run a nonprofit? It's a lot of work, babe."

"But it's making a difference. Toward the end of things with Caleb, when the status quo started changing—because of you, you know—I was growing increasingly discontent with the fact of Madame X, of what I—what she —was doing. Questioning the value in it. We talked about it, I think. How I felt as if I were wasting my time, wasting my self trying to turn spoiled brats into half-decent men, especially as it became obvious I never really changed them, just showed them how to hide their inner bastards. This? You said it yourself, this is a chance to do something powerful and life-changing. I don't just want to distribute the money, though. I want to... do things. Dig the wells. See what the money does."

You are glowing. "This is going to be so cool, watching you do this."

"You're helping, Logan. We are going to do this."

"I'll help form the nonprofit, sort out the tax exemptions and all that, get you staffed and whatever else, the nuts and bolts of it, the mechanics of a corporation. That's what I do, after all. But this is you, Isabel. I'll support you, go anywhere with you. If you're digging wells in Africa, so am I. If you're rescuing girls out of prostitution in Thailand, so am I. But honey, this is going to be your project."

I do not argue. He's right.

For the first time in my life, I have a purpose, something I've chosen. And, oddly, I have you to thank, Caleb.

Again.

But this time it's a positive debt.

I wonder what you would think, if you could see what I'm going to do with your fortune?