through the Internet, read the microfiche newspaper articles at the library, and had come to the conclusion that the last thing these people needed was for another problem to rear its ugly head, both privately and for public consumption.
The public had consumed plenty already, with the murder attempts on the former senator by both his business partner and his supposed wife.
That had been the double whammy, that his wife had been the victim of amnesia for ten years while her twin sister, a convicted murderer, had impersonated her, taken her place in Joe Colton’s house, Joe Colton’s bed.
Bizarre.
It was the stuff of tabloids, made for TV docudramas, all that sleazy stuff. Except it all had happened to good people.
But all of that was over, in the past. Problems solved, lives mended, the future bright.
Until these latest revelations that, thankfully, were still hiding under the press’s radar. Until, if the information Jesse had received thus far was correct, it had been learned that his grandmother had been the legal wife of Joe Colton’s father, Teddy. The only legal wife of Joe Colton’s father.
Making Senator Joseph Colton the bastard born on the wrong side of the blanket. Oh yeah, the tabloids would gobble it up if they knew. One thing Jesse wanted to make very clear to the senator’s son was that nobody in the Oklahoma branch of the Coltons planned to go public with anything. Ever.
“Jesse,” Rand Colton said, walking around from behind his desk, his right hand extended in greeting. “Or should I say, cousin?”
Jesse took the man’s hand in his, felt the dry warmth and solid strength he hadn’t expected to find in the grip of a lawyer. “Jesse’s fine,” he said, then took a seat on a chair that was part of a small conversational gathering of chairs and couch on one side of the large office. “Are we really sure?”
“You’ve spoken to your family?” Rand asked, lowering his six-foot-two-inch frame into the facing chair.
“Yes, when I went home after my grandmother’s funeral. I couldn’t be there in July, as I was traveling in Europe with the president, but I finally got there. They’ve been having some pretty interesting times in Black Arrow.”
“Thanks to my uncle, yes,” Rand said, shaking his head, then looking toward the now-open door. “Is there something wrong, Sylvia?”
“Oh, no sir, Mr. Colton. I only wondered if you and Mr. Colton might like some coffee,” the secretary said.
“Coffee?” Rand asked, looking at Jesse.
“Sure,” he answered, and turned to smile at the secretary. “I take it black, thank you.”
“Oh, no trouble, Mr. Colton,” Sylvia gushed, and Jesse saw a slight flush in her cheeks. “Really. It’s absolutely no trouble at all.”
As the secretary turned to exit, and nearly collided with the doorjamb, Rand said, “Do you always have that impact on women? I doubt I’ll get any coffee at all. You’ll probably get coffee and doughnuts.”
Jesse settled himself in his chair once more, and grinned. “It’s my Comanche blood, I suppose. Some women find that exciting.”
“I find that Comanche blood interesting, frankly,” Rand said, crossing one long leg over the other. “From everything I’ve learned about Teddy Colton—our mutual paternal grandfather—he was a heavy drinker, a social climber, a pompous ass—and a world-class bigot.”
“I really wouldn’t know,” Jesse said, resting his arms on the chair. “But I’ve seen early photographs of my grandmother just before she went to Reno to get a job that would allow her to send money home to her parents, and she was a beautiful woman. I mean, truly beautiful. He probably couldn’t help himself.”
“I can believe that. I can also believe that Teddy met her and married her—before his society marriage to my grandmother. My paternal granddaddy, a bigamist. It’s still mind-boggling. Have you seen the documentation?”
Jesse nodded. “On my visit home, yes. I brought the deed and marriage license back with me so I could look into the matter here. Although why Gloria—my grandmother—never told her sons the full truth is still beyond me.”
“Pride,” Rand said with a slight nod of his head. “The way I’ve heard it, thanks to my father, is that when she realized she was pregnant and contacted Teddy, it was to learn that my grandmother was also pregnant. She could have raised one hell of a stink but she didn’t. She just went home to raise her twin sons on her own. I admire her greatly. A simple woman with real class and a giving heart. Teddy, on the other hand, didn’t trust her.”
“Never measure others by the length of your own lodgepole, as my great-grandfather would say. Teddy would have used information like that as a hammer, and so he felt sure Gloria would, as well. But she never did.”
“And she never took a penny from the trust Teddy set up in her name,” Rand said, “or from the house he put into the trust for her. The Chekagovian embassy. I’ve already asked the lawyers who handle the trust to request that the embassy be vacated, and that’s well in hand.”
“I can’t believe we can evict the Chekagovians,” Jesse said with a smile.
“We didn’t have to. It seems the embassy was already in the process of being emptied in favor of a newer building closer to the Capitol. It should be entirely vacant by the end of next week. I’ll make sure you have keys waiting for you at the lawyers’ office, as I’m sure you’ll want to see the place. I know I would. Say, next Friday?”
Jesse lowered his eyelids, thinking that Samantha would be pleased when he told her he could take her on a tour of the estate. Nothing like turning this entire thing into a dating opportunity. He blinked, ordered his mind to concentrate on the matters at hand.
“Thank you. And about the trust? I’m still having a hard time getting my mind wrapped around that number. Ten million dollars?”
“Rounded down, yes. Sixty years of interest is a lot of interest, especially when the stock market began taking off—and especially when the trust was handled well enough to get out of that market and into safer funds while it was still high,” Rand said, grinning. “And imagine. If my uncle Graham hadn’t gotten greedy, nobody might have known about any of this.”
“Yes, how did that happen?”
Rand and Jesse both stood up as Sylvia entered, carrying a tray holding a small pot, two cups and saucers and one plate of doughnuts. “Thank you, Sylvia. Sylvia?” Rand prompted as his secretary continued to stare at Jesse.
“Thank you, Sylvia,” Jesse said, and the secretary blushed again, then backed her way out of the room.
“Truly amazing. I believe it’s called charisma, Jesse,” Rand said as he sat down once more. “Living in this town, you ought to run for office. You’d certainly get the female vote, if Sylvia’s any indication.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jesse said, then took a bite of the glazed doughnut he’d selected.
“Anyway,” Rand said, picking up his coffee cup, “it was Graham, my father’s brother, who contacted our lawyers here in some desperation, wanting to sell up anything that might be left of their father and mother’s estate.”
“Yes, I remember the name now. Graham. The younger brother?”
“That’s him. Graham earns plenty working for my dad, but money just runs through his fingers, so he was looking for another way to make a quick buck. The way I heard it, some junior law clerk, God knows why, mentioned the Georgetown mansion. Never should have happened because my grandfather had apparently explicitly demanded the estate be kept private unless the inquisitor had the deed in hand. Anyway, the clerk was disciplined, although I’m rather glad he made the mistake, if not happy how Graham reacted to learning of your grandmother’s existence. He went ballistic, thinking about the money and the possible scandal.”