The Test (4 page)

“But before moving on, I have another family introduction,” Carl continued. “Cardinal?”

Frank wanted to say something, to make a protest, to challenge this craziness, but before he could, his uncle rose to open the door leading to the library. Frank did not trust the old man and had always resented the close relationship he'd had with his father.

What happened next, Frank could never have anticipated in a million years. Stunned, he gasped as Cardinal Sean escorted a drop-dead gorgeous, young woman into the living room. The occupant of the remaining thirteenth chair? A vaguely familiar woman with long black hair and very black eyes? Very chic in a taupe suede suit, with matching stiletto heels and a triple rope of pearls. Frank knew how expensive they must be since he intended to buy something similar for Meredith. Then he identified her: Monica Monroe,
the
famous female vocalist, Grammy-award winner, and poster child of the media. The vocalist that Dad had specified for his funeral Mass. But there'd been lots of celebrities at the funeral: the Philadelphia cardinal, George and Barbara and Jeb Bush, Rosalyn and Jimmy Carter, Governor Ridge, Governor Pataki. So the superstar, Monica Monroe, did not seem out of the ordinary.

Frank glanced around at the others. Stunned faces all around.

“Cardinal, will you take over?” Carl broke the silence as Miss Monroe settled into the chair, crossed her incredible legs, and flipped raven hair off her face.

Cardinal Sean, renowned for his powerful oration, seemed uncertain, tentative. He stood, then he sat, then stood again. Finally he sat down.

What could this woman possibly be doing here? A woman whose latest CD release catapulted straight to the top of the charts. Whose performances were sold out as soon as they were announced. And just this morning, her stunning performance—“How Great Thou Art” and the “Ave Maria.” After he'd given the eulogy, Frank had looked around to thank her for coming, but she'd already left. But what the hell was she doing here at the will reading?

“I know that this will come as quite a shock,” Cardinal Sean began. “Why Monica is here. It may be difficult. I know it's difficult for her.”

What was the old man talking about? We don't need a serenade
.

“I'll get right to the point.” Cardinal Sean's blue eyes lacked the usual sparkle, and he spoke shakily. “Monica is your father's daughter, by blood.”

This was the limit—no way—this was absurd. Frank started to rise. Somebody had to put an end to this nonsense. He felt a surge of acid in the pit of his stomach. Then he felt Meredith tug at his sleeve.

“Sit down,” she whispered through clenched teeth.

“She is the daughter of Nick and Denise Monroe by adoption,” Cardinal Sean said. Frank squirmed under Meredith's hold, struggling to come to grips with this insanity. Then he sat back down. His uncle had the attention of all. Even Carla, who looked half-stoned, sat up straighter, staring in disbelief. As for Dan's Florida entourage, this was going to make the trip north more interesting.

“I've known Monica since she was an infant,” Cardinal Sean resumed. “And now, at Paul's request, she's here as part of the Parnell family.”

Cardinal Sean leaned over to pat Monica's hand as the superstar gazed silently ahead.

Was that smugness on her face? What kind of a fraud was she trying to pull?

Carl cleared his throat to speak. “I'm going to explain, as your father requested. Nine years after Kay died,” he paused for Monica's benefit, “Kay was Paul's first wife.”

Monica nodded her head in acknowledgment.

“Paul had an affair.” Cardinal Sean looked first at Frank and then at Dan. “Frank and Dan, this was just after your grandparents died, and just before Paul met Vivian. The woman's name was Abby Ames.”

Frank could feel his inheritance slipping out of his hands. He stiffened and Meredith pressed her shoulder into his as a gesture of support—or maybe warning.

“Miss Ames was a model in one of Keystone Pharma's advertising campaigns when Paul was president of the company.” Carl spoke deliberately. “She was twenty-four, he, forty-seven. She became pregnant. Paul convinced her to have the baby. He provided for her until her death five years ago.”

Frank's eyes bored into Monica.

“Abby realized that she was not cut out for motherhood,” Carl continued, “and she left the infant with me. I contacted your uncle.”

Cardinal Sean took up the story. “I had just been anointed bishop of Detroit, and had become acquainted with the Monroes. Nick and Denise were blessed with four sons. They had very much wanted a daughter, but Denise couldn't have more children. Well, let's just say that they were
elated when I told them about the baby girl. They named the baby Monica, and as you can see she turned out to be a beautiful and incredibly talented young woman.”

“Yes, she did,” added Carl proudly. “And Monica, we thank you for being here today. I know you had doubts about coming.”

The woman casually fingered her hair, but remained silent and expressionless.

“Monica has a marvelous family,” Cardinal Sean continued. “Her father and brothers who adore her. And her fiancé. Someone you might know, the sportscaster, Pat Nelson.”

With that Monica turned toward Cardinal Sean, her lips curving into the slightest of smiles. She uncrossed, then recrossed her legs.

“Although she has always known that she was adopted, Monica only recently learned that Paul was her father. She met him for the first time here, just after Thanksgiving.”

“This may seem awkward for you all,” Carl interrupted, “but I know you will welcome Monica into the Parnell family.”

Silence from the assembled group met this announcement.

“So let's move on to your father's will.”

“Excuse me,” Frank interrupted. “With all due respect, this is quite a shock. Has anybody thought through the implications here? Miss Monroe is a big celebrity and I'm a senator. Paul Parnell, the perfect family man, having a secret affair, fathering a child he tried to hide. This could turn ugly. What about the public relations aspect of this story?”

“Frank, I brought that up with Paul.” Carl seemed to have an answer for everything today. “He pointed out that with the right media spin it could enhance both of your careers.”

“Right spin?” Frank clenched his jaw to keep from yelling.

“It was your father's dying wish,” Cardinal Sean butted in, “to unite the family.”

“Cardinal Sean? Do you understand what the tabloids will do with this? This woman's a paparazzi target.”

“Yes, Frank, but maybe—” Cardinal Sean stopped mid-sentence. His focus seemed to wander and he grimaced. All were silent until he composed himself.

“Look everybody, this is not easy for me.” Monica's voice rang
crystal clear. “I didn't ask for this. I have a family. I'm here because of a promise I made to a wonderful old man, a man I just recently learned was my biological father. Yes, Senator, I think that our PR people should control this, but mostly I'm worried about my father. I don't want him hurt because of—” she scanned the room “— all of you.”

“We understand,” Rory gushed.

“I suggest we move forward with the reading of the will.” Carl reached for a sheaf of papers. “I am going to do this exactly as your father instructed.”

There was no response. No one stirred.

Come on Carl, Frank urged silently.

“I also want you to know that several attorneys have carefully examined the will. Paul was lucid when he signed this, and I can assure you he spent a great deal of time, energy, and effort on his Last Will and Testament.”

What does that mean? Frank did not like the undertone here. But then he told himself to stop being paranoid, to just listen. His dad would not betray him.

“Once diagnosed with incurable cancer, Paul had plenty of time to consolidate his investments. He wanted execution of the will to be as straightforward as possible. The assets are clearly defined. Tax implications have been optimized for the benefit of the estate. He leaves no debt. He did not believe in life insurance. A ballpark analysis of the after-tax assets of the estate amounts to almost two billion dollars, excluding real estate and personal effects.”

There was a low groan. It came from Dan who was slumped in his chair, head in his hands. What was that about, thought Frank After all these years, his reclusive brother gave a damn about money?

Everyone in the room tried not to stare at Dan as his former wife leaned over and whispered something to him. No one heard what she said, but everybody could hear his hoarse reply, “I'll be okay.”

Carl proceeded to read the will verbatim, his hands continuing to shake.

His father kept two houses and an apartment, each with caretakers. Frank was not surprised as Carl confirmed that each would be getting a flat sum, much more generous than they deserved, but typical of his
dad. To his brother, Cardinal Sean, Paul Parnell left fifty million dollars, which would no doubt go to Detroit diocesan charities. Then the will dealt with the grandchildren, naming each in order of age: Dan's two, the eight Stevens kids, including the three adoptees, and Frank's own daughter. Each kid—eleven in all—got a million dollars.

“What the heck!” flew out of Frank's mouth.

“Frank,” said Carl, as if admonishing a child.

Frank glared at Rory and Chan, disgusted by the way they sat teary-eyed, holding hands. One million for my kid. Eight million for theirs. No wonder Rory had spent so much time with Dad. He'd been too sick to see through her motives.

Carl went on. Frank heard, “Gina Parnell, five million dollars.”

“No,” Gina said from across the table. “I want nothing.”

Frank glanced at Meredith. She'd been waiting for Carl to name her next, but he hadn't. This was getting worse by the minute. Stay calm, Frank told himself. It's a two-billion-dollar estate. Less than seventy million had been dispersed so far. Only one of those millions was his, or at least his daughter's. Eight for Rory's family. Seven for Dan's. Fifty for Cardinal Sean. Then Carl read on about the money for the minor children being kept in trust. So he couldn't even get at that.

Frank calculated as he clutched the arms of his chair. One point nine billion dispersed among Dad's four real kids should add up to five hundred million each, give or take a few. Not a problem, Frank told himself, just hang in there while the old man reads on. Later you can look into the matter of Dad's sanity. But no way could he let Rory get away with this. From the moment she intruded into their life, she'd been manipulating his father. Dad, who'd never had time for him and Dan, just couldn't do enough for Vivian's daughter, Rory. And what about this Monica apparition? What was she trying to walk away with?

What was Carl saying about real estate? The Gulfstream aircraft and the A-Star helicopter? Going into a trust? Funded by an annuity to cover maintenance for each property, including three automobiles for each, except the Manhattan apartment. For use by all of us? Hiring a trust administrator? Somebody named Peggy Putnam? Next to him, Frank could feel Meredith tense up, and when he looked down he could see that his knuckles were white.

Frank didn't remember exactly what Carl said next. Something about Paul's having dispersed all of Kay's and Vivian's jewelry before he died. He vaguely remembered the exquisite pieces Dad had given Meredith.

“So what?” he heard himself mutter.

Carl, sitting there, looked too old, too tired, and too shaky to handle such a huge estate. Meredith should be Dad's executor, not that old goat. Outside, Frank could see that the clouds had descended and heavy blobs of snow had started to fall.

He leaned toward Meredith. “Can you believe this bullshit?”

“Not now, Frank,” she said, meaning,
Don't lose your cool and say something you'll be sorry for
. Then she added, “Check out Dan.”

Frank looked to his brother to see tears starting to trickle down his cheeks.

Frank shrugged his shoulder and pulled his concentration back to Carl, wondering whether the shakiness in his voice had anything to do with the Parkinson's. Could it be affecting his vocal cords? He had to pay close attention to what the old man was saying. His future was at stake.

“Before I go on, I want to remind you that the sheer magnitude of the estate will require probate. Once I am officially appointed executor by the court, guardians must be established for the minors. You will all get copies of the will and all probate documents as well as specifics of the hearing on the petition to probate the will. Soon thereafter, I will provide a list of assets as required and you will all receive a copy. I will also engage the necessary tax and estate attorneys.”

A lengthy pause followed as Carl shuffled the papers in front of him. His dyed black hair accentuated the grayness of his skin. It occurred to Frank that he might not make it through the probate process.

“I have one other assignment in addition to executor, that of trustee. Paul has established a trust, which he has funded with the remainder of his assets.”

Frank let out a low whistle, and all eyes turned toward him. Was this it? Would he get the whole thing?

“As you know,” Carl continued, “a trust provides much more discretion for the grantor. It also provides privacy since, unlike probate, a trust does not need to be disclosed to anyone except the trustee and the
beneficiaries. Nevertheless, Paul wanted the contents of the trust disclosed to those here present.”

Frank and Meredith had each been in the top ten of their class at Yale Law. Frank had gone to the district attorney's office in Philadelphia as a jumping off point for politics, but Meredith, as a senior partner in Donnor, Clark and Schiller, was an authority on estate and tax issues.

“I am going to read verbatim as to how your father plans to distribute the proceeds of the trust.” Carl fumbled to find the page.