“I’m hearing you say that you thought the only thing at risk was the future. How you would relate to your family after they saw who you had become.”
“And what?”
“And instead, you’re finding that your past is just as threatened.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Like that. I wonder if Mom was always like this and I just didn’t see, because how would I? And if Dad really was protecting us, or trying to, I can’t really count it against him. Eric was a sonofabitch.”
“He was,” Chogyi Jake said. “And you weren’t the only one he deceived. I think part of Ex’s anger stems from blaming himself for not seeing Eric for what he was when we worked with him.”
“What about you?”
“My anger stems from that too.”
I laughed.
“I didn’t know you had any anger,” I said.
Chogyi Jake laughed. It was a warm sound, and it always relaxed me. Even when we were talking about things like this. Betrayal and loss and the emptiness that came from seeing the world you thought you knew crumble to dust. “I have a tremendous depth of rage. Massive. But I try not to take it too seriously. Eventually it will drain away.”
“You think?”
“By the time I retire, I hope.”
“Probably better than taking it seriously,” I agreed. “I mean, what’s the point of soul-crushing tragedy and betrayal if you can’t get a laugh out of it.”
“ ‘The world is a comedy to those that think, a tragedy to those who feel,’ ” Chogyi Jake said, and I could tell from his tone it was a quotation.
“The Buddha?”
“Horace Walpole.”
“Ah,” I said. My fingers tapped against my pocket, clicking against the hard rectangle of my phone like they were trying to draw attention to something. I didn’t know if it was my subconscious or the rider in my body or even if there was a difference. I remembered Curtis offering me his money. There was a good example of something that was sweet and touching if I paid attention to how it felt to me, what it meant. But if you compared our bank statements, it was kind of hilarious. And the whole thing about whether Eric was selling drugs . . .
My fingers stopped tapping.
“What is it?” Chogyi Jake asked.
“Eric’s money,” I said. “How do you think he got it?”
chapter eight
“He inherited it, dear,” my lawyer said. “Much the way you did.”
“Inherited it?” I said, shifting my phone to the other ear. Chogyi Jake’s eyebrows rose a degree and he leaned forward in his chair.
“Yes,” she said. “The structures were a bit different, of course. Regulations on these things do change over the course of a few decades. But he came into possession in 1984, on the death of Michael Bishop Heller. He would have been your great-uncle. He was a charming man. I actually met him once, but that was when I’d just started with the firm. He still wore hats, and really men stopped doing that after John Kennedy.”
“Old-school.”
“Very much.”
“And—I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Where did, um, hat guy . . . ?”
“Michael Bishop Heller came into possession on the death of Amelia Norwich in 1966. She, I believe, had it from Nellie Skinner-Bowes in 1944, who had it from her father, Anderson Skinner-Bowes in 1927. The original principal was put in trust in 1866, and it was fairly large then, and primarily in gold. Of course, the Civil War had just ended, so the assumption is that Elias Barker, who actually made the investments, was relocating from someplace in the Confederacy.”
“And you just know all this stuff off the top of your head?”
I could hear the smile in her voice when she answered. “You are our most important client, dear. You must know that?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it. So no one ever, I don’t know, got a gambling habit or lost a bunch of money in a divorce or anything?”
“No,” she said. “The investment strategy has been very consistent. Long-term, medium-risk investments with occasional more speculative short-term adventures at the client’s direct instruction. There isn’t a five-year period when the overall capital has gone down. Your uncle, God rest him, was a bit more profligate than you are, but even his habits never threatened to cut into the capital.”
“You mean he spent more than I do?”
“Considerably.”
“Okay, in the last three years, I’ve bought a house, a car, a bunch of motorcycles, God knows how many plane tickets, and started an ongoing research grant. Like on whims. I just called and had you do it.”
“The research grant was new,” she said, her voice a little wistful. “That’s mostly because it’s an ongoing expense. But we put some language in the paperwork that gets us a share in any patents that come from it, so there may still be a return. But all in all, no, dear. You fly on commercial airlines, for heaven’s sake.”
“First-class, though,” I said.
“Jayné, dear, I wouldn’t let you fly coach. I believe in frugality, but there are limits.”
I licked my lips. “How much of his expenditures do you have records of?”
“Well, I can’t say what he paid for in cash unless he forwarded on a receipt. But for any large-scale purchases, of course I’ll have full records.”
“Going back how far?”
“I already said, dear. Eighteen sixty-six.”
“You’ve still got the original records?”
“Yes.”
“Can I . . . how can I review those? I mean, Eric’s first, but if I can see all of them, that would be amazing.”
“Come to Denver. I’ll have the archives opened. Are you thinking of an audit?”
“Less of an audit,” I said. “More of an overview. Orientation. Something like that.”
“I would love to see you again, and I’d be delighted to go over any of our records with you. When would you like to come out?”
I looked at Chogyi Jake. His expression was the same calm smile as always. I wished sometimes he’d be a little easier to read. Or . . . no. That wasn’t right. I wished sometimes he’d make a few of my decisions for me, just so I wouldn’t have to. We could get in the car now and be there by morning. Going back to Santa Fe would have taken longer.
I had the visceral memory of the three tattooed wizards in my childhood home.
“There’s something I need to clear up here,” I said. “It may take a few days.”
“The week after New Year’s?”
“Let’s aim for that,” I said. “I’m not sure when exactly I’ll get there, though.”
“I’ll pencil it in for now. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No,” I said. Then: “Yes. Can I get a list of those names? The people who had the money back from whenever?”
“Will e-mail do?”
“Sure,” I said.
“It will be to you momentarily.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”
We exchanged a couple rounds of pleasantries and farewells, and I dropped the connection and tossed my phone onto the bed.
“Well, that’s interesting,” Chogyi Jake said.
“Isn’t it just? I’ve got to say, I feel kind of stupid for not thinking of this before.”
“We aren’t businessmen,” Chogyi Jake said. “We fight vampires and demons.”
“Ex kind of was living in a garage, wasn’t he?”
“With a very nice car. He does like cars,” Chogyi Jake said. “I take it we’re staying for the wedding?”
“No. I mean, maybe. We’re staying until I can find the Invisible College and make damned sure they leave my family alone.”