The Test (7 page)

“Listen carefully, Frank,” Carl steeled his voice. “I advise you to reread the letter that Paul left for you. Read it very carefully.”

“What?” Frank had almost forgotten that rambling note.

“Read it,” Carl repeated firmly. “Your father's will has been reviewed not only by my firm, but by specialty firms in Washington and New York City. I repeat, a challenge will not be successful and the process will be a nightmare for you and the family.”

“As far as I'm concerned, I don't have a family, except for my wife and child. I'm doing this so I can launch a successful presidential campaign. Just as my father wanted. I would have expected to have your help and the help of my family. No, I'm not standing by—”

“Try to understand. Your father did what he thought was right. Now put this aside.” Carl pushed the dossier back toward Frank, unopened. “Reread your father's message to you and prepare to excel along the lines he laid out. The four tenets of his credo, his legacy to you. If you want that money, this is what you must do. It's the only way. Frank, I have never lied to you, never misled you.”

“You've got to be kidding! You set this thing up so you could be in control. Control of the family you never had. You always were jealous of my father. You, with no kids of your own—coercing a dying old man?”

“Frank, you can't afford a political mistake.”

A jolt of acid hit Frank's stomach and he reached inside his shirt pocket for the roll of Pepcid Complete. What right did this old man have, preaching to him?

Carl rose and headed for the door in his shuffling gait. “I'm sure you're busy,” he said. Frank did not rise, and Carl turned. “Frank, things that are said in the heat of passion are best forgotten. I understand your frustration. For my part I intend to go on as if this conversation never took place. But there is one thing—”

Frank stood, dumbfounded, refusing to let the lawyer get the best of him.

“Carla,” Schiller said. “I'm afraid that she's gone downhill. Peggy Putnam has a running list of complaints, but yesterday I received a frantic
call from Sara Waring. You know how levelheaded Sara is and how loyal.”

“We all know Carla's using drugs,” Frank said coldly.

“Today the apartment manager called to tell me they're starting eviction proceedings. He claims she's bringing in ‘undesirables.' Using the service elevator, and—”

“And what?” Frank demanded. His impatience escalated. First the threat to his career and now Carla tarnishing the Parnell name.

“Allegations that she had been providing sex in exchange for letting her friends up. The night guard got fired. It's a mess.”

“For crying out loud, I can't afford this type of behavior.”

“That's why I'm telling you, Frank. Best that you take care of this. Maybe that psychiatrist that Ashley has been seeing can give us some advice. Carla needs help.”

“I'll have Meredith look into it,” he said.

Carl left without another word, closing the door behind him. Immediately, Frank called Meredith. “Get her out of the meeting,” he demanded of her secretary.

“Frank, what's wrong?”

“I didn't give him the brief. He scared the hell out of me. A threat.
Political ruin
was his terminology.”

“Don't you think he's just reacting to the veiled, or not so veiled, allegations of his ineptitude?”

“No, I think that it was a real threat. That they anticipated us doing something like this and they got a shitload of lawyers to make it ironclad.”

“Shitload?” Meredith remarked and Frank imagined her eyebrow shooting up. No obscenities. No coarse language. Something his dad said on the exact day Frank told him he wanted to run for office. Not even in private, he said. Keep it out of your vocabulary. Otherwise it'll slip out when you least expect. And Meredith usually called Frank on it when he slipped.

“Sorry. I'm telling you, he put it out as a threat. He said to read Dad's letter again. Follow the guidance and we get the money. This was a threat, a warning.”

“I'll fly in tonight, Frank,” she promised. “We'll figure out what to do next.”

“Will you bring a copy of Dad's absurd note? We need to read it again together. And when you get here, I'll fill you in on what the old man said about Carla. More problems.”

“‘Dear Frank,'” Meredith read. Her short dark hair was wet from the torrents of rain that enveloped the East Coast. She'd taken the Amtrak Acela from Philadelphia rather than wait for weather clearance for the Gulfstream. Changing out of her dusky blue business suit, she threw on a terry bathrobe and accepted a snifter of brandy, as she and Frank situated themselves on twin oversized ottomans in front of the fireplace. Rain continued to pelt the front window, and she hesitated as thunder shook the room.

You have made me so proud. A United States senator. If only your mother and your grandparents could have been here to share such a grand accomplishment. I can only believe that you will use your tremendous influence to promote peace and prosperity for our country and the world.

I reflect on your childhood with feelings of inadequacy. If only I had spent more time with you when you were a young boy. If only I had spent more time with your mother. Maybe she would not have taken that fateful trip to Bermuda, leaving you without a mother and with a father overly absorbed in his career. When we became a real family with Vivian, you were already a young man.

“A real family?” Frank sneered. “A new family, yes.” Meredith put her arm on Frank's shoulder and read on,

If you focus on these values, you will strengthen your appeal to the American people. Just think, my son, president of the United States. A dream that you and I and Meredith have shared. To accomplish this, I am confident that you will take this legacy seriously.

This is what I want for you: ethics and compassion as a senator; dedication to family; commitment to the community, both personal and financial; celebration of your faith, Catholicism, and for Meredith, Judaism. I understand you may prefer that your inheritance be immediately available, but I don't think that would be to your advantage. Carl understands my motivations, so please respect his advice and counsel. He has handled all aspects of the estate with extensive legal consultation. The trust that I have established is innovative, perhaps controversial, but it is absolutely legal.

“I read that as a threat,” Meredith said. “Especially after your meeting with Carl today. He must have something set to go, should you contest. Maybe it's a public-relations campaign. Like headlines: Senator Parnell contests will—charges that old man was incompetent, crazy, or whatever sensational sound bites those vultures can dream up. Make you look avaricious—ungrateful. Politically, I don't think we'd survive it.”

“So what are we going to do?” Frank sounded petulant and he knew it. “We had Stewart and Stewart prepare the basis for contest.”

“But, honey, they weren't predicting success,” she reminded him. “Said they'd do their best, but—”

“Carl refused to accept it, even to read it. If only someone else in the family would jump on this. But no, they respect Daddy's wishes. For crying out loud, the rest of them don't need the money.”

“So we'll do it his way.” Meredith reached over to smooth his hair. “Go through the motions. Pass the sham test.”

“Like I'm not busy enough. Now I've got to play a high-stakes charade. Family patriarch. Pillar of the community. Lay leader of the church. Might as well sign me up for canonization.”

Meredith shrugged. “Nice to know I have permission to be Jewish. Carl must have thrown that in. Your dad never resented me, but your uncle never approved of our marriage.”

“The family's a mess,” Frank said, changing the subject to Carla's apartment crisis. “We need to get her into a rehab clinic.”

“Yes. Somewhere very discreet.”

“Maybe she'll just kill herself,” Frank said, resenting the family's dysfunction interrupting his quest. “She overdoses. We suppress the cause of death. We have one less contender.”

Meredith stared at him. “Frank, I can't believe you said that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Back to our situation. So we do all the goody-goody stuff like we're the champions of Dad's insane credo? Pass that test with flying colors? Heck, we can do anything for one year. We may even get to like our new lifestyle.”

“I think it's the only way to get the lion's share,” Meredith said.

“So we'll put together a plan to ace the test. May have to take acting lessons to pull it off.”

“There's something else I've been thinking about, Frank,” Meredith said, screwing up her face as she did when something important was on her mind.

“What?”

“The Parnell Foundation.”

“What about it?” Frank's mind raced to plan the tactics of their new strategy. He needed Meredith to stay focused.

“What if I left my position at Donnor and Schiller and became the chairman of the board?”

“What?” Frank was incredulous. Meredith was a tough lawyer, through and through. She couldn't just walk away from an equity partnership.

“Think about it,” she said. “The foundation assets exceed two billion. Think of the political clout that goes with allocation of all that money. Your dad never bothered to leverage the foundation, not even during your senatorial race.”

Clearly, Meredith had given this some thought. Frank was impressed. What a lush playing field for Meredith to marshal her superior manipulative skills.

“Who could be better than I?” Meredith was on a roll. “I'm an attorney—a plus. I'm the daughter-in-law of the beloved founder—how perfect. I will step down from my day job to concentrate totally on the foundation—a statement of dedication. We make the case that Carl is so busy managing Paul's estate that he's overextended.”

“You're going to walk away from the million plus you're pulling in
at the firm? After how hard you've worked?” Half jokingly, Frank added, “Remember my salary's capped at a hundred-fifty grand.”

“I'll take a leave of absence. It'll be an investment for the future. If we control the foundation and you ace that test, we'll be where we want to be. Think two thousand eight. Two terms—that's two thousand sixteen. We'll only be sixty then, and who knows what we'll do next?”

“Yeah,” Frank could feel the mania build. “Let's set our goals: get Carla cleaned up, you get the chairwoman thing with the foundation, I prepare to take the test. First, we kiss up to ‘Uncle' Carl and even Cardinal Sean. Try to figure how that blasted test will be scored. Meredith, what would I do without you?”

M
ARCH
2001

Ashley forced herself to chew slowly as she tackled the veal cutlet, the third course of their evening meal. She and Conrad sat across from one another at the family dining room table, a table that had seen little use since the formal dinner parties that her parents used to host before her mother's illness.

She wanted to bolt down the food and get back to her studies. She'd pulled just a mediocre grade in cardiology and worried that she'd never ever understand all the blips and bleeps on electrocardiograms. She had no ear at all for the
lub-dubs
of the heart tones, and realized now that she was not cut out for cardiology. What Ashley did love was pediatrics, neonatology to be specific. Whenever she had an extra moment at the medical center, she'd find herself peering through the glass barrier into the neonatal unit, wishing that she was still a part of the team, making rounds with the attending and the residents.

“Conrad, I've been thinking,” she said, setting down her fork. “Maybe I'll apply for a pediatric residency.”

“You have to be joking, my love. Dealing with snotty noses, disgruntled parents. Believe me, that's not for you.”

“How about neonatology? When I did my rotation at Children's Hospital, I felt really intense. Like everything was life and death. Such small babies. So vulnerable. So fragile. Like I could really make a difference.”

“Little brain stems. So premature, most of them are better off if they don't make it. Those who do have serious neurological problems. Now that's one specialty you don't want. And just think about the hours, the
night call. No, not for you. As a matter of fact, once things are settled next year, there's no reason for you to even finish a residency.”

Ashley felt her face flush. Whenever she spoke to Conrad about her career, he made her feel so inferior, so incompetent, like she shouldn't even be in medical school. Was that last remark trying to tell her that she was too stupid to practice medicine?

Her best friend, Ruthie Campbell, her only friend who knew about Conrad—how he'd moved in with her, become her lover, her confidant, her soul mate—had warned her that Conrad was making too many of her decisions. Was this an example? Or was she truly not competent enough?

Ashley remembered her last conversation with Ruthie. A tense conversation over a cafeteria lunch. Ruthie complained that Conrad was a control freak. “He tells you what to wear, who to see, who you can study with, how to spend every minute of your time.” What Ruthie had not said, but what she had implied, was that Conrad was after her money. But naturally Ruthie would think this. Ruthie struggled financially and didn't trust anyone.

“Now I know you're kidding, Conrad,” Ashley finally said. “I've wanted to be a doctor all my life, I'm just rethinking what kind.”

“My love, once you graduate we can be out in the open with our relationship. Then we'll see. But for now, your father did want you to follow your mother's footsteps.”

Ashley took a sip of wine, taking care not to drink more than half a glass or she'd be too sleepy to study. Deciding to change the subject, she said, “I can't wait to tell everybody about us.”