Chapter 12

Wednesday I called my new lawyers office, where they were very happy to hear from me. They gleefully informed me that Paul Sanchez had made a full confession to the police, pointing to Margaret Smackley as the paymaster for the murder of Adam H Barkley Senior.

They were working with a forensic accounting group, in conjunction with Frederick to account for all the missing money. The bank accounts of all the Smackleys had been frozen. There were, reportedly, hundreds of millions in embezzled funds from the past thirty years.

I informed them that I wanted Margaret Smackley prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, but that I thought that Michael was innocent, and that Rebecca had mental problems. I asked about the swatting attempt, and was informed that Paul had confessed to carrying it out under Margaret’s orders. They expressed some doubt, but I instructed them to follow the official story.

I thanked them for their hard work, and we hung up. I checked my email, and found a message from Michael, telling me much the same thing, apologizing for being unaware of what was going on, and ending our business relationship. He then mentioned that it was time to retire, and with him divorcing his wife, who had already been arrested, he was considering the Bahamas with his secretary.

I called Frederick to let him know, but he was already in the loop, saying that they had already documented several irregularities with the paperwork. Then he asked if I knew whether the will had been tampered with. I didn’t know for sure, so I emailed Michael and requested a copy of my father’s will to compare with the photocopy I found in his apartment. The pdf of it arrived immediately.

When I compared what was supposed to be there to what actually was, I flagged six items that were obvious discrepancies, and sent it back to him, suggesting he check Rebecca’s files for the originals.

That finished most of my need to be in New York, but with flying at night the best option, I had a day to kill. I called Gregory Charmichael and introduced myself, he invited me to meet him for lunch. I accepted, and we arranged to meet at the Tavern on the Green.

I packed up all my stuff, and stored it. I stored the Valkyrie’s and conjured them back at the apartment in Zurich. Then I ordered an Uber, went down and checked out, leaving my carry-on bag with the concierge. He asked about the rest of my clothing, and I said I had already bought luggage and had it picked up by flight services.

I promised to be back to pick it up on my way to the airport. He tagged it, and put it into their secure storage room there at the concierge desk. I stepped outside just as my Uber arrived, and it drove me to Rebecca’s house. I had unfinished business.

I asked the driver to wait, explaining that my ex-girlfriend had my passport, and my flight left tonight, so I would have to get it, but it would be quick, especially if she chased after me throwing things.

My power reached out and put her to sleep as I approached the door. I walked straight into the house, having unlocked everything from the inside. Shutting the door behind me, I touched her prone body on the floor, and asked where the original will paperwork was.

The answer came, a safe on the second floor, behind a picture in the second bedroom. I went up the stairs two at a time, and found the safe. I stored everything in it, and then conjured it back into the safe. As I looked thru a second copy I had conjured, I discovered every dirty secret she had every had, from the original rape blackmail to original copies of every file she had doctored.

I vanished it back into energy, then used my power to destroy the safe mechanism. There was no way that she was going to open that safe and destroy evidence. As I came down the stairs my power reached out and adjusted her, and I set her to wake in an hour. I conjured my red passport into my hand, and ran out the house to the waiting Uber, hopping in. I looked behind me, as the driver took off laughing.

“Thanks!” I told him.

“I figured you were an American.”

“I am, dual citizenship,” I raised the red passport. “Both my countries want me to enter and exit them using their own passport.”

He laughed again, “So where is the other home?”

“Czech Republic,” I said.

I put the passport in my pocket, as he drove me to central park west, where I had him drop me off. I didn’t mind walking from the street.

I was early, but so was Greg. He walked right up to me, and stuck out his hand. “You must be Gregory Charmichael,” I said shaking the big hand.

“And I knew you were Adam’s boy the moment you walked in, I’d heard that the resemblance was unmistakable.

“Call me Greg, or even Uncle Greg if you want. I owe your father everything I have, and he’s still keeping me in business,” he said.

After we were seated, I began, “I appreciate the invite. I’m not sure if you’ve heard about what happened?”

He waved it off, “Margaret flirted with everybody, and I guess a number of guys took her up on it, but none of us ever said anything to poor Michael. I think we always figured he either knew, or wouldn’t want to hear about it from one of his friends.”

“Despite the way things have gone, it looks like I’m going to be sitting on the board of trustees. Michael’s resigned, and the rest resigned because of the taint, or because they fear prosecution themselves.” I told him.

“That’s a shame. Your father always intended that his legacy was to be decent and affordable housing in New York City. I knew that from the first day that I started working for him. He worked with the guys in the office to set a standard of what decent housing meant, and to keep all his units in good repair, with regular updating between long term tenants.”

“If you can keep that vision going, then you are welcome to continue to manage all of the properties, and when you retire, there will be a spot on the board for you to ensure that the vision continues to the next generation of management.”

“Damn, you don’t beat around the bush do you son?”

“My father kept journals, and I feel like I’ve got a good handle on the kind of people he did business with, and called friends.”

We ordered our food, and the subject shifted to other things. I explained the damage to the apartment, and told him to go ahead and gut it and update it. Then I asked, “What’s the best building my dad owned, as far as location, view, neighborhood, and access to the city?”

“I’d have to check to sure, but there is one place over in Brooklyn Heights, if it had a balcony and more windows out the back, the views would be stunning. The apartments though are pretty cramped. Back before your dad bought it, it had been subdivided from a house to five tiny apartments. One per floor, plus the basement.

“The front is gorgeous, perfectly preserved, classic Brooklyn brownstone. We redid the roof on it a couple years ago, and the view! All of Manhattan is sitting across the East River. You can watch Manhattan glow pink every morning with breakfast, plus see all the way out to the Statue of Liberty, and Governors Island in one direction, and the Brooklyn Bridge in the other.”

“Then let’s start by not making new leases on those apartments.” I handed him my business card, “Send me the details, and I’ll find an architect who can restore the building to a single home again. I’m in no rush, so don’t go throwing anybody out, but if somebody is having trouble with their rent, offer to move them to a different building and give them a discount so they can afford it.