The Brotherhood #62

By Mark W. Meier

Part 62

Act V

Victory

Chapter Seventeen

Ben Kiel watched the helicopter land – twenty minutes later than scheduled. When the blades slowed he walked closer.

The vehicle’s side door opened and Amy Drabbs stepped out. She ran to Kiel and gave him a big hug, even though it hurt. “I was so scared,” she said

Kiel gave an indulgent smile and tugged free of the embrace. “Why were you afraid? It’s not like you’ve survived a plane crash.”

Amy playfully punched him on the shoulder. “No, it’s not that. Something hit us over Tennessee.”

The pilot stepped from the aircraft. “Something?” He pointed to a crease in the helicopter’s skin. “Looks like a bullet did that. See that rotor?”

Kiel looked at the blades slowly rotating past. One of them was missing a significant chunk at the tip. The lawyer whistled. “Lucky to have made it.”

“Well,” the pilot said, “it was rough the last half of the trip. No worse than it was in the bad days in Kandahar, though.”

Amy was shocked. “I didn’t know.”

“Not supposed to.” The pilot shrugged. “I do my job right and my client never notices.”

“Can you fly it?” Kiel wondered what the process was. “Not that it’s any of my business, but I’m curious.”

“I’ll check with home base. Might be best to swap out the blade here at Hilton Head. If that’s not possible, I could head back to Atlanta.”

Kiel held out a hand to shake. “Good luck with that. If there’s something I could do, let me know.”

As the two walked toward the terminal, Amy asked, “What now?”

Kiel held open a glass door and guided Amy inside. “We have time to discuss things on our way to lunch, then to Grambic Tower. Victor Howe and Bob Allen want to discuss a settlement.”

***

Chamos sent messages to the Brothers under his authority. The time of reckoning was at hand, and he didn’t want to lose his advantage. “Come.” The instruction was simple.

His Brothers came.

***

Mastema woke Gavin from his nap. “It’s time.” The Brother handed Gavin a slip of paper with an address. “Take us there.”

The apprentice wizard blinked sleep from his eyes. “After I use the bathroom.”

Mastema shook his head. Humans.

***

Bathin, in the guise of Sally Shoen, suddenly appeared in Governor Rawlin’s office during a private meeting with the head of the Bar Association. “I have a request,” she said.

Both men shot to their feet, surprised by the abrupt arrival. The governor recovered first. “How did you get in here?”

“Not relevant.” Bathin placed a large briefcase with tens of thousands of fifty-dollar bills onto the governor’s desk. “I have a campaign donation. You can split it between the two of you.” Bathin popped open the lid and turned it so both men could see what it contained.

The lawyer gaped, but the governor only glanced at it before asking, “What do you want?”

“Pull Kiel’s authorization to do business in Georgia. And I want him disbarred.”

Rawlin said, “Done.”

The lawyer nodded.

The woman known as Sally Shoen vanished in a puff of ecru smoke.

***

Ruax knew Miss Sharpe was still a danger, and Chamos needed him to cover or eliminate the risk. Too many deaths would make people suspicious, so he used stolen epoxy to fasten the handset of the hotel room’s phone into its cradle.

When the attorney returned to her room, Ruax suppressed a chuckle as he jammed a stack of pennies between the door and the jamb. Then he reached into Sharpe’s cell phone and broke a couple of critical connections. Another circuit was closed, and the battery slowly lost power.

Done. Ruax went back to Savannah.

***

Baraqijal didn’t see how he could delay either Amy or Kiel. Simply flattening a tire might make them later than planned, but nothing he could do would stop them.

As soon as Baraqijal considered a multi-vehicle traffic accident, a solid line of the enemy appeared over the road into Savannah. He couldn’t even close in on Kiel’s limousine without opposition.

Frustrated, he yelled, “POP!”

The nearby enemies chuckled, but otherwise remained impassive.

Baraqijal wondered how much he’d remember after being demoted to imp.

Then he came up with an idea.

Laughing outright, he vanished. In his wake he left a percussion of collapsing air, along with his signature POP!

***

Austin finished changing into a cooler outfit – tan slacks and a white top with periwinkle trim – and headed for her door.

Odd. The handle barely moved and the latch remained closed.

She shook the door to no avail.

The pamphlet on the table next to her bed gave her the number to dial for guest services. Austin picked up the handset and the whole phone lifted with it. She growled to herself. No amount of prying separated the two.

Austin pulled out her cell phone to call the front desk. Dead. She retrieved her charger and plugged it in, then dialed the front desk. Nothing. This time a snarl of frustration.

Even though Austin knew windows in hotels had long ago been sealed against opening, she tried. She slammed a fist down on the table next to the window.

No way to call out, no way to escape, and now her hand hurt.

She wasn’t even sure Kiel would find the ruling of Sabry Mohamed Attia’s will in the Michigan appellate court. A simple LexisNexis search would probably turn it up, but he was kind of behind the times, though not exactly a Luddite.

Maybe pounding on the door would alert someone. A maintenance worker, another guest, anyone to get her out.

***

Gavin appeared in downtown Savannah on a busy street. Only he could see the ghostly figure next to him. “A parking lot? What are we doing here?”

“You missed again.” Mastema speared his apprentice with a condemning look. “Will you ever learn anything I teach you?” Mastema muttered to himself, “That’s why you should never rush the curriculum. The last wizard you trained took decades. It’s a better way, really.”

Gavin gritted his teeth. He hated being treated like an idiot, and it seemed that’s all he’d ever gotten. “Maybe I should go my own way, then.”

A pedestrian gave Gavin the same kind of look he’d gotten in Bowling Green. Again he pointed to his ear. “Cell call.”

Mastema laughed. “You’re delusional if you think this is something you can teach yourself. It takes another wizard.”

“Then where’d the first one come from?”

“Nobody knows. Some things can’t be answered.”

***

Judge Boynton picked up his office phone before the second ring. “What is it, Robin?”

“Governor Rawlin on line three.”

“Thanks.” Boynton punched one of the lighted buttons. “Boynton, Governor. How are you today?”

“Extraordinary, Your Honor. I thought I’d let you know about a development which might have an impact on a case you’re adjudicating.”

“I have dozens. Which one?”

“Well, I’m not exactly sure what the legal name of your case is, but Ben Kiel’s business license has been revoked. He’s no longer legally able to operate a law firm in the state.”

“That’s interesting.” Boynton shuffled some manila folders from one stack on his desk to another. “That would be the Grambic will lawsuit. What grounds do you have to pull his license?”

“Most of his attorneys have been disbarred, utilities haven’t been paid in months, and now there’s a charge of sexual assault.”

Boynton frowned. “Serious charges, Governor. Is that enough to put him out of business?”

“Enough for the Bar Association to vote about disbarring him.”

“That is serious.” Boynton paused to run some options through his mind. “I’m going to rule against his client anyway, so it shouldn’t have much of an impact on the case.”

“Your Honor, you are a credit to your profession.”

The judge accepted the praise with dignity. “I appreciate you saying that, Governor.”

Bathin smiled. He hadn’t even needed to “push” the judge while impersonating Rawlin.

Next up, getting Kiel disbarred.

***

Ruax appeared behind Nachell Peralta, Victor Howe’s secretary, at her desk. She played a game of computer solitaire while occasionally shifting a paper or file to make it look like she was busy.

Chamos glanced up from his video conference call with Canadian officials and grinned at his Brother. Chamos had recognized his Brother’s arrival. Ruax nodded to tell his superior that Austin was safely out of play, at least for the time being.

Ruax made a reminder on Peralta’s computer jump to the foreground. The executive assistant noticed her boss looking her way and held up a finger to indicate one hour left.

Chamos pressed a button to deactivate his microphone and said, “Thank you, Nachell.” He went back to finish his meeting.

***

Howe’s personality, while appearing to the Brother as totally resigned, gathered energy again. He knew his time would come.

Chamos only needed another hour, then he’d be firmly entrenched in a position to expand the Brotherhood’s plans.

Howe had to stop them.

Somehow.

***

Irony drove Baraqijal’s choice of murder weapon. He positioned a stone statue over the entrance to Grambic Tower.

One hour to go.

If you appreciate this story, please consider supporting the author's ability to write more stories by purchasing The Brotherhood, available in print and on Kindle. Please share on social media, and leave a review on the page linked above.

The Brotherhood #61

By Mark W. Meier

Part 61

Act V

Victory

Chapter Sixteen

Gavin wondered if his ghostly tutor had abandoned him. Almost a week had passed with no word, and none of his magic worked. He’d tried teleporting home, conjuring cash, even something simple like tripping someone on the sidewalk outside his motel.

Nothing.

Gavin jumped to his feet when the ghostly wizard finally appeared. “You’re back!”

“Yes.” Mastema looked around the ratty motel room. “Looks like you’ve been neglecting your studies while I’ve been busy.”

“I’ve tried – really tried. But nothing works. I can’t even conjure cash.”

Mastema paused, one hand rubbing his spectral chin. “I guess you were more tired than I thought. Have you tried anything today?”

“Why bother? It won’t work.” Gavin was petulant and knew it.

“Well, this afternoon we’re going to try teleporting to Savannah. Rest up.”

Mastema vanished.

***

Austin arrived at Booking, Card, Painter, and Allen just before eight in the morning. The single story stucco building near Atlanta’s Woodruff Park had a sign in the window with office hours and a bold “CLOSED” indicator. She fidgeted in her car until someone opened the office, then slowly drank a coffee in the lobby until Edmond Allen arrived. No one was expecting her that day because her official hire date was really more than six months away, but nobody would quibble about that difference. Besides, she might get an early jump on the process, now that she was done with what was soon to be named Kiel and Associates – if they could even stay in business.

Austin stood when Allen walked in through the front doors. She handed her empty coffee mug to the receptionist. “Mr. Allen? Good morning. And nice shoes.”

Allen paused, looking in puzzlement at the woman addressing him. When he finally realized who she was he said, “Jessica Austin, I wasn’t expecting to see you for a few months yet.”

“I wanted to get familiar with the firm before I actually start.” Austin mostly believed that of herself. She’d wanted to give Kiel everything until she’d planned to move, but her forced departure had moved up her schedule.

“You specialize in inheritance law, right?”

“Yes. Big case going on in Savannah with Michael Grambic’s will.”

Allen’s eyes widened. “That’s your firm?”

“Was. I don’t work there anymore.”

“That’s our case, too. You’d better not do anything to give grounds for an appeal.”

Then Austin’s midnight revelation flooded back. “Is there somewhere we could talk?”

“I guess.” Allen glanced toward a small conference room. “Sam, any reason we can’t use the room?”

The receptionist said, “No, Mr. Allen. It’s not booked until ten.”

“Thanks, Sam. Could you have Greta join us?” Allen turned to Austin. “Greta is head of our paralegals. I’d be more comfortable if she were with us.”

***

An hour later, paralegal Greta Silvanus watched Allen and Austin shake hands in the firm’s lobby as the woman was leaving. Austin had told Bob Allen about a case in Michigan where a will had been probated even though it remained unsigned.

Allen had been vehement about keeping Austin out of the Grambic case. “It’s a conflict of interest for you to get involved in the least possible way,” Allen had said. Silvanus, though, didn’t have that conflict. She’d taken notes, and that was the extent of her job – to record conversations in case the matter came up in a suit of some kind.

Austin left through the front door. Allen went deeper into the offices.

Silvanus knew she had to do the right thing, so she picked up the desk phone in the small conference room and dialed the number printed on Austin’s business card.

The phone rang twice before someone picked up.

“Kiel and Associates, this is Yvette Faucher. How may I direct your call?”

A twinge of pain shot up her back. “I’m Greta Silvanus from Booking, Card, Painter, and Allen. I have some information for Ben Kiel.”

***

Ben Kiel picked up the call his secretary sent in. “Ben Kiel.”

“Mr. Kiel, Bob Allen.”

“Victor Howe’s attorney. What can I do for you this morning?” Kiel had a good idea, but didn’t want to assume.

Allen’s manner was purely business. “Mr. Howe wants me to explore what kind of settlement Ms. Drabbs might accept.”

That confirmed Kiel’s guess. “Does he have an offer in mind?”

“Well,” Allen said, “I’ve suggested he take it to the judge, but he wants to be done with the process so he can get on with running his business.”

Kiel smirked at the concept of “his business.”

Allen continued. “To that end, I’ve been authorized to offer a one-time cash payment of five million dollars, plus another million every year for ten years.”

“That’s an interesting amount, Mr. Allen.” Kiel kept his voice neutral even as he marveled at the amount. He’d often been on the other end of such a negotiation and knew the first offer was a lowball, which meant Howe probably would accept somewhere around double. “I’ll present that to my client when she arrives later this morning.”

“Mr. Howe is eager to complete this negotiation.” Allen cleared his throat. “Can we meet with you and Ms. Drabbs this afternoon?”

“I don’t see why not.” Kiel checked the time: 10:37. Amy was due to land at 11:30, so he could present the numbers at noon, discuss for an hour, and have a leisurely lunch. “How does 3:30 sound?”

Kiel heard papers rustling and a keyboard clacking.

“How about 4:00? Mr. Howe has a teleconference with contractors in Canada for a new facility. It might run longer than expected.”

“We’ll be ready. Where would you like to meet?”

“Grambic Tower, if you don’t mind. Mr. Howe has a conference table in his office which should be large enough.”

“I’ll be in his lobby at 3:45.”

***

Ruax was glad he’d hung around the Atlanta law firm. He didn’t like the way Silvanus looked. When she’d dialed he knew direct action was required. Since this firm was located in Atlanta, not Savannah, there was no risk in taking the most drastic – and fun – measures. Nobody would connect this with what was happening in the coastal city.

The tinny voice coming from the handset said, “Mr. Kiel is on another call right now. Can you tell me what kind of information you have?”

Silvanus half-covered the phone so Sam Manning, the receptionist, couldn’t overhear her whisper. “It’s about the Grambic case.”

Ruax reached into the woman’s chest and squeezed.

“Can you hold for a moment?”

Silvanus tried to say something, but a croak of pain was the best she could manage.

Faucher asked, “Are you okay?”

The woman was dead before she hit the floor.

If you appreciate this story, please consider supporting the author's ability to write more stories by purchasing The Brotherhood, available in print and on Kindle. Please share on social media, and leave a review on the page linked above.

The Brotherhood #60

By Mark W. Meier

Part 60

Act V

Victory

“One more question, Your Honor.” Kiel didn’t want to trap Jameson Boynton, but had to be sure. “Does your uncle sail?”

“No. He’s afraid of the water. Never even uses his yacht. Now, if you’re ready, I have a full docket today.”

Kiel’s heart sank. He made a note to check on David Boynton, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed Howe leaning back in his seat with a smirk. “I’m ready, Your Honor.”

“Then let’s get on with it, Mr. Kiel. What do you have?”

Regrouping, Kiel said, “Judge, I have a copy of the document allegedly signed by Michael Grambic. But I witnessed Victor Howe sign and date them.” He lifted the packet of papers in question.

Boynton finished making a few notes. “Do you have something with Grambic’s signature? Something you know for sure is his signature?”

“Your Honor, we can only assume a driver’s license from his sophomore year in college would be his authentic writing.” Kiel sorted through his paperwork and produced the one with a photocopy of a young Michael Grambic’s license. “Also, when he inherited from his father he hired me to produce his first will, which he signed in my presence.” He added a ten-sheet packet to other page.

The judge turned to the bailiff. “Bring them to me, please.”

Boynton looked over the papers, flipping from one to the next to the next. “Seems like there is a question of a valid signature, Mr. Allen.”

“Perhaps, Your Honor.” Allen produced his own packet of documents. “However, it was standard operating procedure for Mr. Grambic to have his executive assistant sign in his place. Here is an abbreviated example of signatures over the years. The top page lists when signatures changed, correlated with hiring dates for new executive assistants.”

After the bailiff brought the papers, the judge rifled through them. “Mr. Kiel, on the surface of things it seems as if Mr. Grambic routinely allowed his people to sign for him.”

“Perhaps, Your Honor.” Kiel shaded his normal tone a bit closer to Allen’s statement. “However, Mr. Grambic always called me to approve of the will before sending me the signed copy. This time, in my presence, he’d expressed rejection of the will which was recently probated.”

Boynton looked down at the two attorneys. “Mr. Kiel, I think you’ve established a basis to contest this latest will. Do you have standing?”

Kiel produced his contract with Amy Drabbs and handed it to the bailiff. “The day of his death, Mr. Grambic instructed me to produce a will which named his cousin, Amy Drabbs, his major beneficiary. If Mr. Grambic had lived another few hours he’d have signed a different will. Ms. Drabbs has retained my services to contest the probated will.”

Boynton looked over the contract. “Do you have a copy of the prospective will?”

Kiel handed the sixty-three pages to the bailiff. The judge barely glanced at the document. “Where is Ms. Drabbs, Mr. Kiel?”

“She was involved in an airplane crash in Bowling Green, Your Honor. She’s expected to arrive in Savannah later today.”

“Mr. Allen.” Boynton gave Kiel’s opponent an even stare. “It seems there is reason to suspect the probated will of the late Michael Grambic was based on faulty information.” The judge signed a document before continuing. “Your client’s property and finances are frozen, with the exception of the normal operating expenses associated with Grambic Tiles. We’ll schedule a hearing for October nineteenth. In the meantime, see if you can come to some kind of understanding with Ms. Drabbs. With the totals involved, however, I’m not optimistic.”

Boynton gaveled the hearing closed.

***

Bathin had a good read on the situation in Savannah. He knew a great deal of cash would soon be needed. He summoned a senior imp in search of a name and identity.

“Cash.” Bathin knew the imp might think of that as a name. So be it. If its mission succeeded, the name could be confirmed. “I need you to identify homes in America with stashes of money. Dispatch underlings to take a single fifty dollar bill from the biggest hoards. They won’t be missed, and I need the money.”

The imp nodded its misshapen head, then vanished.

If Cash failed, it could always be demoted to a lesser imp and forget the incident. It would never remember the incident again, even if later promoted.

Bathin appeared – invisible – in a department store.

Even the store’s security camera would never pick up how a briefcase vanished.

***

Amy was mildly surprised when the doctor released her.

“Medically, there’s no reason to hold you.” He signed a discharge form, handed it to a nurse, and turned back to Amy. “The FAA investigators might want to talk to you, but since they haven’t told me to keep you here. . . .” His voice trailed off as he shrugged.

“Great!” Amy sat up and her ribs reminded her she’d been in a serious accident.

The nurse moved in as the doctor left the room to continue his rounds. “That’ll teach you to be more careful. Broken ribs aren’t something to take lightly.” She removed the last of the sensors and turned off equipment. “By the way, a Mr. Kiel asked if I could get an Uber to take you to the airport. He has a helicopter standing by to take you to Savannah.”

Amy grinned, glad to have someone like that lawyer on her side. “Mr. Kiel thinks of everything.”

“So I should make the call?” The nurse pulled open a drawer holding some new clothes. “The clothes you were wearing aren’t in any condition to be worn. Mr. Kiel took care of that, too.”

Holding up a button-down shirt, Amy estimated it would be a little baggy. “Kinda big for me, isn’t it?”

“Has to fit over your bandaging, so we picked them one size bigger than what you had before. Leave the bindings on for at least a week. No showers or baths.”

Amy wrinkled her nose. “Sponges and wipe downs for the time being?”

“Yes.” The nurse pulled the drapery closed around the door area. “Want help getting dressed, or should I leave it to you?”

Amy bent to put on her socks, groaned, and sat back up. “I better have some help.”

The nurse smiled. “I’ll call for Uber when you’re filling out forms.” She took the socks from Amy.

***

Helicopters typically flew much lower than fixed-wing aircraft. Baraqijal searched the countryside of Tennessee for hunters. A poacher north of Chattanooga lined up a shot to take down a deer. As he squeezed the trigger a grouse flushed.

The poacher’s shot flew straight up toward a passing helicopter.

***

In the middle of the night Austin woke, remembered a ruling from a Michigan appeals court. “That’s it!” In moments, though, she was asleep again.

As she left the Dublin hotel the next morning she didn’t even remember having an epiphany.

If you appreciate this story, please consider supporting the author's ability to write more stories by purchasing The Brotherhood, available in print and on Kindle. Please share on social media, and leave a review on the page linked above.