Heads You Win

After the bishop had given the final blessing and the mourners had departed, Alex was approached by two men; one he knew well, the other he’d never met before.

Bob Brookes, the chairman of the Boston branch of the Democratic Party, said he needed to speak to him on a private matter. Alex had intended to return to New York that afternoon, but he agreed to delay his departure by twenty-four hours, and they arranged to meet at his hotel at ten o’clock the following morning. The second man turned out to be the Lowell family lawyer, and he had a similar request. However, Mr. Harbottle was unwilling to discuss such a delicate matter outside his office, so Alex made an appointment to see him following his meeting with Brookes.

Alex returned to the Mayflower Hotel, and called Anna at the gallery to tell her he wouldn’t be back until the next day. She sounded disappointed, but confessed she couldn’t wait to find out why the two men wanted to see him.

“By the way,” she said, “have you told your mother yet?”

* * *

“The vote was unanimous,” said Brookes.

“I’m flattered,” said Alex, “but I’m afraid the answer is still no. Elena’s has recently opened two new pizza parlors in Denver and Seattle, and the staff have yet to meet their boss, so you’ll have to look for someone else.”

“You were the only candidate the committee considered,” said Brookes.

“But I’m from New York. My only connection with Boston was Lawrence.”

“Alex, I’ve watched you working with Lawrence during the past six weeks, and after a life in politics, I can tell you, you’re a natural.”

“Why don’t you stand yourself, Bob? You were born and bred in Boston, and everyone knows and respects you.”

“I could introduce you to a dozen people who can chair their local party committee,” said Brookes, “but only occasionally someone comes along who was born to be the candidate.”

“I have to admit,” said Alex, “that I have considered politics as a career, but it would make far more sense for me start out in local government in Brighton Beach, where I went to school and founded my business—and perhaps if I’m lucky enough, one day I’ll represent them in Congress. No, Bob, you’ll have to find a local man to fight Blake Hawksley.”

“But Hawksley isn’t in your class, and the Democratic majority is large enough for you to see him off. Once we’ve got you into Congress, no one will ever prize you out, at least not until you want to become a senator.”

Alex hesitated. “I wish it was that easy, but it isn’t. So would you be kind enough to thank your committee and say that perhaps in four or five years’ time…”

“The seat won’t be available in four or five years’ time, Alex. Politics is about timing and opportunity, and those two stars aren’t aligned that often.”

“I know you’re right, Bob, but the answer is still no. I must get going. I’ve got an appointment with Lawrence’s executor. He asked me to drop by his office on the way to the airport.”

“If you should change your mind…”

* * *

“My name is Ed Harbottle. I’m the senior partner of Harbottle, Harbottle, and McDowell. This firm has had the privilege of representing the Lowell family for over a hundred years. My grandfather,” said Harbottle, glancing at an oil painting of an elderly gentleman wearing a dark blue, pin-striped double-breasted suit with a gold fob watch, “administered the estate of Mr. Ernest Lowell, the distinguished banker and fabled art collector. My father was legal adviser to Senator James Lowell, and for the past eleven years I have been Mr. Lawrence Lowell’s personal attorney and, I would like to think, friend.”

Alex looked at the man seated on the other side of the desk, who was also dressed in a dark blue, pin-striped double-breasted suit and wearing a gold fob watch, which was unquestionably the same one as in the painting. Alex couldn’t be sure about the suit.

“We meet in sad circumstances, Mr. Karpenko.”

“Tragic and unnecessary circumstances,” said Alex with feeling. Harbottle raised an eyebrow. “I hope I live to see the day when people’s sexual preferences are considered irrelevant, including for those who wish to serve in public office.”

“That isn’t the reason Mr. Lowell committed suicide,” said Harbottle, “but I shall come to that later,” he added, readjusting his half-moon spectacles. “Mr. Lowell instructed this firm to be the sole executor of his last will and testament, and in that capacity, it is my duty to inform you of a certain bequest that has been left to you.”

Alex remained silent, trying not to anticipate …

“I shall only make reference to the single clause in the will that applies to you, as I am not at liberty to disclose any other details. Do you have any questions, Mr. Karpenko?”

“None,” said Alex, who had a dozen questions, but had a feeling that all would be revealed in the fullness of time. Mr. Harbottle’s time. Once again, the elderly lawyer adjusted his glasses before turning several pages of the thick parchment document in front of him.

“I shall read clause forty-three of the testament,” he announced, finally coming to his purpose. “‘I bequeath to Alexander Konstantinovitch Karpenko my entire shareholding of fifty percent in the Elena Pizza Company, of which we are joint partners.’”

Alex was momentarily stunned by the generosity of his old friend, before he managed, “I can’t believe that his sister will take that lying down.”

“I don’t think Mrs. Evelyn Lowell-Halliday will be causing you or anyone else any trouble. On the contrary.”