Epilogue: A Happy Ending

March 23rd, 1995, 3:05 PM EST; Plaza Hotel; New York City, NY

Justin and Krista wearily opened the door to the suite they had rented for several years now in the Plaza Hotel. It was a luxurious two bedroom, two and a half bath, and large living room, suite. Krista collapsed on the sofa in the living room. This was not an experience either of them really wanted to repeat. They hadn’t heard from Lance or Jill in days. They didn’t know where they were, and they were a bit nervous about the potential for opening an investigation.

Justin noticed that the hotel phone indicated that they had a message. Justin figured this was probably Lance and went into the bedroom, stripped off his clothes, and took a nice, long, hot shower. He was tired and achey and the warm water helped improve his pain and his disposition. Then, drying himself off, he put on his silk robe before walking over to the phone and bracing himself for an onslaught. He never got it.

“Uncle Justin, it’s Jill. I am here of my own free will and wish to stay here. You can reach me at the following number...” which the machine then gave.

Justin immediately called that number. He was stunned that she was ok and being allowed to call him. It was an unlikely possibility with either Lance or that George fellow who he suspected might have kidnapped her. But she was calling, and seemingly of her own free will. Given the nature of the message, she seemed to not be under duress, either. He was generally confused, so he felt the need to immediately pick up the phone and dial the number given; it was a mystery he wanted an answer to.

“Hello?” John Caldwell answered the phone.

“Hello,” Justin replied, not knowing the voice, “To whom am I speaking?”

“My name is John Caldwell,” he replied, “I am George’s father.”

“Oh, you’re the kidnappers father,” Justin replied.

“I’m not sure if its kidnapping,” John replied, “But that’s neither here nor there at the moment.”

“I’d like to speak with my niece, please put her on,” Justin requested.

“I’ll go see if she wants to speak to you,” John told him,

Justin heard John yelling to Jill and asking her if she wanted to talk to her Uncle Justin. He even heard the yelled back response of “No fucking way.”

“She-” John started saying.

“I heard,” Justin cut him off, “Why not?”

“He want’s to know why you won’t speak with him,” John called to Jill, trying not to laugh.

“Is he smokin’ somethin’?” Jill replied, “Why on god’s green earth would I want to speak to him?”

By this point Jill was standing right next to John, and her voice came through very clearly to Justin on the other end of the line. He could hear the hatred in her voice, in her words. It was icy, and for some reason, it hurt him deep in the pit of his stomach. She had always been his favorite niece back before ... back before his sister-in-law and her husband were killed.

Have I really been that nasty to her? he thought, emotionally distraught, I know Krista can be a total bitch, but I’m not like that, am I? Am I? Oh god, what have I done?

“She says she-”

“Can’t think of a reason, yes I got it this time,” Justin replied, “So if the point of this phone call isn’t to talk to my niece, what is the reason?”

“Well,” John replied, “The first thing is I want to tell you that Lance is dead. The body, such that it is, has not been identified yet, but Lance Landis’s body was washed off the front of Union Pacific’s SD90MAC #8000 a couple of days ago.”

“You killed him?!” Justin averred with shock.

“No, he honestly was running away and wasn’t paying enough attention,” John told him. “I was not honestly looking to have him end up dead, but he pulled a gun on us, and then George seized it, and he went running fast but not well. We didn’t even really chase him; George just barely saw it happen.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Think about it,” John replied, “If I had been involved in his death, I would have taken care of the body, and then we all would have denied ever seeing him, obviously.”

“That’s probably true, I guess,” Justin said.

“Anyway,” John continued, “Jill wants to see you and the other custodians in the family soon. We need to discuss how to proceed forward from here.”

“I don’t know what the fuck we need to discuss,” Justin growled.

“A lot of things, sir,” John told him, “A great lot of things. I have been investigating certain probate issues, and I’m sure you know that I’ve found things that you would rather people didn’t. A lot of irregularities. However, I would prefer to come up with a solution to this problem that doesn’t involve me reporting you to the authorities for what you have done.”

“I’m not exactly sure what you are talking about.”

“Of course you do,” John replied, “Since you are the executor of the estate, you are the person fully responsible for what happened, and you know that. You’re a lawyer, after all. Don’t worry, I don’t need you to admit anything over the phone. I just think what we should be meeting in person.”

“Alright,” Justin said, “I need to get the rest of the family on board with me meeting with you, of course. It will probably take a few days before we can set something up.”

April 3rd, 1995, 2:05 PM PT; Silver Penthouse; Los Angeles, CA

Putting on his best face, Justin tried hard to be gracious and polite as he walked up the stairs to the vestibule of Silver Penthouse. Justin was nervous as hell; he suspected that he had been caught red handed. He knew a lot of the things he had done in his power of executor were morally wrong and in some cases illegal. He thought he had covered his tracks, but it was possible that John was not entirely bluffing based on Jill’s word. He knew that if they lost the money, he would lose Krista ... and then he would have nothing at all. For some reason, in spite of everything, he still loved the damned woman.

For his part John recognized that Justin was trying to be as reasonable as he could in an unreasonable situation. Krista, who did not look quite so willing, followed him. She looked so much like a self entitle bitch, he had no idea how Jill could be descended from the same genetic stock. Justin didn’t look like a particularly nice man, but Krista was on a whole different order of magnitude.

John offered his hand to both of them. Justin shook it willingly, Krista with great reluctance. It was a simple and very customary gesture of greeting, and it was being offered as a matter of form. They were not friends, and probably never would be. Even though, John suspected, he was going to be offering them all of their fondest wishes in exchange for their abhorrent behavior.

“I’m John Caldwell, George’s father,” John told them, “as I told you, Justin, on the phone. Before I go further I want to tender my deepest and sincerest apologies for what happened on the Broadway Limited. Tiny is not my employee, and he was acting entirely on his own. I even understand what he was trying to do, but leaving you off in the middle of nowhere like he did, would not have been my choice.”

Krista softened up noticeably at this apology; she was a woman who never apologized for anything, and she took sincere apologies as very important. Being the obnoxious harpy that she was, almost nobody felt her deserving of an apology, and she almost never got them. While John didn’t like her, being nearly killed was still something that was wrongly done.

John then led the way down the beautifully outfitted cherrywood paneling and soft Persian style carpeting of the car’s hallway into the rear round-ended observation lounge that served as their living room. Seated around the room were George and Jill on the couch, cuddled together, and Gretel on one of the old-fashioned seats. Brenda had decided to go back to Salt Lake City some days earlier; she had recovered from the emotional stress of what had happened, and she wasn’t really party to these proceedings; what Lance had done wrong was immaterial now that he was dead.

“Please make yourself comfortable,” John told them, indicating the various lounge seats, “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“A can of beer, if you have it, thank you,” Justin told him.

“And you, madam?” John smiled disarmingly.

“Bourbon on the rocks, and a lot of it,” she snarled, still not in a good mood. She realized she was very much in their- the enemies- territory, and she was bristling at the disadvantage it put her at. Her husband had always told her that you should always try to negotiate from a position of advantage, and being on the opposing side’s turf was a distinct disadvantage. She had a hard time coming to grips with the fact that given John’s connections, wealth, and power, combined with their illegal actions, they were at such a disadvantage, they never had a chance of having things go their way if John didn’t want them to.

After everyone was seated with their drinks, John attempted to start the conversation.

“I really want to reach an equitab-” he started.

“Fuck that,” Krista cut him off, her bubbling rage and fear causing constipation of the mind and diarrhea of the mouth, “You fucking kidnapped my slut niece and then you fucking assisted in the fucking death of my idiot brother. You fucking go to fucking jail, you fucking bastard, and I’m going to fucking sue you for all you’re fucking worth!”

John was not a PR man. His son came by his nasty Irish temper honestly- he had one, too. He did not like her, in particular, referring to Jill as a slut. He had come to love this young woman as a father- or as a father-in-law- over the past few days. The explosion was unwarranted and showed that Krista was at a deep disconnect with where she stood in this mess.

Another rule of negotiating is to not negotiate against yourself; in fact the beginning of most negotiations contained so many pleasantries because they were designed to get the other side talking first. If she had been thinking clearly, she would have waited for John to propose his terms, before she even had word one to say about them. She was not an intelligent woman, and she also seemed to be more than a little neurotic.

“Jesus Christ, Krista,” Justin said, “Shut up and listen to what he has to say before shooting off that mouth of yours.”

“Yeah,” George said, “You oughtta rent that mouth of yours. People could store things in it. Credenzas, armoires, automobiles, recreational vehicles. Nice little income on the side.”

“Geawhge,” Gretel said, “Don’t be a joik, okay? Yuh didn’t need tuh say dat.”

“Your mothers right, George,” John roared, “But as for you, Krista, I can read your personality from here. I doubt you cried even one tear over your sister’s death. I had someone look into you and your sister’s will. All you want is her money. Don’t deny it.”

“What exactly do you think this will says?” Justin asked, wanting to call the potential bluff John might have been pulling.

“It made specific proviso’s for you to only spend money on Jill and to take a fair share as a salary,” John confided Justin’s worst fears, “You took more salary than you spent on her. You rented a Central Park apartment and bought a Jaguar XJ12. You have clearly abused this will. Based upon all the things I found, I could get you disbarred in the state of New York; George Pataki is a personal friend of mine. I could get you charged with fraud, embezzlement, and theft. And thats not even getting into things like child endangerment for putting her in the possession of Lance Landis, despite her accusations.”

“I don’t know if that would hold up in court,” Justin postulated.

“It probably would, but you are lucky though,” John said, “My goal is not to get you prosecuted, I’m trying to be nice, and simply resolved this situation to everyone’s satisfaction.”

“Jill has signed this action,” He held up a paper, “which will bring against you a legal inquiry that examines the utilization of the will, and will also put a temporary moratorium on spending anything from the estate. You told me over the phone that your relatives have agreed to let you represent them, that’s grea-”