Daddy's Will

This was first published in a mystery magazine years ago, but I can't remember what it was called. I'm sure it doesn't exist anymore. Such is life.

Daddy’s Will

With little running steps, Becky de Jong kept pace with Robert, who walked with such long strides. She always wondered that he never winded himself, but as they walked, he had no trouble keeping his side of the conversation.

"I’ll do the talking," he said. 

Robert always did the talking, as had all the men in Becky's life. She supposed it was meant to be that way.

Still, it left her with little say for herself, and now that Daddy had died, she was alone with only Robert to speak on her behalf. The idea left her a little nauseated. She stopped, startled by what the feeling might mean.

Robert reached the solicitor's door before looking back. "Don't worry. I can handle your brother. You deserve that money, every penny and pound."

She put her hand over her stomach and took a deep breath. Daddy never liked Robert, but as long as Daddy lived, Robert had been manageable. Daddy's death would change that; so would the money.

Though her father's estate came to a little under a million, she had never thought much about it. The idea of money sullied things so. Still, it would be hers now, or half of it, at least. That did provide for certain options. A woman of means, in London—in 1965—the opportunities were enough to make her dizzy.

The color flushed in Robert's face, the way it always did when she aggravated him.

"Coming." She knew what had to be done, and she hoped she wouldn't hurt Robert too awfully much. She hated to see people hurt. It seemed so unnecessary.

Robert led her into the waiting room. 

Gregory glanced up as they entered but didn’t bother to stand. She wanted to run to him, but he’d made it clear that he was still uncomfortable with the mushy, family stuff. Besides, Robert didn't want her anywhere near him.

"You've got a lot of nerve coming here," Robert growled—and it was a growl, like a dog. She didn’t like dogs, not the big kind, anyway.

"Pretty soon, I'll have a lot more than nerve." Gregory smiled, as if it were all a joke, and maybe it was. Gregory had always been such a cute child. Even now, as a grown man, he seemed little more to her than a child. She hoped he would stay. He’d been gone for years, and there was so much she wanted to know.

Gregory needed to stay for his own good, too. He needed to know what had happened while he was away. Daddy had moved out of the house and into a little apartment in the city. So many of the trappings of wealth had disappeared. Certainly, Gregory would approve. He’d made a show of denouncing such things when he left.

Maybe Gregory would stay after she broke up with Robert. The two men had little patience for each other, and Robert loathed the idea of Gregory receiving a sixpence of their inheritance. He’d abandoned the family, the way Robert put it. Becky liked to think of it as being abroad and forgetting to write.

The solicitor, Mr. Bliss, stepped out of his inner sanctum and welcomed them. He was a tall, pious man, like an undertaker.

"Mr. and Miss De Jong," he said, "if you'll step inside, we'll discuss the details of your father's will." 

Robert tried to lead the way, but Mr. Bliss stopped him. "I'm sorry, sir. You'll have to wait here. The will is very specific."

"My fiance needs me."

Mr. Bliss gave a practiced grin of supreme humility. "The will is very specific. Miss De Jong must attend this reading on her own. Otherwise, everything goes to her brother."

Robert paled. Becky squeezed his hand and hoped it communicated all she wanted to say: she didn’t need him to speak for her. Daddy would have it all in hand. Daddy always did. 

Inside his office, Mr. Bliss had them take seats in two leather chairs facing his oversized mahogany desk. 

Gregory ignored the solicitor and turned to face Becky. "Look, Sis. We both know the old man wrote me out. Let's not put ourselves through this and the years of legal battles to follow. Neither of us want that. Split the money, and I'll be off."

Becky opened her mouth but found herself at a loss for words. Thankfully, Mr. Bliss came to the rescue.

"Actually, Mr. De Jong, your father left it up to the two of you how to divide his estate. What's left of it, that is."

Those last few words arrested all life within the room. Becky scarcely dared to breath, and Gregory's eyes narrowed into thin slits of suspicion.

"What do you mean? The guy was loaded."

From atop the file cabinet, Mr. Bliss pulled out a series of papers and laid them out for the De Jongs to see. "Actually, almost everything is gone. Real estate. Stocks. Bonds. Furniture. Even his clothing. It's all gone. Take as long as you want to study the papers. You'll need to be fully satisfied that what I'm telling you is the truth before we move on."

The numbers seemed to tell a simple enough story.

Gregory wiped his face. "That's not possible. I need that money."

"If you’d like to take the papers home..."

Gregory thumbed the stack and handed it off to Becky. "Did you know about this?"

Becky shrugged. Daddy had moved into the apartment, but she never suspected money trouble. She thought it had to do with his legs.

"It’s impossible," he protested. "The house in the country. The cars. The art. There's nothing left?"

Mr. Bliss held up a hand. "Your father has taken care of all his expenses and leaves no debts behind."

Though Becky thought certainly this was meant to be good news, Gregory lowered his head and mumbled. "I've got debts enough of my own. Thank you."

Becky placed her hands in her lap, cleared her throat, and asked, "Is there nothing at all?"

She saw a spark twinkle in Mr. Bliss's eyes, and, for a moment, she had hope. Again he reached atop the file cabinet and this time placed two framed paintings upon the desk in front of them. Becky and Gregory both scooted closer to examine them. One was a painting of Christ and two women, the other the interior of a church. The Christ painting bore the signature of Johannes Vermeer, the church, Han van Meegeren.

Becky smiled in delight that some part of her father's passion for Van Meegeren had survived, but her brother only groaned. Before he could protest, Mr. Bliss held up his hands in a grand gesture for silence.

"As I said, your father has left it up to you how you will divide his estate, and that means these two paintings. There is nothing more. The will stipulates that I am to cover the story of Van Meegeren, in case either of you failed to listen in your youth. When I am done, I will leave you with the paintings so that you can decide how to split your inheritance."

Mr. Bliss took a deep, preparatory breath and continued.

"As an artist, Han van Meegeren found himself out of step with the art critics of the thirties who had turned to cubism. His classical leanings threatened to make him irrelevant and sink his career. Either for revenge against the critics, for money, or for both, he turned to a career of forgery and specialized in creating new works in the style of the great master of the Dutch Golden Age, Johannes Vermeer. In this he proved incredibly talented and became a very rich man.

"When the Nazis rose to power, they had an insatiable appetite for art. They stole everything they could and what they could not steal, they bought. Perhaps to save national treasures from Hitler, or, perhaps, simply to increase his personal wealth, Van Meegeren traded one of his forged Vermeers to the Nazi, Goering, for two hundred paintings, most of which were genuine.

"After the war, the forged Vermeer was found among the Nazi stash and traced back to Van Meegeren. The authorities arrested him on charges of collaborating with the enemy. The only way he could save himself was to reveal himself as a forger.

"Instantly, Van Meegeren became a national hero. He had humiliated the art critics, a feat the press loved, but more importantly, he had swindled Hermann Goering, the second in command of the Third Reich. Original Van Meegeren art, the paintings he did in his own name, skyrocketed in popularity at the same time that museums hurriedly took down their fake Vermeers. Van Meegeren became such a major commodity, that his original work became a popular target of forgers. 

"Your father loved the stories, both true and mythical, that rose up around the man. He loved the art and the craft of the forgeries. The fakes, of course, are worthless to anyone, but your father loved them all, original and forgery alike. Of what was an impressive collection, all that remains are these two paintings. What you do with them is up to you. We can have them sold and split the money evenly between you, if that is what you choose."

Mr. Bliss stepped to the door. "I'll wait outside while you think it over."

With Mr. Bliss gone, the hopelessness in Gregory's eyes vanished. "Selling both paintings would be such a shame. Don't you think?"

Becky nodded in quick agreement. How could anyone expect her to sell the paintings? Still, she supposed she’d have no choice, and she wondered if she had been too hasty in her praise of Daddy. He was supposed to have seen to everything. He always had.

Whatever happened, she couldn’t go back to Robert.

"You hold on to yours, old girl, for Dad's sake." Gregory stood and leaned over the paintings.

Becky wrapped her arm around his. He looked at her with surprise, but she needed family.

"You've got Robert," he said, "and, besides, sometimes sentimental value outweighs everything else, especially for a woman."

Becky lowered her gaze. Gregory was her brother, and she couldn’t stand to see him hurting. Daddy would have known as much, and that realization kindled something in her. Daddy had known she would let Gregory have his way. That's why he had arranged the will to be handled like this and why Robert had been kept out. Daddy had meant for Gregory to have his choice, and this was his way of making sure she signed off on the deal. So clever. Even in death, Daddy continued to amaze her. He truly was taking care of everything.

She hugged Gregory and clung to him for as long as she dared. "Go ahead," she whispered. "You can have whichever painting you wish."

Gregory hugged her back and then pulled her to the door. "Come on. I don't have much time."

The door opened, and Robert stared at her in desperation, but then Mr. Bliss stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Gregory glanced at Becky and then asked Mr. Bliss. "The one signed Van Meegeren, is it authentic?"

Becky covered her mouth, hiding the smile she could not suppress. Gregory was so predictable. He wouldn’tt ask about the Vermeer. She chose to believe that he was sparing her feelings. She knew the truth though. He feared she’d change her mind if she heard the Vermeer's beggarly price.

Mr. Bliss gave a short bow. "It is."

"Fine then," Gregory said. "Let's sign the papers. I'll take the Van Meegeren."

Mr. Bliss turned to Becky. "Is that your wish as well?"

Becky hesitated. "I'm not sure this is fair."

Gregory put a hand on her shoulder. "You've never been one to go back on your word. For your own sake, I'm going to have to hold you to this."

Becky forced a brave smile and agreed.

They signed the papers, and Gregory snatched up his painting. "It's not much, but it should cover my debts." He ruffled Becky's hair as if she were a little child. "I wish I could stay and chat, but I do need to be in a rush about this. Besides, I don't think I want to be here when Robert finds out."

"Don't worry about Robert. I can handle him."

Gregory threw open the door and called back to her as he ran through the waiting room. "I'm sure you can!"

Robert took the chance and barged in. "Well, then? What happened? How much did we get?"

The desperation in Robert's eyes touched Becky's heart. She hoped she wouldn't have to hurt him too badly. "All Daddy left me was a painting. Everything else is gone." She paused but only long enough to make up her mind. "I think you and I need to talk about our future."

Robert's face blushed an angry red. "Future? All you got was a painting, and you want to talk about our future?" He stomped away, and Becky smiled, pleased that she hadn't needed to hurt him after all.

She turned to Mr. Bliss. "I am sorry about Robert. Like Van Meegeren, he's revealed himself a bit of a fraud."

Unlike Gregory, Becky had listened growing up. She knew almost as much about Van Meegeren as her father had, and in the years to come, she would put that knowledge to work as a consultant in the art world. The work would come as steady as she could hope for, especially since she wouldn't need the money.

Because Becky had listened, she knew that Van Meegeren never copied existing Vermeer paintings but created new ones in his style, passing them off as lost treasures.  She had tried to tell Gregory. The Van Meegeren was authentic, but so was the Vermeer. Daddy must have sold everything to buy that one painting.

Poor Gregory. It seemed so unfair, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

And Becky did so hate to see people hurt.

— Thaddeus Thomas

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