Constance (Constance #1)(42)
“Right,” Gaddis said. “I sometimes forget it’s not the center of everyone’s world. It’s really quite simple when you get down to it. When our plane crashed, Cynthia and I were returning from Paris. It was our wedding anniversary, and Paris was her favorite city on earth. The tragic part of the story is that after our trip, she’d been scheduled to travel to speak at a conference in Barcelona. I’d been meant to return home alone, but a terrorist attack in Spain forced the conference to be rescheduled at the last moment. She flew home with me instead. Otherwise, she’d be alive today. Just one of those random occurrences with unforeseeable consequences.” Gaddis paused there, aware that he’d stumbled into more personal territory than he’d intended to share. “Anyway. When we traveled, we often left the children with her brother’s family in Virginia. They are the children’s godparents, and their children are close in age to ours. We saw each other regularly, and the kids were all thick as thieves. After I was revived by Palingenesis, I sent word for my children to be brought home. I was informed via my brother-in-law’s attorney that my children would remain with them in Virginia.”
“Why?”
“Because as far as Cynthia’s family is concerned, Vernon Gaddis died in the plane crash alongside his wife. They do not acknowledge my existence. I lost my wife. I have not seen or communicated in any way with my children. Now I am on the verge of losing them permanently along with my fortune and everything that I have built.”
“Wow,” Con said, understanding now his dilemma.
“Virginia’s clone laws are unequivocal on this subject. As is Cynthia’s brother. As the godparent, he has claimed custody of my three children. Furthermore, he sued in Virginia court to have the will read, which states that in the event of Cynthia’s and my deaths, our estate is to be placed in trust for the children. To be administered by my brother-in-law, because evidently I am a jackass.”
“You’d be broke?”
“Destitute. Obviously, I appealed in Virginia and countersued in Maryland court. Maryland ruled in my favor, Virginia in his. Dueling judgments. The consolidated case is headed to the Supreme Court, should it choose to hear the case, which it has signaled it will. Where I am assured that I will lose.”
“Which is why your friends are so angry.”
“If the Supreme Court rules that I am not Vernon Gaddis, then it will settle the issue of clone personhood at a federal level. Its ruling will supersede all state law and signal the end of legal cloning in the United States. Clones everywhere will be stripped of rights and property. So either I fight for my children with every resource at my disposal, or I sacrifice them in service to the greater good. Which I had more or less resigned myself to doing until today’s board meeting.”
Con didn’t have children, had no real interest in them, but couldn’t imagine being forced to make such a choice. “So why the change of heart?”
“Because I don’t think any of this is an accident. Something is happening that has been in the works for a long time. I can feel it, but I don’t know what it is. Or why.”
“So what now?”
“Now we make a deal,” Gaddis said. “How does dessert sound?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dessert was blueberry cobbler and ice cream. Gaddis had a scotch, but Con declined. She was still nursing her first glass of wine and meant to keep it that way. Gaddis pulled his chair close so they could talk quietly. Jacket off, tie loosened, he sat forward conspiratorially and rolled up his sleeves.
“In ’32, the Post broke the news about cloning, and Palingenesis began offering cloning to the public sector. In the eight years since, both of its founders have been systematically removed from the company they created.”
“My aunt killed herself.”
“Please.” Gaddis snorted. “Abigail Stickling was the least suicidal person I’ve ever met.”
“The media said she was suffering from depression,” Con said.
“She was certainly frustrated by setbacks in her work, but she was far from depressed. That was simply Palingenesis’s cover story.”
“You don’t think she killed herself?”
“No, it was definitely Abigail. And yes, I heard all the absurd theories that it was somehow her clone, despite the fact she wasn’t medically able to have one herself. Originals and clones are identical in most respects, but there are ways to tell—fingerprints, environmental wear and tear, sun damage. These things cannot be faked. I’ve no doubt that it was Abigail Stickling who fell from that rooftop. What I’ve never understood is why.”
“You think it’s all connected,” Con said.
“I know how it sounds. And there were times I thought I was just being paranoid—I’ll be the first to admit my imagination has gotten the best of me at times in the five years since Cynthia died—but I never stopped thinking there was something more profound at work than bad luck.”
“And you think Brooke Fenton is behind it all?”
“I do now.”
“You know she says the same of you,” Con said as much to remind herself as to tell Gaddis.
“Of course she does. She needs a fall guy, and I’ve played into her hands.”
“So what is it Fenton wants?”