The Box - 1. Chapter 1

July 2, 1999

I looked at my cell phone and the name on the caller-ID made me smile: Brandon. I had spent the past year and a half without an effective personal assistant, allowing JP's half-brother, Brian, to fill that role, even when he did a horrible job. I'd had no success with candidates until I found Brandon. He was smart, he was efficient, and he seemed to take pride in his ability to make my life easier and more organized. The disproportionately large salary I paid him may have helped too, I thought cynically.

“Good morning,” I said cheerfully as I answered the phone.

“Good morning Stef,” he said. He had such a nice, deep voice, it was almost intoxicating. Not only that, it matched his appearance. He was of medium height, with hair slightly redder than mine, and a fit but not bulging body. He really was adorable. “Before you fly out, Mr. Fox wants to speak with you.”

“Mr. Fox?” I asked. The name didn't ring a bell.

“He's the curator of the Claremont City Museum,” Brandon said. The Claremont City Museum was actually my converted ancestral home. It was this massive Victorian house in downtown Claremont, Ohio. It had been built in the late 1800s when that type of architecture had been in style, although it's hard to imagine that was ever the case. With all of its excessive trim and strange roof effects, it looked positively gaudy to me. JP called it ‘The Monstrosity’, and it was an apt description. My grandmother, Tonto, had gifted it to the City, and the rest of us had funneled money into it to maintain it. She had loved her old house, and I think she wanted to make sure it remained part of the city and didn't get bulldozed. Maybe she knew that her descendants would have had no problem doing just that. I pulled my mind back to the topic at hand, and to Mr. Fox. I'd only spoken with him once or twice in the past.

“Are you sure he would not rather speak to JP?” I asked. My partner would be much more interested, and much more helpful, when it came to anything to do with Claremont. JP had been born and raised in Claremont, and of our family, he probably had the least aversion to it, which wasn't really saying much. Even he rebelled against the idea of visiting there. Weddings and funerals, those were the only occasions that would get most of us to go to Claremont.

“He said he needed to talk to you. Tonto left you in charge of her things, at least that's what he said,” Brandon told me, clearly reading from notes he'd jotted down.

“That is correct. Can you get in touch with him and patch him through to the home line?” I asked. Cell phone receptions were unreliable if business was involved, and this was most likely business-related. I tried to find a good land line whenever I had a meaningful phone conversation ahead of me.

“Aren't you on your way to the airport?” he asked.

“We are supposed to be, but I am the only one who is ready,” I groused. JP came walking in just at that moment, toting his suitcase.

“We aren't supposed to leave for ten minutes, so I am early, and the others aren't late yet,” he said. “Besides, since when do you like your men to come early?”

I giggled, and then laughed. “I will be by the phone,” I told Brandon, and closed my cell phone. “With you, that is something I never have to worry about.” He blushed, and that made me laugh harder.

“Who's calling?” JP asked, both out of curiosity, and to change the subject.

“The curator of the Claremont City Museum,” I told him. Before he could ask more questions, the phone rang.

“Stefan Schluter,” I said formally.

“Good Morning Mr. Schluter, this is Mr. Fox,” he said, even more formally. He didn't seem like the kind of man who was into small talk. That didn't faze me at all.

“How nice to hear from you Mr. Fox. How have you been? You must fill me in on what's going on with the museum,” I said pertly. It was hilarious to hear him try to figure out how to get me on-topic. He rambled on about the various displays and I asked questions. JP looked at me intently, and keeping both him and Mr. Fox on edge was really starting my day out nicely.

I finally let him get to the point. “I'm sure you are aware that we're doing renovations on the roof of the museum,” Fox said, as if I followed all of their activities and initiatives religiously. He probably needed money. Well, if a check would get him off my back today, then I'd write him a check.

“I am,” I lied.

“While we were clearing out the attic, we came across a box. It is labeled ‘Do Not Open EVER!’ in large capital letters. While I can't be sure, the writing appears to be your grandmother's,” he said. Now that surprised me. We'd gone through the attic with a fine tooth comb, and I was sure we'd gotten all of her personal effects out of there.

“How big is this box?” I asked curiously.

“I'd say it's about 18 inches wide, two feet long, and maybe 18 inches deep,” he said. “Those are just estimates; I haven't measured it yet, but it appears to be a typical-sized storage box.”

“Well it seems that you have unearthed a mystery,” I said. What could have so frustrated Tonto that she had hidden it for all these years?

“Your nephew wanted to take it, but Mrs. Schluter's directions were quite clear. If he gets a court order, though, I will have to release it to him,” he said.

That would be Nick, Bradley's half-brother. It seemed that the higher his political career rose, so too did he become a bigger pain in the ass. I looked at my watch. “I will be there in five hours or so,” I told him. “I am going out of town, so a brief stop in Claremont will be on the way.”

“Excellent,” he said. “We'll see you then. If you decide to stay over, we have the guest rooms made up.” There was a clause in Tonto's will that allowed her family members to stay in the house for the 4th of July, Christmas and Thanksgiving holidays. The 4th of July celebration was Claremont's big annual celebration.

“We're going to Claremont?” JP said with an evil grin as I hung up the phone. Whenever he forced me to go there, I complained the entire time. My theory with that was that if I made him miserable when we were there, he wouldn't want to go back. I'm not sure if it worked, but it made me feel better.

“You are always dragging me back there, it seems only appropriate that I return the favor,” I said with a smarmy attitude. I detested Claremont, the people and their attitudes. I'd lived there for two years and gotten out as fast as I could. There was nothing left for me there now, nothing except a box.

“So what was that all about?” he asked.

“I will tell you later, when you are not being a smart ass,” I said. He gave me a dirty look, but we were interrupted by our traveling companions.

Brad and Robbie came strolling in with their bags, followed by Matt and Wade. “You are all ready?” I asked. The staff took our bags out to the limo while we gathered our personal effects.

“I'm not sure this is a good idea,” Robbie said. “What if they arrest me again?” We were going to Paris, and Robbie wanted to go with us, but in 1985 he'd gone over there with Brad and ended up getting arrested for the murder of his former lover. It was a huge story in the French papers, and he'd ended up spending a couple of weeks in jail before being released due to lack of any evidence.

“Did not your lawyer say you would be safe?” I asked. “It has been almost 15 years since you were arrested there.” There was always a risk he'd be arrested, especially since, as we'd found out last year, he'd actually done it, he'd actually murdered the guy – but for good reason.

“Yeah, well a French jail isn't something I want to revisit,” he said.

“We are going to Bermuda for a few days first. If you are still nervous, you do not have to go,” I told him. That seemed to placate him, and we piled into the limo for the trip to LAX. We'd had this discussion several times over the past few days and it was getting old. Brad said nothing, but I could tell he was as frustrated as I was. Matt and Wade looked on, bored. “Besides, if they wanted to arrest you, they'd just extradite you. It will not matter if you are in France or not,” I said as I took my seat.

“You say that, but it's still scary,” Robbie persisted. I ignored him and changed the subject.

“It is so good to have you with us Wade,” I flirted. “Your handsome face always brightens my days.” I always flirted with Wade, because it made him mildly uncomfortable, and because it was my way of showing him that I loved him. “And I will get to see you both in bathing suits,” I said, leering at Matt as well.

“Or less,” Matt said with his playful grin. They were so fun to be around. They were young, 19 years old, totally in love, and more eye candy than any gay guy could ever dream of. They both went to Stanford and had met playing hockey; they were both on the team. Matt Carrswold was Robbie's biological son. He'd been adopted by an affluent Shaker Heights couple when he was an infant, and Robbie hadn't even known he existed until last year. With his bulging muscles, rounder features, and darker blond hair, he was a very handsome young man. Not only that, he had a playful attitude that was not unlike my own. He also had a temper, and even though he tried desperately to control it, he was usually unsuccessful. Matt may be Robbie's son, but if he was like any one of us, he was like Brad, although Brad had much more self-control. Wade jokingly called him the volcano, and it seemed to fit.

When it came to controlling his emotions, Wade Danfield was just the opposite. In fact, Wade was the opposite of Matt in almost every way. Wade had a long, thin face with sharp patrician features that gave away his background. He came from an old, distinguished Virginia family, and his father was a United States senator. He had light brown hair, blue eyes, and a smooth Virginia accent, the kind of accent you'd only find at the apex of Virginia society. If Matt was like Brad, then Wade was like JP, only the similarities between JP and Wade were much more pronounced. They were both bright and hard working, incredibly organized, and left no room in their psyches for failure. And it seemed as if both of them prided themselves on their ability to stay cool and collected in the face of anything life threw at them. We'd found out last year that Wade's father had abused him, and while his father had since apologized and was trying to make amends, Wade had migrated toward JP almost as a surrogate. It had been really funny to watch JP deal with that. At first, he seemed unsure of how to reach out to Wade, but in the end, he just treated Wade like he'd want to be treated, and that had worked perfectly. They'd developed a solid bond.

I sat there watching Wade and Matt interact, their gestures and interplay so cute and loving it was just adorable. It was hard to decide who was cuter. I let myself ponder that, assessing and comparing their individual attributes, ignoring the fact that I considered Matt to be my grandson. Those pleasant thoughts and the pleasant banter flowed around me until we got to the airport.

We drove right up to the plane, my plane, and boarded immediately. I loved having a plane. I'd had Dassault Falcons for years, and they'd been such good jets I kept buying new ones when I tired of the old one. Matt had once suggested that I try a Gulfstream, but I liked my Falcons. This one was a new 900, much bigger than my last one, with ample room for 19 people if needed. As configured now, it contained a lounge, a full bath with a shower, and two sleeping compartments. It was very comfortable and very expensive, but I'd come to a realization a number of years ago: I'd calculated my net worth and my income and discovered that even if I had a jet, several houses, and spent thousands of dollars a day, I still wouldn't run out of money. Forbes had put my net worth at over a billion dollars now. It was so much it just seemed obscene, but it brought perks like this with it, and I had worked hard to be successful, so why not enjoy it?

We began taxiing as soon as they stowed our luggage. “So are you going to tell me what that phone call was about?” JP demanded.

“That reminds me. We must make a quick stop in Claremont on the way,” I said. “Celeste, would you tell the pilots that I need to stop in Claremont, Ohio, and that we will need a car when we land.”

“Certainly Mr. Schluter,” she said. She was our flight attendant, a young svelte thing that had definitely attracted Matt's attention.

“You are still gay, are you not?” I teased. He was such a wolf.

“I don't like to limit myself,” he said, then looked apologetically at Wade, who just rolled his eyes. These young guys today were so different than even Brad and Robbie. In my day, you were gay or you weren't. These guys weren't willing to so rigidly confine their sexuality. I'd learned that both Matt and Wade had been with several women, and they seemed to like it. Sometimes adapting to this changing world, while pleasant, was somewhat difficult.

“We're going to Claremont? If you'd have told me that, I really wouldn't have gone,” Robbie groused.

“Let's stop in and see your mother while we're there,” Brad teased. It was interesting to see Matt perk up at that. Robbie's mother was technically his grandmother, and he'd never gotten to meet her. Little did he know how lucky he was. She was married to a fundamentalist preacher, a creepy man who had actually tried to molest Robbie once. Robbie hadn't seen or talked to his mother in years. “Why are we going there?”

I smiled at that, and knew that if I might keep JP at bay, I could never do that with Brad. Brad was like a son to me, even though he was actually my cousin. To make it even more confusing, I referred to him as my nephew. Brad loved secrets, as long as he knew them. When he did not, it pissed him off. After JP, Brad was the most important person in the world to me. “To pick up a box.”

“A box?” JP asked.

“The curator of the museum called and told me they'd found a box hidden in the corner of the attic. It is marked ‘do not open, ever’ in writing that looks like Tonto's.” I watched them digest that.

“What do you think it is?” Brad asked.

“A diary of all her affairs,” I joked.

“She only had one,” Brad said. I felt my jaw drop. Tonto had an affair? I didn't know that. I looked at JP, who was trying to be impassive, but I knew him well enough to know how much that perturbed him. I just couldn't tell if he was perturbed because she'd had an affair, or that he didn't know about it, or both.

“Who was Tonto screwing around with?” Robbie asked.

“I don't know. She just told me she had an affair once, and that Barry didn't know about it,” Brad said matter-of-factly.

“And exactly when did she tell you this?” I asked. Why hadn't he shared this before?

“In 1980,” Brad said. “She said that she caught Barry having affairs and told him that was just fine, but if he was going to do it, so was she.”

The thought of Tonto being so direct and blunt really cracked me up. The woman was a spitfire. “So she did?” JP asked.

“I asked her if she ever cheated on him, and she said that she had, once. She didn't say who it was with, though,” he said.

“So you think that's what's in the box? You think it's about her affair?” Robbie asked.

“No, I think it contains all of her sex toys,” I told him.

“Gross,” he and Brad said, almost in unison.

“I am guessing we will find whips, chains, handcuffs, and large dildos,” I said, pouring it on and really disgusting them. No one wants to think about their grandmother having kinky sex.

“Stefan!” JP said, irritated with me. And the fact that I had irritated him made me laugh, and that just irritated him more. But I knew him, knew how to play him. I let him fume for a second then gave him my playful look, and he melted. God, how I loved this man.

We speculated for a while about what was in the box until that got boring. In the end, we decided that it had to contain all of her lurid love letters and details of her affair, and just left it at that. Brad and Robbie went back to one of the sleeping compartments to doze, while JP took the other one. Matt didn't need a compartment. He just sprawled out across the sofa and snored loudly, cracking Wade and me up.

“Does he do that at night?” I asked.

“Sometimes, but I wake him up,” Wade said, his blue eyes twinkling.

“If you want to have sex out here, I will not mind,” I said, playing with him. “I will just watch.”

Wade chuckled. He was used to me now. “I think we'll make it at least to Ohio.”

“And how are you doing?” I asked. We didn't get to talk much. He was always with Matt, and even if he wasn't, when he needed advice, he went to JP.

“Great!” he said. He was throwing that out as a platitude just to deflect me, much as JP would have done.

“How are you doing with your father?” I asked, probing where I probably shouldn't, but I genuinely cared about him. Wade's father had apologized for molesting him, and they were trying to work their way through it and have some sort of relationship. The fact that Wade's father was a senator, and a right wing one at that, didn't make that any easier.

“Overall, we're doing pretty well,” Wade said, with his sexy southern drawl. “We talk a lot, mostly about politics, and it's fine. Part of me feels bad that I can't return his feelings, but part of me hates him for raping me for all those years and I haven't gotten over that yet. I'm not sure I'll be able to.”

“I did not think much of his initial attempt to reconcile with you, but I must admit I am impressed by how hard he is trying,” I told Wade honestly.

“It's how I was raised, how we're supposed to be. Danfields always win. It's the rule,” he announced with his dazzling smile.

“What about your mother?” I asked.

“If there is a devil, he reports to my mother,” Wade joked, but the humor betrayed his sadness. I laughed with him anyway.

“Well, I think it is a miracle that such a spectacular young man could come from such a dysfunctional family,” I said, smiling at him.

“You're just saying that so I'll sleep with you,” he flirted back.

“Will it work?” I asked with a smile.

“No,” he said.

“Then I must have been sincere,” I said, making him chuckle.

“We're beginning our descent,” Celeste said gently. I felt the plane begin to head down as soon as she said that. “Would you like me to alert the others?”

I laughed. She was worried she'd find Brad and Robbie in some sort of mad, passionate sexual embrace. “I'll go,” Wade said helpfully. He paused by Matt's couch to kick him gently. Ironically enough, it was a loving gesture.

The landing was smooth, and we piled out of the plane to find the limo waiting for us just as it was supposed to be. The airport was outside of town, so it was a good 20 minute drive to the museum. As we drove up, I studied the exterior carefully. I remembered the first day I'd gotten there. I'd come over from France after my mother died with nothing but letters from her and from my father, Steven Schluter, acknowledging me as his son. I had no other proof of my genealogy, and no money left after the trip. Coming here had been one big crap shoot, but with my mother dead, there was no one else in my life. Sad, lonely, and sixteen years old, I'd really had nowhere else to go unless I'd planned to eke out an existence selling my body on the streets of Paris.

I remembered walking through the big foreboding gate, then up the main steps and ringing the bell. It had made a huge gong sound back in those days. I'd expected to have to try to explain myself to these people, to my grandparents, and my English was very limited. But Tonto had answered the door herself and almost fainted when she saw me. They'd pulled me in and made me one of them. The big advantage that I had, and one I did not know about when I first arrived, was that I looked almost exactly like my father. It made any question of my paternity somewhat ridiculous. I glanced up to the dormer window in front where my bedroom had been. I'd finished high school here, and while the people had been nice enough, I'd never felt particularly bonded to them. They were so quick to judge, and none of their judgments of me would be charitable. We drove up to the front door and I got out anxiously. Now that I knew Tonto had an affair and we'd decided that the box had to do with that, the curiosity over who the lucky guy was was driving me crazy.

As soon as we entered the house-turned-museum a short man approached us. He had to be the curator, because no one else would dress that way. He was wearing a sleeveless Argyle sweater over a short sleeved shirt, boring gray slacks, and a polka-dotted bow tie. “It is good to see you, Mr. Fox,” I said cheerfully.

“It's good to see you again as well, Mr. Schluter,” he said. I saw someone come up behind him and recognized Nick. What was he doing here? Nick was Brad's half-brother. He and his now-deceased sister Bitty were the children of their mother, Janice, and my uncle, Billy. Brad had the same mother, but a different father. After Billy was killed when the USS Thresher sank, Janice had irrationally pinned the blame for losing Billy on Brad, and had learned to hate him, her own son. Not only that, she'd coached Nick and Bitty to do the same.

“What an unexpected surprise, Nicholas,” I said truthfully. It was a surprise, it was unexpected, but it wasn't pleasant, so I omitted any reference to ‘pleasant’.

“I want to know what is in the box,” he said directly. Brad was behind me; I could feel his presence. There was no love lost between these two half-brothers.

“Well, after I have gone through it, I will share with you anything that is relevant to you,” I said calmly.

“I could get a court order restricting you from taking possession,” he threatened.

That really pissed me off. Despite all the crap he and his sister had put Brad through, I always tried to keep an open mind about Nick, always tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Before now, he'd never defied me so directly. That must be a measure of his own growing self-importance. “And you could find a very well-financed opponent when you run for attorney general next year,” I countered. “Do not fuck with me. I'm not like these locals you can bully.” I had two, distinct personas. One was the playful, flirtatious, and slutty side most people saw. The other side was the hard-core businessman, the man whose almost limitless wealth gave him extraordinary power. I'd showed Nick the latter, and he'd probably never seen that before.

“I'm not afraid of you,” he said defiantly. He was lying.

“I do not ask for your fear, just your respect. You know, you are becoming more and more like your sister every day.” His sister had been a crack whore for most of her life, so that was a pretty big slam. I brushed invisible lint off my sleeve, a vacant affectation I used when I was dismissing someone. “In any event, I would have thought that with all of those classes in law school you would be able to read a simple will. Tonto was very clear about whom she was leaving her possessions to.”

“I must have missed that paragraph,” he snapped.

“Did you also miss the paragraph that allows me to determine the level of income you receive from your trust?” I asked innocently. He glared at me, but I didn't wait for a response. I turned back to Fox. “I appreciate your call Mr. Fox. Do you have the box?”

“I do,” he said. He vanished for only a minute before returning with what looked like a standard-sized storage box. It was sealed with tape that was yellowed with age. If this box contained information on Tonto's affair, it had happened a long time ago. There was no mistaking the frantic black block letters on the side: DO NOT OPEN EVER! That was definitely Tonto's handwriting. He handed it to me and I in turn handed it to Brad to stow in the limo.

Before Brad could leave, Nick stopped him. “Wait a minute!” Brad glared at him. “I have a court order stating that the box and its contents must remain in this home until you have disclosed its contents. They must be cataloged.” He pulled out an official looking document. JP snatched it out of his hands, scanned it, and gave me an almost imperceptible nod.

“You have done stupid things before Nicholas, but this is probably the stupidest of all,” I told him. “But I will honor your court order.” I turned to our little group. “It appears we will be staying here for a bit.”

“How long?” Robbie asked, really irritated.

“I am not sure. We will go make ourselves comfortable, then sit down and go through this box, and then catalog its contents,” I said. “If it takes longer than today, we will stay over.” I said this to our group, assuming that they would do what I said, but it was directed at Nick.

“So who are these two? Your latest boy toys?” Nick asked rudely, gesturing to Matt and Wade. He was really starting to lose it.

“I will thank you to mind your manners,” JP snapped, speaking for the first time. For some reason, Nick had no problem being rude to me, but when it came to JP, he was much nicer. That was probably because JP still had ties to this community, and his brother was its leading citizen. Nick needed to stay on benign terms with him. JP calmed himself and turned back into the cultured man that he was, sounding for all the world like his mother, whose grace and charm had been legendary. “This is Matt Carrswold. Matt, this is Nicholas Schluter. Nick is the local assistant district attorney.” Matt was so irritated at Nick's earlier sneer he opted to merely nod at Nick rather than shake his hand. “Have you been invited to any of the Governor's receptions?” JP asked Nick.

“A few,” Nick said. That spoke volumes. He'd been invited to the unimportant ones, the large ones with lots of people, not the smaller, intimate ones where you could actually do business.

“Then you would have met Matt's parents, Edward and Amanda Carrswold. They live in Shaker Heights, where Matt grew up. Dr. Carrswold owns a chain of optical centers specializing in LASIK surgery.” Nick look pretty cowed after that. If he had aspirations of running for a statewide office, which he did, he'd need to have the Shaker Heights crowd on his side.

JP turned to Wade. “And this is Wade Danfield. He's not from Ohio, but it would probably be a good idea to be nice to him anyway. His father is a United States Senator,” JP said. Nick and Wade shook hands briefly.

“If you'd like, you're welcome to come visit us and I'd be glad to help you work on your social skills,” JP said. “You'll need them if you plan to launch your career outside of Claremont.

Nick just stood there, glaring at us. I turned to Mr. Fox. “I must thank you again for contacting me and for your hospitality in getting our rooms ready,” I said. He nodded. His job was relatively easy. Between JP and me funneling money into the museum, his fundraising activities were pretty limited.

“Thank you Mr. Schluter,” he said.

“When will we be cataloging the contents of the box?” Nick asked.

“Does the court order require that Nicholas be present for the cataloging?” I asked JP. He scanned it while Nick's eyes bulged.

“It does not,” JP said.

“Excellent. Then we will conduct the cataloging with Mr. Fox. You will be informed of the contents if I discover I am legally obligated to tell you,” I told him.

“You can't do that!” he said impotently. I just ignored his statement.

“Nicholas,” I said, nodding to him. “It would be nice to see you and actually be able to say it was pleasant.” I had no need to spend any more time on my spiteful ‘nephew’. He was merely an annoyance in life.

“He's telling you you're an asshole,” Brad said rudely. “I'm making it crystal clear, just in case you missed that.” I was almost worried that we'd have to break up a fight, but Nick flinched first. He turned on his heel and walked out of the museum, while the rest of us wandered into the drawing room to sit down.

“So this changes our plans,” Brad observed. His voice was heated; he was still pissed off at Nick.

“It does. I think we should plan to stay the night and go over what is in this box,” I told them. I saw them all grimace, but they'd do this for me. “Mr. Fox, will you have time to go through the contents with me now?”

“I will, but won't we need someone to keep good records,” he said, abdicating that responsibility. I looked hard at Wade. He was the perfect person to do it. Incredibly organized, but not a family member.

He picked up on my look, on what I wanted. “I can do that,” he said.

“Excellent. Then let us take a quick break and start in about a quarter hour,” I told them.

“In the meantime, I'll have a few of the docents take your bags up to your rooms,” Mr. Fox said.

“That is most kind of you, Mr. Fox,” I said, mimicking his formality. He didn't know me well enough to realize I was making fun of him.

“We'll need to go to the festival,” JP said. He saw the objections start and shut them down immediately. “Since we are here, and known to be here, we cannot be rude to my brother and his family.” We all nodded.

“Well gentlemen, it seems that the beaches of Bermuda and the streets of Paris will have to wait for us,” I said cheerfully. “Let us settle in then inspect this box and its contents.” They grudgingly acquiesced.