2
The next day while I was examining the various accounts of the last ceremony, the chief editor came into my office, his face blazing with excitement: “Iris Mortimer!” was all he could say.
“Iris? Where?”
“Dallas.” He exploded the name in exhalation; then he told me: word had come from our office there that Iris had, a few hours before, denounced Paul for having ignored Cave’s last wishes to be embalmed and that, as a result of this and other infidelities to Cavesword, she, as ranking director and with the full concurrence of the Chief Resident of Dallas, was calling a Council of Residents to be held the following week at Dallas to determine the future course of the Establishment.
I almost laughed aloud with pleasure. I had not believed she would show such vigor and daring. I had feared that she might choose to vanish into obscurity, her life ended with Cave ... even at my most optimistic, I had not dreamed she would act with such realism, exploiting a rivalry between Paul and the Chief Resident of Dallas, the premier member of the Council of Residents, a group that, until now, had existed for purely ceremonial reasons, exerting no influence upon the administration of the Establishment which, while Cave lived, was by Paul directed. Now with one stroke Iris had undermined Paul by going directly to the Establishment.
I moved swiftly. The Journal was at that moment going to press. I scribbled a brief announcement of the coming Council of Residents, naming Iris as Cave’s spiritual heir and custodian of the Establishment. By telephone, I ordered a box to be cut out of the first page. I had not acted a moment too soon for a few minutes after my telephone call to the compositor, Paul came to my office, furious. He slammed the door behind him. We were alone for the first time in weeks.
“You knew this was going to happen.”
“I wish I had.”
He paced the floor quickly, eyes shining. “I’ve sent out an order countermanding Iris. I’ve also removed the Resident at Dallas. I’m still in charge of the Establishment. I control the funds and I’ve told every damned Resident in this country that if he goes to Dallas I’ll cut off his Center without a penny.”
“It won’t work.” I smiled amiably at Paul. “Your only hold over the Establishment is legal. You are the vice president of the corporation and now, at least for the interim, you’re in charge. Fine. But since you’ve become so devoted to the letter of the law you can’t act without consulting your directors and two of them will be in Dallas, reorganizing.”
He cursed me for some minutes: then abruptly he stopped. “You won’t go to Dallas. You’re going to be here for the directors’ meeting which cuts off every Resident who attends that circus without a penny. We own the damned Centers; we can appoint whom we like. You’re going to help ratify my new appointments.”
I pressed the buzzer in my chair: a secretary came in. I told her to get me a reservation on the next plane to Dallas; then, before she had closed the door behind her, I was halfway through it. I turned to look back at Paul who stood now quite alone in the office. “You had better come too,” I said. “It’s all over.”