Magic Kingdom for Sale—Sold! (5 page)

“No, nothing, thank you.” Ben shifted in his chair impatiently.

“You don’t believe that it’s possible, do you?” Meeks’ brows furrowed deeply, his voice soft. “Landover. You don’t believe it exists.”

Ben studied the other man thoughtfully. “I’m not sure.”

“You appreciate the possibilities, but you question them, too. You seek the challenges that are promised, but you fear they may be only paper windmills. Think of it—a world like nothing anyone on this earth has ever seen! But it sounds impossible. If I might invoke a time-honored cliché, it sounds too good to be true.”

“It does.”

“Like a man walking on the moon?”

Ben thought a moment. “More like truth in lending. Or full faith and credit between sister states. Or perhaps consumer protection against false advertising.”

Meeks stared at him. “You are a lawyer, Mr. Holiday?”

“I am.”

“And you believe in our system of justice, then?”

“I do.”

“You do, but you know as well that it doesn’t always work, don’t you? You want to believe in it, but it disappoints you much too often.”

He waited. “That’s a fair statement, I suppose,” Ben admitted.

“And you think it might be that way with Landover as well.” Meeks made it a statement of fact, not a question. He leaned forward, his craggy face intense. “Well, it isn’t. Landover is exactly what the advertisement promises. It has everything that the advertisement says that it has and much more—things that are only myth in this world, things only barely imagined. But real in Landover, Mr. Holiday. Real!”

“Dragons, Mr. Meeks?”

“All of the mythical fairy creatures, Mr. Holiday—exactly as promised.”

Ben folded his hands before him. “I’d like to believe you, Mr. Meeks. I came to New York to inquire about this … catalogue item because I want to believe it exists. Can you show me anything that would help prove what you say?”

“You mean flyers, color brochures, pictures of the land, references?” His face tightened. “They don’t exist, Mr. Holiday. This item is a carefully protected treasure. The specifics of where it lies, what it looks like, what it offers—that is all privileged information which can be released only to the buyer whom I, as the seller’s designated agent, ultimately select. As a lawyer, I am sure that you can appreciate the limitations imposed upon me by the word ‘privileged,’ Mr. Holiday.”

“Is the identity of the seller privileged as well, Mr. Meeks?”

“It is.”

“And the reason that this item is being offered for sale in the first place?”

“Privileged, Mr. Holiday.”

“Why would anyone sell something as marvelous as this fantasy kingdom, Mr. Meeks? I keep asking myself that
question. I keep asking myself if I’m not somehow buying a piece of the Brooklyn Bridge. How do I know that your seller even has the authority to sell Landover?”

Meeks smiled, an attempt at reassurance. “That was all checked carefully prior to listing. I supervised the inquiry myself.”

Ben nodded. “So it all comes down to your word, doesn’t it?”

Meeks sat back again. “No, Mr. Holiday. It comes down to the worldwide reputation of Rosen’s as a department store that always delivers what it offers exactly as promised in its catalogues and advertisements. It comes down to the terms of the contract the store offers to the buyer on specialty items such as this one—a contract that permits recovery of the entire purchase price less a small handling fee should the item fail to prove satisfactory. It comes down to the way we do business.”

“Could I see a copy of this contract?”

Meeks bridged the fingers of his gloved hand against his chin and stroked the ridges and lines of his face. “Mr. Holiday, I wonder if we might first back this conversation up a bit to permit me to fulfill the terms of my consignment of this specialty item. You are here to decide whether or not you wish to purchase Landover. But you are also here so that I might decide whether or not you qualify as a purchaser. Would a few questions to that end be an imposition?”

Ben shook his head. “I wouldn’t think so. But I’ll tell you if they are.”

Meeks smiled like the Cheshire Cat and nodded his understanding.

For the next thirty minutes or so, he asked his questions. He asked them very much the way a skilled attorney would ask them of a witness at an oral deposition in pre-trial discovery—with tact, with brevity, and with purpose. Meeks knew what he was looking for, and he probed for it with the experienced touch of a surgeon. Ben Holiday had seen a good many trial lawyers in his years of practice, some of
them more accomplished than he. But he had never seen anyone as good as Meeks.

In the end, a lot of ground was covered. Ben had graduated fifteen years earlier from Chicago University’s School of Law, Order of the Coif,
summa cum laude
. He had gone into practice immediately with one of the larger firms, then left after five years to form his own firm with Miles, specializing in litigation. He had won a number of nationally reported corporate law cases as a plaintiffs attorney and settled dozens more. He was respected by his fellow attorneys as one of the best in his field. He had served as president of the Chicago Bar Association and as chairman of a number of committees on the Illinois State Bar. There was talk of running him for president of the American Trial Lawyers Association.

He came from a very wealthy family. His mother had been born into money; his father had made his in futures. Both were dead. He had no brothers or sisters. With Annie’s death, he had been left essentially alone. There were some distaff cousins on the West Coast and an uncle in Virginia, but he hadn’t see any of them for better than five years. He had few close friends—in truth, he had only Miles. His colleagues respected him, but he kept them at a distance. His life in the past few years revolved almost exclusively around his work.

“Have you any administrative experience, Mr. Holiday?” Meeks asked him at one point, a rather veiled look to the hard, old eyes that suggested the question asked something more.

“No.”

“Any hobbies?”

“None,” he answered, thinking as he did that it was true, that he in fact had no hobbies nor personal pastimes save for the time he spent in training at Northside. He almost amended his answer, then decided it did not matter.

He gave to Meeks the financial statement he had prepared in response to the catalogue advertisement, detailing his net
worth. Meeks examined it wordlessly, nodded in satisfaction and set it on the desk before him:

“You are an ideal candidate, Mr. Holiday,” he said softly, the whisper quality of his voice becoming almost a hiss. “You are a man whose roots can be easily severed—a man who will not have to worry about leaving family or friends who will enquire too closely of his whereabouts. Because, you see, you will not be able to communicate with anyone but myself during your first year away. That is one of the conditions of acceptance. This should pose no problem for you. You are also a man with sufficient assets to make the purchase—hard assets, not paper assets. You can appreciate the difference. But most importantly, perhaps, you are a man who has something to offer as King of Landover. I don’t suppose you’ve thought much of that, but it is something that matters a great deal to those for whom we act as agent. You have something very special to offer.”

He paused. “Which is?” Ben asked.

“Your professional background, Mr. Holiday. You are a lawyer. Think of the good that you can do as not simply one who interprets the law but as one who makes it. A king needs a sense of justice to reign. Your intelligence and your education should serve you well.”

“You mean that I shall have need of them in Landover, Mr. Meeks?”

“Certainly.” The other’s face was expressionless. “A king always has need of intelligence and education.”

For an instant Ben thought he detected something in the other’s voice that made the statement almost a private joke. “You have personal knowledge of what a king needs, Mr. Meeks?”

Meeks smiled, hard and quick. “If you mean, do I have personal knowledge of what a King of Landover needs, the answer is yes. Background is required of our clients in a listing such as this, and the background provided me suggests that Landover’s ruler will have need of the qualities that you possess.”

Ben nodded slowly. “Does this mean that my application has been accepted?”

The old man leaned back again in his chair. “What of your own questions, Mr. Holiday? Hadn’t we better address those first?”

Ben shrugged. “I’ll want them addressed sometime. It might as well be now. Why don’t we begin with the contract—the one that’s guaranteed to protect me from making what most people would consider a foolish investment.”

“You are not most people, Mr. Holiday.” The craggy face dropped a shade, changing the configuration of lines and hollows like a twisted rubber mask. “The agreement is this. You will have ten days to examine your purchase with no obligation. If at the end of that time you find it not to be as advertised or to be otherwise unsatisfactory, you may return here for a full refund of your purchase price less a handling fee of five percent. A reasonable charge, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“That’s it? That’s the whole contract?” Ben was incredulous. “All it takes is my decision to back out?”

“That’s all it takes.” Meeks smiled. “Of course, the decision must be made in the first ten days, you understand.”

Ben stared at him. “And everything that’s been advertised in the catalogue will be there as promised? All of it? The dragons and knights and witches and warlocks and fairy creatures?”

“And you will be their King, Mr. Holiday. You will be the man to whom all must answer. A great deal of power— but also a great deal of responsibility. Do you think that you are equal to the challenge?”

The room went still as Ben sat before old Meeks and thought of the roads in his life that had led down to this moment. Except for Annie, he had lost little on his journey. He had taken the opportunities that mattered and made the most of them. Now he was presented with an opportunity greater than any previously offered and in taking it he would
be leaving nothing of consequence behind. With Annie gone, everything that mattered lay ahead.

Nevertheless, he hesitated. “Could I see a copy of that contract now, Mr. Meeks?”

The old man reached into his center desk drawer and withdrew a single sheet of paper backed in triplicate. He passed it across the desk to Ben. Ben picked up the-contract and read it through carefully. It was exactly as the old man had promised. The Kingship of Landover was to be sold to him for a price of one million dollars. The language of the catalogue promo was repeated with appropriate warranties. The closing paragraphs provided for a full refund of the purchase price less the handling charge if within ten days of arrival in Landover the purchaser chose to return the specialty item and withdraw from the Kingdom. A key for such withdrawal would be provided at time of purchase.

Ben paused on reading the final lines. The purchaser agreed on forfeiture of the full purchase price if he or she returned the item anytime after the first ten days
or
if he or she chose to abandon Landover for any reason during the first year of Kingship.

“What is the point of this final covenant?” he asked, glancing back again at Meeks. “Why can’t I leave for a visit back?”

Meeks smiled—a rather poor attempt. “My client is concerned that the purchaser of Landover appreciate the responsibilities that Kingship entail. A man not willing to— what is the saying?—‘stick it out’ for at least a year is not a worthy candidate for the job. The agreement assures that you will not wander off and leave the duties of the throne unattended—at least for that first year.”

Ben frowned. “I guess I can understand your client’s concern.” He placed the contract back on the desk, one hand resting on it lightly. “But I’m still a bit skeptical about the offer in general, Mr. Meeks. I think I should be candid. It all seems a bit too easy. A mythical kingdom with fairy creatures that no one has ever seen or heard about before? A
place no one has ever been to, that no one has ever come across? And all I have to do is to give Rosen’s one million dollars and I own it?”

Meeks said nothing. His aged, craggy face was expressionless.

“Is this kingdom in North America?” Ben pressed.

Meeks said nothing.

“Do I need a passport to reach it? Or medical protection from its diseases?”

Meeks shook his head slowly. “You need no passport or immunization. You need only courage, Mr. Holiday.”

Ben flushed slightly. “I think some common sense might be called for as well, Mr. Meeks.”

“A purchase such as the one you propose to make, Mr. Holiday, requires least of all common sense. If common sense were the basis of the sale, neither one of us would be having this conversation, would we?” The old man’s smile was cold. “Let us be candid, as you suggest. You are a man seeking something that is not available to you in the world you know. You are a man who is tired of his life and all of its trappings. If you were not, you would not be here. I am a man who specializes in selling specialty items—items that are bizarre, that appeal to a limited market, that are invariably difficult to merchandise. I am a man who cannot afford to jeopardize his reputation by selling something that is in any way counterfeit. If I did so, I would not have lasted long in this business. I play no games with you, and I sense that you play none with me.

“Nevertheless, there are certain things that both of us must accept on faith. I must accept you as a potential ruler of Landover basically on faith, knowing little of your real character, but only so much as I have surmised from our short interview. And you must accept much of what I tell you of Landover on faith as well, because there is no meaningful way to show it to you. You must experience it, Mr. Holiday. You must go there and learn of it for yourself.”

“In ten days, Mr. Meeks?”

“Time enough, believe me, Mr. Holiday. If you find otherwise, simply use the key provided you to return.”

There was a long silence. “Does this mean that you have decided to offer me the purchase?” Ben asked.