Beneath the Estate, page 4
The oldest board member in the room was the eighty-year-old Howard Finch. While he spoke with the others about the text, he was forced to admit he hadn’t seen the photos.
“I’m not as technically savvy as I used to be,” he confessed as he handed his phone to one of the other board members. While they reviewed his message settings, another member showed Mr. Finch the photos from their phone. He swiped and zoomed in on the images, showing him the intricate details.
Paul Allenby, the CEO, hurried toward Kay’s office while the board members continued to lounge around. Kay had been looking in the mirror and brushing her hair, while Natalie had been reading the board packet out loud; she stopped when Allenby entered with his collar unbuttoned and holding his tie.
“Can you help me? My god, it’s like I’ve never done this before. I can’t get it right. Must be my arthritis,” he said, closing the door behind him. Kay finished brushing her hair and tossed her brush onto a stack of papers on her desk. Paul went through the motions of getting his tie around his collar and started to tie the knot before letting Kay take over. Paul was thick like an NFL football coach and seemed relatively healthy. His sixtieth birthday had been a few weeks ago, and his doctor had told him to cut down on sodium. From the corner of his eye, he looked at Natalie. “How are you today, Natalie? Keeping Kay on track?”
“She got here early and did everything before I arrived.”
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked as his eyes went back to Kay. He smelled of shaving cream and aftershave.
“Yeah, but what else is new,” she said as she adjusted Paul’s tie and patted him on the shoulder. “Good to go.”
“Is Lewis here?” asked Paul.
“I bet he is. He sent that email at 4:45 this morning,” replied Kay.
“We think he was up all night,” added Natalie.
“I made an adjustment to our agenda. I figured we would go look at the hidden room,” said Kay.
“What?” asked Paul with a slight irritation in his voice.
“That way, we can all see it up close.”
“All of us?”
“Yeah, sort of a field trip,” Kay said as she shrugged her shoulders.
“How are we getting there?” he asked, as if it was going to be a problem getting everybody thirteen miles from where they were. Kay pointed at Natalie.
“I arranged for a shuttle to take us,” Natalie answered.
“Oh! Nice,” replied Paul as he relaxed his posture a bit. “Yes. Good idea. Let’s get started,” he said, looking at his watch.
The ten other board members quieted down and took their seats as Paul entered and sat at the head of the table. Kay sat next to him on his right. Natalie was in a chair against the wall behind Kay. Lewis stood out of the way by the doors.
“Finchy? Big day. When’s your tee time?” Paul asked.
Howard Finch smiled. “I never tee off after eight a.m., so it’ll be tomorrow,” he answered, causing a few board members to laugh.
“Well, before we begin, the first item on the agenda is the vote for the relegation. At this time, we will not be immediately replacing the vacant seat. Mr. Finch will be relegated to an advisory role, and, since we have been discussing this for months, we all know it is coming, and we have the Finchy Banquet this evening. I asked Kay to put it up at the top so we can get to the packet in front of us; so, Kay, if you would begin,” he said, nodding toward her. She stood up and addressed the board.
“The board of the Biltmore Estate is hereby called to order. Our first order of business today is to relegate Mr. Finch to the role of adviser, and all that remains is to put it to a vote,” she said and took her seat.
Paul began: “Thank you. I move to vote on the relegation.”
“Second,” a board member announced.
“All those in favor?” Paul asked. Every board member responded.
“Unanimous, motion passes,” chimed Kay. Natalie recorded the minutes just as all fourteen of the leather chairs around the table scooted backward as every board member got up from their seats and shook hands with Howard Finch. Once everyone was again seated, Kay continued.
“This morning, we will review a set of financial statements followed by a vote. Reviewing these statements will help us decide on increasing the contribution of our ongoing environmental stewardship to the North Carolina Forestry Service. We will also review updates for the Forestry Service Ball that will coincide with our check presentation. Before proceeding to these matters, we have an update for you on the machine found in the hidden room. Our curator Lewis Kent will take the floor,” she said as she turned to Lewis at the back of the room. He took a few nervous steps to the head of the table as Paul scooted his chair to the side.
“Good morning. Thank you for having me. Last night after receiving the email, I logged in to our database of archives. I found nothing to suggest that a room had been built in the basement, nor did I find any renovations after the initial construction. So I drove down to the archival room just after midnight and searched through all floorplans and construction records, finding nothing about the build-out of the hidden room, nor did I find anything on the mechanical cylinder. There are no records of this device in any of our archives,” he explained. Paul appeared to be saddened by the news.
“I did find one thing, though,” Lewis added. “I was able to perform an image search in a university database and found an inventor from a very long time ago who had a fascination with cylinders. This person had many sketches and inventions that utilized many geometric shapes, and the cylinder was probably his favorite. He also built wooden machines with many gears, levers, and rods.”
“Would we know who this individual might be?” asked a board member.
“Leonardo da Vinci,” replied Lewis. The board members grumbled and muttered to each other when they heard the name. Kay looked at Natalie with an expression of What? Natalie returned a skeptical expression. The room quieted down as Paul spoke over the murmuring:
“Are you saying that this machine has something to do with da Vinci?” The board members stopped talking to hear the answer.
“No,” Lewis said. “But in my searching, I found images from a book called the Atlantic Codex, which da Vinci wrote, and I found sketches similar to the components inside the cylinder,” he explained. Don Segretti, a board member going on his eleventh year, spoke up.
“So you are saying that da Vinci could have designed this machine?” he asked. The crowd quieted down to absolute silence.
“I don’t know. All I can say is that the components are very close to what he sketched out in schematics and even implemented in many of his inventions,” he replied in a nervous tone. The murmuring from the board rose to its highest level yet. Paul leaned over to Kay and spoke at a low volume. “We better get through the forestry stewardship section of our agenda pretty quick.”
“Agreed,” she whispered back as she stood up.
“Thank you, Mr. Kent. We will see you in the basement,” she said as he nodded and left. Kay turned toward the board. “We will continue this discussion in the basement during our field trip. For now, we will focus on the rest of the agenda.”
The meeting lasted until well after lunch. Finchy fell asleep twice. For the first time in thirty-five years, he no longer held a voting position, and he sat silent when the board was called to a vote. After the vote passed, Kay stood up.
“We will now adjourn and take a ride over to the estate,” she explained. Chairs scooted away from the table, and everyone queued outside for the shuttle waiting for them. After a short trip, the shuttle passed through the wrought iron gates just as the traffic bollards recessed into the ground. Kay then spotted a white Bentley Continental parked in front of the house. Natalie giggled when she saw Kay roll her eyes as the shuttle made its way down the gravel path.
“Well, Jackson is here,” she said in disdain to Natalie as the shuttle parked at the front door. Jackson Lang had begun his career as an in-house attorney for U.S. Bank before leaving to serve as counsel for the New York Philharmonic. A few years after his hire date, he had accepted the position of assistant director of the famed musical institution. His job responsibilities included revenue generation, donor acquisition, archive management, and managing the public relations and marketing department. In his interviews with the board at the Biltmore Estate, he explained that he used many facets to increase revenue and showed proof of his fundraising capabilities. While he and the other candidates made many claims, this particular statement intrigued the board and ultimately was the deciding factor in offering Jackson Lang the director position. Paul Allenby considered it his mission to carry on George Vanderbilt’s legacy of preserving North Carolina’s forests. Being able to raise funds effectively so that the Biltmore Estate could give generously to Mr. Vanderbilt’s cause was in line with Paul’s core values.
While everyone else liked Mr. Lang, Kay felt the opposite. She was in love with the idea that the board members and managerial staff held common interests and beliefs. Above all, watching football on TV, hosting cookouts, and spending time with their families was a common ground that everyone agreed was sacred. Kay loved that every board member had a family dog; and when it was time for their annual board photo, they gathered on the estate’s front lawn with their faithful hounds at their sides. One of Kay’s fondest memories of Paul Allenby was when she’d needed his signature on a stack of documents on a Saturday afternoon and had driven to his house unannounced. When his wife answered the door, she explained to Kay that he was on the back porch. Upon opening the back door to their large wooden deck, Kay found Paul sitting in his rocking chair with a book he had been reading. At the time of her arrival, the book was upside down on his lap, the pages splayed with the weight of the book marking his place. He was leaning back in his chair, and his Redbone Coonhound, Charlie, was standing on his four legs, with his head resting in Paul’s lap; the pup’s tail was wagging slowly from side to side. Paul was petting Charlie and talking in a sweet voice to his dog, thinking they were alone. Kay waited momentarily and took in the interaction before clearing her throat to get Paul’s attention.
When Jackson Lang was being considered, Kay had pushed back about his hiring, as he was about luxury cars, expensive watches, and gated neighborhoods. When the estate held a reception to introduce him to everyone as the new director, he arrived in a brand-new Bentley Continental luxury car. While Kay admitted that Jackson was very good at overseeing the entirety of the estate and he had delivered on his promises, she just didn’t like him.
The field trip deposited them inside the house, and the board members began down the narrow staircase to the basement and made their way through the corridor and finally to the Halloween Room. They found tourists meandering about while holding tri-fold brochures and looking at the map of the house. Most were speaking at a very low volume, as if they were in a library. The basement was normally wide open for guests to walk around and look over the painted walls of the Halloween Room, but now the entirety of the left wall was roped off with a sign that read: Please excuse us as we maintain the estate.
Standing next to the hole in the wall, Gary Harris was chewing gum and picking at his fingernails. Paul led the way behind the ropes and spoke to him while the other members made their way toward the hole.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Harris. Before we begin, we were wondering if we could see the section of the brick wall that was cut away and held to be preserved,” Paul said aloud. Gary nodded and walked them over to the right side of the wall and pointed to the ground where a large inflated canvas mat held the section of the painted wall that had been cut. He removed a plastic tarp, showing that the wall was preserved and kept off the ground.
“Interesting,” Paul said. “What is it lying on?” he asked. Gary chewed his gum during his answer.
“It’s a construction-grade canvas pillow. This protects the brick so that we can replace it later and create the concealed door.”
“I see. Well, it’s a relief that this is in your hands, Mr. Harris. Now, on to see what we all came here to see. Is Mr. Lang here?”
“He’s just inside there,” replied Gary.
It took a few moments to get everyone inside the hole in the wall, especially Finchy. Kay saw Jackson Lang standing near the cylinder with his hands in his pockets, his shiny Breitling Navitimer watch partially exposed beneath the cuff of his dress shirt. The board crowded around the cylinder while Lewis Kent continued to speak about the features of the cylinder with a powerful flashlight in his hand.
“Underneath the cylinder are two severely rusted springs. Not a spring similar to the coils of a mattress, but a spring that would be found in a wristwatch, only much bigger,” he explained as he made his hands flat like a pancake. “The large springs at the bottom provide power to this entire cylinder. It seems that this large device acts as a motor of some type,” he explained.
“What does this motor do?” a board member asked.
“No idea. This is very strange. I couldn’t possibly begin to tell you what function it performs.”
“Something with the construction of the estate?” Kay asked.
“No clue. The only help I can offer here is to suggest that we find someone who knows everything da Vinci knew, and maybe they could explain this to us,” said Lewis. The grumblings of the board commenced. Kay watched Jackson Lang walk over to Paul as the board went wild with theories and possibilities. Kay nudged Natalie and gestured for her to look over at Jackson as he and Paul spoke. When those two ended their conversation, Paul broke away from Jackson and began walking toward Kay and Natalie.
Paul cleared his throat and spoke over the commotion of the other board members. “Jackson and I are off to Raleigh to meet with the governor. We have a meeting about our donation to the forestry service. So, in the meantime, I need you to find an expert on da Vinci and get them to look at this as soon as possible. Gary is already in my ear talking delay fees,” he said. Kay crossed her arms and leaned in toward Paul.
“I certainly didn’t expect this,” she said in amazement as she nodded toward the cylinder.
“It could be nothing, or this could be huge,” said Paul as he walked away. Right behind him was Jackson, who walked up to Kay while holding his cell phone. She felt her phone vibrate and sound a notification before he spoke. Natalie stood by and listened.
“I just sent you the names and phone numbers of an archeological team in Arizona and another team in Manhattan at the Museum of Natural History. Get one of those teams here,” he said, as if he were telling her what to do instead of asking. As he began to walk away, he added: “Whichever will get here the fastest.”
As he left, Natalie spoke softly as she leaned in toward Kay. “Does he know that he’s a donut?”
“He didn’t even say please or could you, and I’m technically his superior.”
“Does he know we can use Google?”
“If I give you this project to find experts on da Vinci, will you use his suggestions?” asked Kay.
“Nope.”
“Good.”
CHAPTER 7
Present day
Middlebury College
Middlebury, Vermont
“The Most Beautiful College Campus” was the title of an article written and photographed by a journalist from Forbes magazine. The article handed Middlebury College that coveted designation. The photographs were taken in the fall, when the leaves were shades of gold and orange, with brilliant blue skies and puffy white clouds. The article caused a spike in applicants, and the dean presented awards to the groundskeepers.
Founded in 1800, the campus had only one building that had been part of the initial construction and featured obnoxious squeaky hardwood floors to prove it. The building, Alexander Twilight Hall, had a few classrooms but also served as office space for professors and was the location of department meetings for the heads of the Humanities and Social Sciences Department.
The building’s ancient architecture with heavy wooden doors hadn’t seen many renovations, making it one of the few original, untouched buildings on campus. In one of the rooms, department heads sat around an old wooden table with modern chairs. Six men with white or gray hair wearing tweed sports coats appeared upset.
“We tell him that while it is an unusual circumstance, the advisory committee did not approve it. Just because you’re the son of a professor doesn’t mean that you get to inherit his credentials!” a bald professor said as he pounded his fist on the table.
“Exactly!” another professor hollered.
“We will all tell him. Together.”
“Yes! We will!”
“It’s not about taking something away from someone,” added a professor who had removed his jacket and placed it on the back of his chair.
“Right. That’s not what this is about.”
“This is about what’s right and what is earned.”
“Exactly!”
“We will all tell him,” said the professor who wore the thickest glasses in the room. The heavy wooden door opened, and in walked the dean of Middlebury, Murry Fritz. As the door closed behind him, Dean Fritz rushed to the table with a cumbersome stack of folders in his arms, struggling to keep them from falling. Once he reached the table, he let out a deep breath and hurriedly set down the folders. He was a short man with wispy salt-and-pepper hair and eyebrows that could hold a gallon of water. Each step he took caused the floors to squeak, which ceased when he sat down.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, taking his seat. Some of the professors looked at the stacks of folders.
“Are those for this meeting?” a professor asked.
“What?” asked Dean Fritz. “Oh! No. These folders were for my last meeting over at the Farrell House. I just brought them with me,” he explained. “Okay,” he said while catching his breath. “Please begin,” he said as he looked around the table.
Several months prior, Dr. Dan Garrison had died from a stroke. A painful and difficult loss for the college, as he was their most notable and distinguished colleague. Dr. Garrison was a contributor to countless articles in academic journals and was the author of four books about Leonardo da Vinci. He appeared on television segments and documentaries that discussed da Vinci and was always listed as the leading expert. Before Dr. Garrison’s death, he had seen his only son achieve his doctorate and accept a position at Middlebury as a tenure-track professor. Upon his death, it was his wish to have his son take his seat as professor and department head of Medieval and Renaissance Studies. While the professors who had called for the meeting with the dean weren’t going to bring this up immediately following the death of their colleague, action would certainly be taken eventually. Today was that day, several months after the death of Dr. Garrison Senior.
