"Rusch,_Kristine_Kathryn_-_The_Retrieval_Artist" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

I saw benefit here, in the inheritance, and in the fact that the reason for the disappearance was dying.
"Your father willed his entire fortune to his missing child?"
She nodded.
"Then why isn't he searching for her?"
"He figured she would come back when she heard of his death."
Possible, depending on where she had disappeared to, but not entirely probable. The girl might not even know who she was.
"If I find your mother," I said, "then will your father try to harm her?"
"No," she said. "He couldn't if he wanted to. He's too sick. I can forward the medical records to you."
One more thing to check. And check I would. I guess I was taking this case, no matter how messily she started it. I was intrigued, just enough.
"Your father doesn't have to be healthy enough to act on his own," I said. "With his money, he could hire someone."
"I suppose," she said. "But I control almost all of his business dealings right now. The request would have to go through me."
I still didn't like it, but superficially, it sounded fine. I would, of course, check it out. "Where's your clone mark?"
She frowned at me. It was a rude question, but one I needed the answer to before I started.
She pulled her hair back, revealing a small number eight at the spot where her skull met her neck. The fine hairs had grown away from it, and the damage to the skin had been done at the cellular level. If she tried to have the eight removed, it would grow back.
"What happened to the other seven?" I asked.
She let her hair fall. "Failed."
Failed clones were unusual. Anything unusual in a case like this was suspect.
"My mother," she said, as if she could hear my thoughts, "was pregnant when she disappeared. I was cloned from sloughed cells found in the amnio."
"Hers or the baby's?"
"The baby's. They tested. But they used a lot of cells to find one that worked. It took a while before they got me."
Sounded plausible, but I was no expert. More information to check.
"Your father must have wanted you badly."
She nodded.
"Seems strange that he didn't alter his will for you."
Her shoulders slumped. "He was afraid any changes he made wouldn't have been lawyer-proof. He was convinced I'd lose everything because of lawsuits if he did that."
"So he arranged for you to lose everything on his own."
She shook her head. "He wanted the family together. He wanted me to work with my sister to -- "
"So he said."
"So he says." She ran a hand through her hair. "I think he hopes that my sister will cede the company to me. For a percentage, of course."
There it was. The only loophole in the law. A clone could receive an inheritance if it came directly from the person whose genetic material the clone shared, provided that the Original didn't die under suspicious circumstances. Of course, a living person could, in Anetka's words, "cede" that ownership as well, although it was a bit more difficult.
"You're looking for her for money," I said in my last-ditch effort to get out of the case.
"You won't believe love," she said.
She was right. I wouldn't have.
"Besides," she said. "I have my own money. More than enough to keep me comfortable for the rest of my life. Whatever else you may think of my father, he has provided that. I'm searching for her for the corporation. I want to keep it in the family. I want to work it like I was trained. And this seems to be the only way."
It wasn't a very pretty reason, and I'd learned over the years, it was usually the ugly reasons that were the truth. Not, of course, that I could go by gut. I wouldn't.
"My retainer is two million credits," I said. "If you're lucky, that's all this investigation will cost you. I have a contract that I'll send to you or your personal representative, but let me give you the short version verbally."
She nodded.
I continued, reciting, as I always did, the essential terms so that no client could ever say I'd lied to her. "I have the right to terminate at any time for any reason. You may not terminate until the Disappeared is found, or I have concluded that the Disappeared is gone for good. You are legally liable for any lawsuits that arise from any crimes committed by third parties as a result of this investigation. I am not. You will pay me my rate plus expenses whenever I bill you. If your money stops, the investigation stops, but if I find you've been withholding funds to prevent me from digging farther, I am entitled to a minimum of ten million credits. I will begin my investigation by investigating you. Should I decide you are unworthy as a client before I begin searching for the Disappeared, I will refund half of your initial retainer. There's more but those are the salient points. Is all of that clear?"
"Perfectly."
"I'll begin as soon as I get the retainer."
"Give me your numbers and I'll have the money placed in your account immediately."
I handed her my single printed card with my escrow account embedded into it. The account was a front for several other accounts, but she didn't need to know that. Even my money went through channels. Someone who is good at finding the Disappeared is also good at making other things disappear.
"Should you need to reach me in an emergency," I said, "place 673 credits into this account."
"Strange number," she said.
I nodded. The number varied from client to client, a random pattern. Sometimes, past clients sent me their old amounts as a way to contact me about something new. I kept the system clear.
"I'll respond to the depositing computer from wherever I am, as soon as I can. This is not something you should do frivolously nor is it something to be done to check up on me. It's only for an emergency. If you want to track the progress of the investigation, you can wait for my weekly updates."
"And if I have questions?"
"Save them for later."
"What if I think I can help?"
"Leave me mail." I stood. She was watching me, that hard edge in her eyes again. "I've got work to do now. I'll contact you when I'm ready to begin my search."