Passing On

“Most people just like to leave their kids money.”

           The old man looks up at me, blinking rheumy eyes. “Don’t I know it,” he says. “My father left me a fortune, and look what I did with it.”

           I arch an eyebrow. “The way I see it, you’ve done a lot of good with what you were given.” I certainly won’t object to his spending preferences.

           “Oh, too little, too late.” He swipes a hand through the air in a feeble, angry gesture. “I spent the best years of my life frittering my wealth away on useless things, trying to make myself happy, instead of taking care for what was most important. And look where it got me.”

           I glance around the room, a large bedchamber dominated by a four-poster with a canopy, thick Persian rugs on the floor, expensive paintings on the wall. But I know that’s not what he means. Aside from me, there’s no one else there. George Banfeld, III, had five children, and not one of them has come to his bedside during the long months of what is likely his final convalescence. Not that I’m complaining.

           “Be that as it may,” I say, shifting in my chair. “Your charities and philanthropic societies do a lot of good work. No one can say you haven’t left the world a better place.”

           “I think there are a few people who would disagree with that,” George says, then breaks off in a fit of coughing. I lean over to pick up a glass of water, plucking it from among the many medicine bottles sitting on the bedside table. The old man takes it and sips carefully until the wracking coughs ease. He sinks back into his pillows with a rasping sigh. “No, what I’m doing now is the best thing I could do for my children.”

           Privately, I believe that they will disagree with that. “If you’re certain,” I say instead. Then I shift into professional mode. I’ve spent a lot of time in this position, often the last person at a dying person’s bedside, and I’ve learned to be as solicitous as possible. I make certain this is what the client wants, and then do as they wish. “I can guarantee that I can successfully extract the desired traits. The procedure won’t be painful, but it will leave you in a coma, dead for all intents and purposes. Unfortunately, I can’t guarantee that your heirs will accept the traits you’re willing to pass on; that choice will be up to them, on an individual basis. Do you understand and accept these conditions?”

           George nods, licks his lips. “Yes.”

           “All right.” I pull out a sheaf of documents embossed with official-use seals. Everything I’m doing is legal, and binding, as long as the procedures are followed. “In the detailed examination we were able to definitively identify a number of positive traits. We’ll go over them, and decide on the recipients for each.”

           “I’ve thought that all out already. I know exactly who will get what.” George stirs, shifting his position under his covers. “We’ll start with my ambition. It helped me so much when I was younger, even if it did lead me a bit astray now and then. I suppose it’s the reason I made anything of my life, that desire to actually better my situation.” He sighs. “I’d like to leave that to my youngest son, Henry. He’s nearly thirty, and he still doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life. I imagine it must be tough to live like that. I think a driving ambition will really help him.”

           “All right,” I make a notation on the correct form. “We’ll see if we can’t use that to give Henry a little direction in life. Next?”

           “Integrity,” George says. “There are people who don’t much like me, but even they have to say I’m always honest in my dealings. I chalk that up to my integrity, that desire to go to any lengths to avoid breaching my personal sense of honor. I’d be the first to admit I haven’t always been a shining example of moderation and temperance, haven’t always set a good example, but I’ve never broken a promise.” He coughs again, clearing his throat. “My daughter Samantha could use some of that, I’m sorry to say. She has something of a reputation for going back on her word, and it’s really hurt her life, professional and personally.”

           “I’m sure a solid sense of integrity will help her out,” I say with a nod. “Next?”

           “Determination,” George says, his voice strong and clear now. “Nothing helps you get through the tough times like determination. And there have been some tough times, times when I faced the prospect of losing everything I had. But I stuck to my guns, saw it through, and came out better for it. That one needs to go to Philip. As the middle child, he’s always been hesitant, awkward, quick to give up. Tells me that it just doesn’t seem worth it to try. He could do so much if he’d just see things through.”

           “Determination should serve him well,” I say, my pen scratching against the paper. “And next?”

           “Reliability.” A smile flits across George’s face. “I don’t know where I picked that one up, but it really helped with that whole integrity thing. I appreciated it so much when others were there for me, it only seemed right that I should do the same. My daughter Evelyn needs a bit of that, sorry to say. She’s always been quick to make commitments and then just not carry through with them.”

           I shake my head, make a quiet “tut-tut.” “And last but not least?”

           “My love of life,” George says, a genuine smile stretching his lips. “Yes, it’s led me to be self-indulgent and spawned a lot of character flaws, but I honestly don’t think I’d be alive today without it. I want that to go to my son Paul.” He shakes his head and sighs. “Paul. I’m so proud of him. He’s done so much, always looking to please me, win my approval. But his life’s been so…empty. He has a great career, plenty of money, but he takes no joy in it. He’s just a machine, existing without living.”

           “I’m sure an appreciation for the finer things will change that,” I say, soothing and solicitous. Who knows? Maybe it will all work out. I make a few final notations. “That’s it. Will you look it over, make sure it all meets your approval?”

           George glances at the paper I hold before his face, gives a little shake of his head. “Not necessary. I trust you. You’ve been very patient and helpful through this whole experience. Thank you.” His hand barely trembles as he takes the proffered pen and signs his name.

           “It’s been my pleasure, George.” And, for the most part it has. “Are you ready?”

           He draws a deep breath, nods. “I’m ready.”

           I start prepping him right away, applying conductive gel to his freshly-shaved scalp, attaching electrodes, calibrating the machines. It’s not a simple matter, capturing the genetic neural patterns that encapsulate our most prevalent and tenacious characteristics, our dominant traits. But with a little skill and a lot of practice, it’s almost easy. And it’s not cheap.

           “You know, George, I think you made a good choice, hiring me for this,” I say, making the last adjustments. “Some people in my line of work just don’t enjoy what they do. Some are clumsy, always mixing a little of the bad with the good. But I’m an artist, and I take a lot of pride in my work. I actually did this for my own father, when he decided that it was all he could leave for me.”

“Oh? What did he pass on to you?”

I look down at George, as he stares up at me, so hopeful, so trusting. “The best part of him,” I answer. “We’re all set, George.”

           He swallows, gives me a tremulous grin. “Go on. It’s for the best.”

           I agree. Oh, his children will be furious when they read his will and find out what he’s left for them. Especially when they see that he spent all his money doing it. But in time, they just might come around, and see that it is for the best. You never can tell.

           I press one final key, and the process starts, turning poor George into a vegetable, but preserving the best parts of him, to pass on to his children. He’s lucky, really. There’s so much good in him. His children should be grateful to get that.

           All I got from my father was a healthy dose of greed and selfishness. Not that I’m complaining.