The Portrait

By Raul Aguilar

Deborah Kuhn was passed from cousin to cousin until she went to work with the New York Public Library. A traffic accident sends her to the hospital where the doctors find she has a rare brain tumor. The tumor is hereditary, passed from mother to daughter, to granddaughter.

Sherman Allen and Deborah’s search for the roots of her identity reveal a dark story of murder, greed and avarice stretching across two generations. They survive a kidnapping, a shooting and a determined effort to prevent them from learning of her heritage and keep her from asserting ownership to a vast pre-World War II fortune.
The only clue they have is a Medical Paper written by a two doctors on the brain tumor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raul Aguilar
• Release date: Aug 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310581489

Raul Aguilar

Raul Aguilar has lived in the San Francisco Bay Area for over 35 years. A degree in Electrical Engineering lead to a career as an Electronic Analog Design Engineer for 10 years and ultimately inspired him to pursue a Juris Doctor degree from the University of San Francisco. Admission to the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office diverted his interests temporarily, but ultimately fate led him to pursue a career as an Insurance Regulatory Attorney.Raul has pursued writing short stories as a means to express his interests in travel, 13th Century European History and International Relations. Raul's travels have led him from San Francisco across all the major cities in America to London, Paris, Cote d'Azur, Monaco, Germany, Italy, Rome, Spain, the Cayman Islands, the Caribbean, Mexico and South America. His writings reflect many of the places and cities visited by Raul and his lovely wife Diane.

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The Portrait

By

Raul Aguilar

Copyright 2013 Raul Aguilar

Smashwords Edition. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

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Acknowledgments

I dedicate this book to my wife, Diane. A sweet and gentle soul who patiently stood at my side and unselfishly gave her last measure of love and life in support of my efforts. Without Diane, nothing would have been possible.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1 – An Ordinary Life

Chapter 2 – Transformation

Chapter 3 – Search for Identity

Chapter 4 – A Plea for Help

Chapter 5 – The von Hoffman Collection

Chapter 6 – Fellow Travelers

Chapter 7 – Common Interests

Chapter 8 – A Personal History

Chapter 9 – Dark Lights

Chapter 10 - Prospective

Chapter 11 – A Dangerous Road

Chapter 12 – The Black Forest

Chapter 13 - Answers

Chapter 14 – Deer Trail

Chapter 15 – The Tribunal

Chapter 16 – Past is Prologue

Epilogue

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About the Author

Other Books by Raul Aguilar

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Prologue

Chapter 1 – An Ordinary Life

The Librarian

It's two weeks before Christmas, our slowest time of the year. Why don't you go home early, I'll finish up, said Mrs. Williams, the Chief Librarian.

It's all right. That group of students is almost finished. I heard them talking about making changes to their term papers before the Christmas vacation. They'll be done soon and I can clean up the mess, replied a plain but attractive, oval faced redhead with delicate facial features and striking brown eyes.

Suit yourself, but the next three weeks are going to be very slow. Very few people will be coming to read books at the public library during the holidays. I’m going to go in the back and begin indexing the books we received yesterday. Call me if you need me, said Mrs. Williams as she disappeared into one of the back rooms of the library.

Deborah Kuhn, the Assistant Librarian, scrolled through the lists of books that were due to be returned the following day. She made mental notes of the location where she would return them. The library was her life and she expected that she would retire as Chief Librarian someday. She stared at the pile of books on the library table where another group of students had been working.

This is better than having them try and put them back on the bookshelves. This mess is going to take me at least an hour, she said glancing at the cheap white plastic clock on the wall.

Deborah selected four books dealing with Greek history, walked over to the library shelf, placed them in alphabetical order, and checked that the Dewey Decimal System number sequences were correct. Deborah had worked as an assistant librarian at the New York Public Library, Central Division, for 10 years. She had developed a knack for sorting and filing books by book titles, authors and subject matter and could clear the 20 tables in the general reading room in a matter of hours. She enjoyed the challenge of maintaining order and was proud of her ability to work quickly and efficiently in the solitude of the library environment.

Deborah finished sorting and filing the books on the library table in less than 20 minutes. Pleased with her progress, she glanced around the room and was disappointed not to find any challenging collections of books left to be returned to the shelves before the library closed. Deborah’s shift ended at 5:30 PM. She walked over to her desk, aligned several memos she had received that morning, put her stapler and pencils in her desk, picked up her sweater and went out the front door of the library.

She had picked up some fresh fish fillets for dinner and was trying to remember whether she still had a small jar of capers to add to the lemon juice and butter in which she would cook the fish. Deborah did not notice the lime green Volvo driven by a 32-year-old Englishman who had just received his New York driver's license. The nervous man swerved across the street stricking Deborah a glancing blow throwing her against the fire hydrant and cart wheeling her against the bus stop bench occupied by two elderly couples. The accident happened so quickly that Deborah was unconscious before the fire hydrant cracked three of her ribs and dropped her into the laps of the startled seniors. Their frail bodies absorbed the shock to her head as it snapped against the metal bench.

…..

Where am I? What happened? she asked a tall dark man in a white uniform.

Try not to move. Are you thirsty? he asked. Deborah started to rise from the bed when a sharp pain in her ribs forced her to collapse back onto the bed.

The ringing in her ears and the terrible headache added to her confusion. One moment she was crossing the street and now she was in a hospital bed.

She took a deep breath, gritted her teeth and asked, Was I in an accident? Am I okay? Yes, I am thirsty.

The hospital orderly picked up a glass of water filled with shaved ice and a straw. He gently brought it to her mouth.

Sip on this. The doctor will be in shortly, he said softly pushing the straw through her chapped lips.

I'm glad to see you are drinking water. Are you hungry? I can get the nurse to bring you a nice dinner, said a tall thin man in a lab coat bending down and looking into her eyes.

What happened? What am I doing in a hospital? she asked quietly looking for a reaction from the man who she assumed was a doctor.

You were struck by a car, cracked a couple of ribs and took a pretty nasty bump on your head. When they brought you to our emergency room, you had a partially collapsed lung and the concussion in your head resulted in some brain swelling. You are stable now and out of any danger, he said as he examined the chart hanging from the side of her hospital bed.

When did all of this happened Doctor? asked Deborah.

About four months ago. We induced a medical coma until the swelling in your brain had gone down. You have been healing nicely and sleeping without incident, replied the doctor.

Four months..., she replied, her voice trailing off to silence.

Do you have a next of kin that we can notify about your condition? We found that you work at the New York Public Library and we have informed them of your accident, but we have been unable to determine who your next of kin is so that we can tell them of your improved medical condition, said the doctor.

I live alone. I have a cousin in Cincinnati, but we are not close, Deborah said softly.

I will notify the hospital administration and they will send someone down this morning to talk to you and answer any questions you may have about the treatment and the accident. Right now, I would like you to try to eat something. Drink a lot of water and see if you can sleep without medications. I will come back and see you later this afternoon, said the Doctor attaching the medical chart to her bed, smiling and leaving the room.

Deborah suddenly realized that she was tired. Maybe she would just close her eyes for a few minutes and try to get some rest. Deborah soon fell into a deep drug induced sleep; she wondered whether she had a bottle of capers to go with the lemon juice and butter that she was going to use in the fish she was cooking for her dinner.

….

Good morning Deborah, how are we feeling? Are you hungry, we can get you some scrambled eggs, toast, maybe some fresh orange juice? asked a young fresh faced nurse with large horn rimmed glasses standing next to her bed.

Deborah opened her eyes, examined the clear plastic tubes connected to her wrist, the metal attachment on one of her fingers and the clear plastic oxygen tube inserted in her nose.

I thought I was getting better. When I spoke to the doctor this morning, he said..., she whispered weakly.

Yes, of course. That was several weeks ago. We had to run a few more tests and they decided to keep you sleep for a while. The doctor will explain everything; meanwhile we think you are strong enough to take oral nourishment. So, would you like scrambled eggs or cereal? asked the young nurse as she adjusted Deborah's bed so that she was in a sitting position.

Scrambled eggs sound okay, she said trying to understand what the young nurse had just told her.

The hospital orderly came in with a tray containing a plate of scrambled eggs, a glass of orange juice and two pieces of toast. She struggled with the fork and managed to eat some of the scrambled eggs as the young nurse watched her carefully.

Good morning Deborah. I am Dr. Benjestorf; I am the resident Neuro-oncologist and work directly with Dr. Woods, the hospital's Chief Neurosurgeon. I believe you spoke with him a couple of weeks ago when we brought you out of the coma. How are you feeling this morning? he asked in a soft, confident and firm voice.

I am a little groggy. I have... I feel some pain around my rib cage when I breathe, and I am thirsty, she said quietly.

Yes, you sustained a couple of broken ribs but they are mending nicely. The swelling in your brain has almost disappeared. The reason we kept you sedated was that a CT scan of your brain revealed a small brain tumor that turned out to be benign. Pheochromocytoma is a rare tumor of adrenal gland tissue. It results in the release of too much epinephrine and norepinephrine, hormones that control heart rate, metabolism, and blood pressure. We decided to conduct a series of tests to determine the treatment we intended to prescribe, he said quietly as he took her hand and held it firmly.

Pheochromocytoma may occur as a single tumor or as more than one growth. It usually develops in the medulla of one or both adrenal glands. The most important thing is that very few Pheochromocytomas are cancerous, added Dr. Benjestorf.

You said it was a benign tumor..., Deborah started to say.

The tumor of the adrenal gland is very rare and we had to run some tests to determine whether you had von Kirchner-Newton disease. It is a rare, autosomal dominant genetic condition that predisposes individuals to benign and malignant tumors. The only papers on this disease were written by Dr. Gunter von Kirchner and Dr. Newton in 1979 in post-war France. We had little to go on, but I'm glad to say that you only had a very minor response to our tests. We tried to find your closest relatives, because it's hereditary and the symptoms are not always apparent. The most common are high blood pressure, sleeping difficulty, irritability and the occasional headache. In any event, we removed the tumor and all of your vital signs are normal. Absent any complications, you will be out of that hospital bed within a week, said Dr. Benjestorf.

That's wonderful. I don’t have any close relatives. I have lived alone for the last 10 years and I work at the library. I will be glad to get home, I'm certain that all the food in the refrigerator has spoiled, she responded almost absentmindedly.

She finished the scrambled eggs and sipped the orange juice through a straw as Dr. Benjestorf explained how lucky she was and how well the operation had gone. She started to feel drowsy again and lay back on the hospital pillow. As the doctor droned on about the treatment she would receive over the next week, she pictured in her mind her most valuable possession lying on her bed in her cold, empty apartment.

Don't worry Baby Bear, I'll be home soon, she said to herself as she drifted back into the drug-induced sleep picturing a small raggedy stuffed bear with a single missing eye.

Dr. Benjestorf stopped talking and watched her slowly drift asleep. He studied the chart next to her bed and confided that the medication he had prescribed had been administered; he then examined the various instruments that measured her heartbeat, the oxygen content of her blood, and her blood pressure.

She is breathing regularly and all of her vital signs look good. I would like to have someone check in on her every 20 minutes for the next 24 hours, he said as he started thinking about the next patient he was about to visit who had not been as lucky as this young woman.

…..

Over the next week, the doctors slowly removed the pain medication from Deborah's treatment. The surgery to remove the pea size tumor from her adrenal gland had been minimally invasive and her 40-year-old body had already sealed the incisions. Every day she was becoming more aware of her surroundings and relentlessly questioned the nurses about every action they took. When they removed the bandages from her head, she wanted to see if there was any bleeding.

When they removed her oxygen tubes, she demanded to know why she had needed them in the first place. She ate all the food that they brought for her and on several occasions asked if she could have snacks. She soon realized that the discovery of Pheochromocytoma had been such a rare event at the hospital that physicians from several other hospitals had come by to examine the tumor and the resulting reports of Deborah's examinations. Deborah heard that Dr. Woods and Dr. Benjestorf were planning to submit a paper on the operation and her treatment. As a side effect of her notoriety, Deborah’s requests for additional snacks where never denied by the nurses.

Deborah wondered about the rare tumor. The fact that it was hereditary intrigued her. From the time she was a little girl until she was able to get a job and earn a living, she was passed from cousin to cousin. When she was a teenager, she had been left with an aunt who had a minor role in soap commercial. Her aunt had made a lot of money from that commercial but not much from her career as an actress. Deborah became her aunt's laundry maid and was required to iron her aunt’s pillowcases, bed sheets and curtains. After a while, her aunt actually forgot Deborah's name and would refer to her as Gretchen.

One day Deborah came home from school to find her small battered suitcase on the front porch of the house with a note directing her to go to another cousin's house. Apparently, her aunt did not like the way Deborah ironed the bed sheets. Secretly, she hoped that her aunt would become fat and unattractive. Deborah wondered if her aunt had died from Pheochromocytoma. Deborah thought about the medical books in the New York Public Library. Maybe, if this type of tumor was hereditary and rare enough she might be able to find something about her family.

The doctor said something about people who get Pheochromocytoma have a hereditary disease known as von Kirchner-Newton disease. The doctors said it was very rare, she repeated as she continued to muse to herself.

As the days went by she learned that other doctors in New York wanted to read everything they could about her rare disease, she resolved to read everything she could about Dr. von Kirchner and Dr. Newton. Maybe one of those doctors had treated her parents or her grandparents. She might be able to learn something about her family. The more she thought about it, the more excited she got.

Can you get me any literature on von Kirchner-Newton disease? she asked the Charge Nurse one evening.

I'm sorry dear; I don't have access to the medical library. Besides, that is such a rare disease that they may only be in medical papers submitted by individual doctors who have come across it, rather than any textbooks, replied the nurse.

Deborah lay back in her hospital bed. All of the tubes and sensors had been removed and the nurses would now take her vital signs only once a day. She knew that she would soon be released from the hospital. In her mind, Deborah began to plan her research when she returned to work at the library.

Maybe I am lucky. The doctor said I was lucky. Maybe I can use this to find my parents, she thought to herself as she drifted off into a quiet, peaceful sleep.

A Fresh Start

Deborah arrived early for work at the New York Public Library. Her ribs still hurt if she moved too fast, but the pain medication was sufficient to carry her through the day. She knocked at the entrance to the library trying to get someone's attention to open the door and let her in.

A small thin woman came to the door and said, The library does not open until 9 o'clock. Come back later!

Oh no, I work here. My name is Deborah Kuhn. I am reporting for work, she said eagerly.

The woman studied Deborah for a moment, unlocked the door and let Deborah inside.

Come in. I was not told you would be reporting for work today, she said in an irritated voice.

As Deborah came into the library, the woman motioned for her to follow. Deborah followed the woman to the inner offices of the library.

Please have a seat. I am Harriet Simpson. I will be your supervisor, she said tersely. Deborah sat in a large mahogany wooden chair and watched as Harriet Simpson leafed through a folder on her desk.

You have been out on medical leave for 6 months. Do you feel strong enough to return to work at the library? she asked.

Oh yes, I was released from the hospital a week ago and received a doctor's certification that I am healthy enough to return to full-time work. I received a letter from the library administrator telling me to report to work this morning, she responded quietly.

Yes, I was advised by the library administrator that you have been reinstated to your old position as Administrative Assistant in the technical section of the library. Currently, Joanna Wilson is in that position as an intern until the end of the summer. In the interim, I would like for you to assist Mr. Brothers in the Computer Research Section of the library, she said handing Deborah a large folder.

Thank you Mrs. Simpson, I will study the materials and be prepared to assist Mr. Brothers, she replied smiling.

It's Ms. Simpson if you please, she replied tersely and motioned Deborah out of the room.

Deborah was familiar with the Computer Research Section of the library, but had never met Mr. Brothers. The rumor was that he was a quiet, solitary person who liked to work alone and did not tolerate interference with his research. Deborah walked through the main library reading room to the elevator and took the ornate elevator to the 3rd floor of the library. She followed the hallway to the far end of the building where the main library computer servers were located. Seated in a far corner Deborah saw a heavyset elderly white haired man stooped over a keyboard frantically punching the keys on his computer keyboard.

Deborah walked over to the man and said, Mr. Brothers, my name is Deborah Kuhn, I have been assigned to work with you for the next few months. Would you please direct me to my workstation?

Mr. Brothers stopped typing, studied Deborah for a moment and said, Pick the computer farthest away from me. The procedures are outlined in the manual. You're the designated person to answer telephone inquiries.

Without another word, Mr. Brothers returned to his computer, totally ignoring Deborah. Deborah had seen many library employees who would come to work in a library for the sole purpose of losing themselves in their reading, research and lone contemplation. She was not surprised at Mr. Brothers' attitude and understood that he was one of the hermits of the library. She knew that they would work well together although rarely speaking to each other.

She looked around the room and found a desk near one of the windows overlooking the street in front of the library. She spent several hours reviewing the library procedures before calling the library's telephone operator and letting her know that any incoming questions should be directed to her phone number for a response. Within minutes she received a telephone inquiry about the location and contents of President Lincoln's library. The hours passed quickly, she answered several dozen phone calls until the library lights were dimmed indicating that the library was about to close.

My first day back to work, that wasn't so bad, she said to herself.

She picked up her purse and made her way to the elevator noting that Mr. Brothers was still hunched over his computer still frantically punching the keys on his computer keyboard. She made her way out the front door noting that Ms. Simpson stood and watched her leave the library. The air outside the library was crisp and the breeze carried the smells of the city that she loved. She waited by the bus stop until her bus arrived.

She watched with fascination at all the people going home from work in the vast metropolis. She got off the bus and walked the half-block to the stairs of her brownstone apartment building. She let herself in and checked the mail. There was an envelope from the hospital and a large package from a law firm in downtown New York. She entered into her small apartment; Deborah was suddenly struck by the drab furniture, the old curtains and dark colors of the apartment. She had never paid particular attention to her surroundings.

She stood for a moment, spotted her raggedy teddy bear, picked it up and gave it a hug.

I'm home Baby Bear, she said kissing its forehead.

She kissed again and put it back on the couch. She went to her dining room table and opened the envelope from the hospital. It contained hospital invoices to be submitted to her insurance company and a schedule of follow-up visits with her neurosurgeon Dr. Benjestorf. She put those aside and opened the package from the New York law firm.

It contained a letter from the firm of Bernstein, Miles and Sebastian offering to resolve the accident by the payment of all her medical fees, lost wages and pain-and-suffering in the amount of $50,000. All she had to do was sign the enclosed settlement agreement and they would cut a check payable to her and agree to pay her hospital bills and her loss wages for the past 6 months.

Oh my God, Fifty thousand dollars! What I could do with that kind of money? she said to herself as she began reading the settlement agreement.

She thought about the money as she made herself a ham, cheese and salami sandwich. She waited for the can of soup that she had opened to warm, poured the soup into a bowl and slowly ate her soup and sandwich considering her good fortune.

I should ask someone, an attorney or someone knowledgeable before signing this agreement, she thought to herself.

Her job at the library did not leave her very much time to make friends. She knew very few people in New York and she did not know any attorneys.

Kaitlyn Dunne, maybe Kaitlyn can help, she said aloud.

Kaitlyn Dunne was a legal secretary who would often come into the library, ask if any of her father's books had been purchased by the library and were available for checkout. As Assistant Librarian, Deborah had access to the library's new acquisition list. She had tried several times to see if she could influence the purchase of Kaitlyn's father's books, without success. They had lunch a few times, but had never been close.

Deborah had a good memory for names, but telephone numbers escaped her. She would jot a number down on a scrap of paper and throw the paper in a shoe box to be retrieved at a later date. When she found her shoebox collection of telephone numbers, she was surprised that she had acquired over the years four shoe boxes full of telephone numbers. She spent an hour going through her packed shoe boxes until she came up with Kaitlyn's telephone number. She would call her tomorrow morning and ask her opinion about the settlement agreement that had been proposed by the attorneys for the driver of the car that hit her.

She laid out her clothes for the next morning, brushed her teeth and examined her face in the mirror. She had an oval face surrounded with shoulder length auburn hair tied in a bun, thin lips and piercing brown eyes. Deborah wondered whether or not she was attractive or just an ordinary looking woman. She examined her clothes and noted that her blouse, skirt and sweater were all different shades of brown.

I look like a librarian. In a few years I will look just like Mrs. Williams, the Head Librarian, plain and simple, she said plaintively.

She went to sleep that night wondering what she would do with the money, perhaps travel, and perhaps invest in medical stocks.

…..

The following morning Deborah arrived at the library early. She let herself in and saw that she had arrived before Ms. Simpson and smiled to herself. She wanted to make the very best impression because she was almost certain that Ms. Simpson