Sons of Fortune Read online

  “I know what his answer will be to that question, because I’ve already discussed it with him.”

  “Thank God we didn’t take this long to land when we flew in to Washington last night,” said Fletcher as they circled the airport for a third time.

  “Will you still stop by and see Dad before you go to the Capitol?” asked Annie. “He’s bound to be sitting up in bed waiting to hear your news.”

  “I always intended to make Harry my first stop,” said Fletcher as he drove his car out of the airport and onto the highway.

  It was a bright autumnal morning when Senator Davenport arrived back in town. He decided to drive up the hill and past the Capitol before cutting across to the hospital.

  As they came over the brow of the hill, Annie stared out of the car window, and began weeping uncontrollably. Fletcher pulled over to the hard shoulder. He took his wife in his arms, as he looked over her shoulder at the Capitol building.

  The United States flag was flying at half mast.

  41

  Mr. Goldblatz rose from his place at the center of the table and glanced down at his prepared statement. On his right sat Nat Cartwright, and on his left, Tom Russell. The rest of the board was seated in the row behind him.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the press, it is my great pleasure to announce the merger of Fairchild’s and Russell’s, creating a new bank which will be known as Fairchild Russell. I shall remain as chairman, Mr. Nat Cartwright will be my deputy chairman, and Tom and Julia Russell will join the board. Mr. Wesley Jackson will continue as the new bank’s chief executive. I am able to confirm that Russell’s Bank has withdrawn its takeover bid, and a new ownership structure for the company will be announced in the near future. Both Mr. Cartwright and I will be happy to answer your questions.”

  Hands shot up all over the room. “Yes,” said the chairman, pointing to a woman in the second row, with whom he had pre-arranged the first question.

  “Is it still your intention to resign as chairman in eighteen months’ time?”

  “Yes, it is, and there are no prizes for guessing who I expect to succeed me.”

  He turned and looked at Nat as another journalist shouted, “How does Mr. Russell feel about that?”

  Mr. Goldblatz smiled, as it was a question they had all anticipated. He turned to his left and said, “Perhaps Mr. Russell should answer that question.”

  Tom smiled benevolently at the journalist. “I’m delighted by the coming together of the two leading banks in the state, and honored to have been invited to join the board of Fairchild Russell as a nonexecutive director.” He smiled. “I’m rather hoping Mr. Cartwright will consider reappointing me in eighteen months’ time.”

  “Word perfect,” whispered the chairman as Tom resumed his place.

  Nat quickly rose from the other side to deliver an equally well-scripted response, “I most certainly will be reappointing Mr. Russell, but not as a nonexecutive director.”

  Goldblatz smiled and added, “I am sure that will not come as a total surprise to anyone who follows these matters closely. Yes?” he said, pointing to another journalist.

  “Will there be any layoffs caused by this merger?”

  “No,” said Goldblatz. “It is our intention to retain all of Russell’s staff, but one of Mr. Cartwright’s immediate responsibilities will be to prepare for a complete restructuring of the bank during the next twelve months. Though I would like to add that Mrs. Julia Russell has already been appointed to head up our new combined property division. We at Fairchild’s have watched with admiration her handling of the Cedar Wood project.”

  “Can I ask why your legal counsel, Ralph Elliot, is not present today?” said a voice from the back of the room.

  Another question Goldblatz had anticipated, even though he couldn’t quite see where it had come from. “Mr. Elliot has been in Washington, D.C. Last night he dined with President Bush at the White House, otherwise he would have been with us this morning. Next question?” Goldblatz made no reference to the “frank exchange of views” he’d had with Elliot on the phone in the early hours of the morning.

  “I spoke to Mr. Elliot earlier today,” said the same journalist, “and I wonder if you would care to comment on the press statement he has just released?”

  Nat froze as Goldblatz rose more slowly. “I’d be happy to comment if I knew what he’d said.”

  The journalist looked down at a single sheet of paper and read from it: “I am delighted that Mr. Goldblatz felt able to take my advice and bring the two banks together rather than continue a bruising and damaging battle from which no one would have profited.” Goldblatz smiled and nodded. “In eighteen months’ time there will be three members of the board available to replace the current chairman, but as I consider one of them quite unsuitable to hold a post that requires financial probity, I have been left with no choice but to resign from the board and withdraw as the bank’s legal advisor. With that one reservation, I wish the company every success in the future.”

  Mr. Goldblatz’s smile quickly disappeared, and he was unable to contain his rage. “I have no comment to make at the present t…t…time, and that ends this press con…con…conference.” He rose from his place and marched out of the room with Nat following a pace behind him. “The bastard broke his agreement,” said Goldblatz furiously, as he strode down the corridor toward the boardroom.

  “Which was what precisely?” asked Nat, trying to remain calm.

  “I agreed to say that he was a party to the successful negotiations, if in turn he would resign and withdraw as the legal representative of the new company, and make no further comment.”

  “Do we have that in writing?”

  “No, I agreed to it over the phone last night. He said he would confirm it in writing today.”

  “So once again Elliot comes out smelling of roses,” said Nat.

  Goldblatz came to a halt outside the boardroom door and turned to face Nat. “No, he does not. I think the smell is more akin to manure,” he added, “and this time, he’s chosen the wrong man to cro…cro…cross.”

  The popularity of an individual in life often only manifests itself in death.

  The funeral service for Harry Gates, held at St. Joseph’s Cathedral, was filled to overflowing, long before the choir had left the vestry. Don Culver, the chief of police, decided to cordon off the block in front of the cathedral, so that mourners could sit on the steps or stand in the street, while they listened to the service being relayed over loudspeakers.

  When the cortège came to a halt, an honor guard carried the coffin up the steps and into the cathedral. Martha Gates was accompanied by her son, while her daughter and son-in-law walked a pace behind them. The throng of people on the steps made a passage to allow the family to join the other mourners inside. The congregation rose as an usher accompanied Mrs. Gates to the front pew. As they walked down the aisle, Fletcher noted the coming together of Baptists, Jews, Episcopalians, Muslims, Methodists and Mormons, all unified in their respect for this Roman Catholic.

  The bishop opened the service with a prayer chosen by Martha, which was followed by hymns and readings that Harry would have enjoyed. Jimmy and Fletcher both read lessons, but it was Al Brubaker, as chairman of the party, who climbed the steps of the wooden pulpit to deliver the address.

  He looked down at the packed congregation and remained silent for a moment. “Few politicians,” he began, “inspire respect and affection, but if Harry could be with us today, he would see for himself that he was among that select group. I see many in this congregation I have never come across before,” he paused, “so I have to assume they’re Republicans.” Laughter broke out inside the cathedral, and a ripple of applause outside in the street. “Here was a man who, when asked by the president to run for governor of this state, replied simply, I have not completed my work as the senator for Hartford,’ and he never did. As chairman of my party, I have attended the funerals of presidents, governors, senators, congressmen and congresswomen