Sons of Fortune

by Jeffrey Archer

  When the moderator said, “I’d like to thank both candidates,” Fletcher did something Harry had recommended at lunch the previous Sunday. He immediately walked across to his opponent, shook her by the hand, and paused to allow the Courant’s photographer to record the moment.

  The following day, the picture of the two of them dominated the front page, and achieved exactly what Harry had hoped for—the image of a six-foot-one man, towering over a five-foot-seven woman. “And don’t smile, look serious,” he’d added. “We need them to forget how young you are.”

  Fletcher read the words below the picture—nothing between them. The editorial said that he had held his own in the debate, but Barbara Hunter still led the opinion polls by two percent with only nine days to go.

  32

  “Do you mind if I smoke?”

  “No, it’s only Su Ling who doesn’t approve of the habit.”

  “I don’t think she approves of me either,” said Julia Kirkbridge, as she flicked on her lighter.

  “You have to remember that she was brought up by a very conservative mother,” said Tom. “She even disapproved of Nat to begin with, but she’ll come around, especially when I tell her…”

  “Shh,” said Julia, “for now that must remain our little secret.” She inhaled deeply, and then added, “I like Nat; you two obviously make a good team.”

  “We do, but I’m keen to close this deal while he’s on vacation, especially after his triumph in taking over our oldest rival.”

  “I can understand that,” said Julia, “but how do you rate our chances?”

  “It’s beginning to look as if there are only two or three serious bidders in the field. The restrictions set out in the council’s offer document should eliminate any cowboys.”

  “Restrictions?”

  “The council is demanding not only that the bidding must be by public auction, but that the full amount has to be paid on signature.”

  “Why are they insisting on that?” asked Julia, sitting up in bed. “In the past, I’ve always put ten percent down and assumed I would be given at least twenty-eight days before I had to complete.”

  “Yes, that would be normal practice, but this site has become a political hot potato. Barbara Hunter is insisting there be no holdups, because one or two other deals have fallen through recently when it was discovered that a speculator didn’t have the necessary resources to complete the agreement. And don’t forget, we’re only days away from an election, so they are making sure that there can be no comebacks later.”

  “Does that mean I’ll have to deposit another three million with you by next Friday?” asked Julia.

  “No, if we secure the property, the bank will cover you with a short-term loan.”

  “But what if I renege on the deal?” asked Julia.

  “It doesn’t matter to us,” said Tom. “We would sell it on to the under-bidder, and still have your five hundred thousand to cover any loss.”

  “Banks,” said Julia as she stubbed out her cigarette and slid under the sheets. “You never lose.”

  “I want you to do me a favor,” said Su Ling as the plane began its descent into Los Angeles airport.

  “Yes, little flower, I’m listening.”

  “See if you can go a whole week without phoning the bank. Don’t forget this is Luke’s first big trip.”

  “Mine too,” said Nat, putting his arm around his son, “I’ve always wanted to visit Disneyland.”

  “Now stop teasing, you made a deal, and I expect you to keep to it.”

  “I would like to keep an eye on the deal that Tom’s trying to close with Julia’s company.”

  “Don’t you think Tom just might like to have a little triumph of his own, one that hadn’t been double-checked by the great Nat Cartwright? It was you, after all, who decided to trust her.”

  “I take your point,” said Nat, as Luke clung to him as the plane touched down. “But do you mind if I phone him on Friday afternoon just to find out if our bid on the Cedar Wood project was successful?”

  “No, as long as you do leave it until Friday afternoon.”

  “Dad, will we travel in a Sputnik?”

  “You bet,” said Nat, “why else would you go to LA?”

  Tom met Julia off the train from New York and drove her straight to City Hall. They walked in to find the cleaners just leaving after the debate the previous evening. Tom had read in the Hartford Courant that over a thousand people attended the event, and the paper’s editorial had suggested there wasn’t much to pick between the two candidates. He’d always voted Republican in the past, but he thought that Fletcher Davenport sounded like a decent man.

  “Why have we arrived so early?” asked Julia, breaking into his thoughts.

  “I want to be familiar with the layout of the room,” explained Tom, “so that when the bidding starts, we can’t be taken by surprise. Don’t forget, the whole thing could all be over in a few minutes.”

  “Where do you think we should sit?”

  “Halfway back on the right. I’ve already told the auctioneer what sign I intend to use when I’m bidding.”

  Tom looked up toward the stage and watched as the auctioneer mounted the rostrum, tapped the microphone, and stared down at the tiny audience, checking everything was in place.

  “Who are all these people?” asked Julia, looking around the hall.

  “A mixture of council officials, including the chief executive, Mr. Cooke, representatives from the auctioneer’s, and the odd person who’s got nothing better to do on a Friday afternoon. But as far as I can see, there are only three serious bidders.” Tom checked his watch. “Perhaps we should sit down.”

  Julia and Tom took their places about halfway back on the end of the row. Tom picked up the sales brochure on the seat beside him, and when Julia touched his hand, he couldn’t help wondering how many people would work out that they were lovers. He turned the page and studied an architect’s mock-up of what the proposed mall might look like. He was still reading through the small print when the auctioneer indicated he was ready to begin. He cleared his throat.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “there is only one item to come under the hammer this afternoon, a prime site on the north side of the city known as Cedar Wood. The city council is offering this property with approval for commercial development. The terms of payment and regulatory requirements are detailed in the brochure to be found on your seats. I must stress that if any of the terms are not adhered to, the council is within its rights to withdraw from the transaction.” He paused to allow his words to sink in. “I have an opening bid of two million,” he declared, and immediately looked in Tom’s direction.

  Although Tom said nothing and gave no sign, the auctioneer announced, “I have a new bidder at two million two hundred and fifty thousand.” The auctioneer made a show of glancing around the room, despite the fact he knew exactly where the three serious bidders were seated. His eyes settled on a well-known local lawyer in the second row, who raised his brochure. “Two million five hundred thousand, it’s with you, sir.” The auctioneer turned his attention back to Tom, who didn’t even blink. “Two million seven hundred and fifty thousand.” His eyes returned to the lawyer, who waited for some time before he once again raised his brochure. “Three million,” said the auctioneer, and immediately looked in Tom’s direction before saying, “Three million two hundred and fifty thousand.” He returned to the lawyer, who seemed to hesitate. Julia squeezed Tom’s hand between the chairs. “I think we’ve got it.”

  “Three million five hundred thousand?” suggested the auctioneer, his eyes fixed on the lawyer.

  “Not yet we haven’t,” Tom whispered.

  “Three million five hundred thousand,” repeated the auctioneer hopefully. “Three million five hundred thousand,” he repeated gratefully as the brochure rose for a third time.

  “Damn,” said Tom, taking off his glasses, “I think we must have both settled on the same upper limit.”

 
; “Then let’s go to three six,” said Julia. “That way at least we’ll find out.”

  Although Tom had removed his glasses—the sign that he was no longer bidding—the auctioneer could see that Mr. Russell was in deep conversation with the lady seated next to him. “Have we finished bidding, sir? Or…”

  Tom hesitated and then said, “Three million six hundred thousand.”

  The auctioneer swung his attention back to the lawyer, who had placed his brochure on the empty seat beside him. “Can I say three million seven hundred thousand sir, or are we all finished?”

  The brochure remained on the seat. “Any other bids from the floor?” asked the auctioneer as his eyes swept the dozen or so people who were seated in a hall that had held a thousand the night before. “One last chance, otherwise I will let it go at three million six hundred thousand.” He raised his hammer and, receiving no response, brought it down with a thud. “Sold for three million six hundred thousand dollars to the gentleman at the end of the row.”

  “Well done,” said Julia.

  “It’s going to cost you another hundred thousand,” said Tom, “but we couldn’t have known that two of us would settle on the same upper limit. I’ll just go and sort out the paperwork and hand over the check, then we can go off and celebrate.”

  “What a good idea,” said Julia, as she ran a finger down the inside of his leg.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Russell,” said Mr. Cooke. “Your client has secured a fine property which I am sure in the long term will yield an excellent return.”

  “I agree,” said Tom, as he wrote out a check for three point six million dollars and handed it across to the council’s chief executive.

  “Is Russell’s Bank the principal in this transaction?” inquired Mr. Cooke as he studied the signature.

  “No, we are representing a New York client who banks with us.”

  “I am sorry to appear to be nitpicking about this, Mr. Russell, but the terms of the agreement make it clear that the check for the full amount must be signed by the principal and not by his or her representative.”

  “But we represent the company, and are holding their deposit.”

  “Then it shouldn’t be too difficult for your client to sign a check on behalf of that company,” suggested Mr. Cooke.

  “But why…” began Tom.

  “It’s not for me to try and fathom the machinations of our elected representatives, Mr. Russell, but after the debacle last year over the Aldwich contract and the questions I have to answer daily from Mrs. Hunter,” he let out a sigh, “I have been left with no choice but to keep to the letter, as well as the spirit, of the agreement.”

  “But what can I do about it at this late stage?” asked Tom.

  “You still have until five o’clock to produce a check signed by the principal. If you fail to do so, the property will be offered to the under-bidder for three point five million, and the council will look to you to make up the difference of one hundred thousand dollars.”

  Tom ran to the back of the room. “Have you got your checkbook with you?”

  “No,” said Julia. “You told me that Russell’s would cover the full amount until I transferred the difference on Monday.”

  “Yes, I did,” said Tom, trying to think on his feet. “There’s nothing else for it,” he added, “we’ll just have to go straight to the bank.” He checked his watch, it was nearly four o’clock. “Damn,” he added, painfully aware that if Nat hadn’t been on holiday, he would have spotted the subclause and anticipated its consequences. On the short walk from City Hall to Russell’s Bank, Tom explained to Julia what Mr. Cooke had insisted on.

  “Does that mean I’ve lost the deal, not to mention a hundred thousand?”

  “No, I’ve already thought of a way around that, but it will need your agreement.”

  “If it will secure the property,” said Julia, “I’ll do whatever you advise.”

  As soon as they entered the bank, Tom went straight to his office, picked up a phone and asked the chief teller to join him. While he waited for Ray Jackson to arrive, he took out a blank checkbook and began writing out the words three million six hundred thousand dollars. The chief teller knocked on the door and entered the chairman’s office.

  “Ray, I want you to transfer three million one hundred thousand dollars to Mrs. Kirkbridge’s account.”

  The chief teller hesitated for a moment. “I’ll need a letter of authorization before I can transfer such a large amount,” he said. “It’s way above my limit.”

  “Yes, of course,” said the chairman, and removed the standard form from his top drawer and quickly filled in the relevant figures. Tom didn’t comment on the fact that it was also the largest sum he had ever authorized. He passed the form across to the chief teller, who studied the details carefully. He looked as if he wanted to query the chairman’s decision, and then thought better of it.

  “Immediately,” emphasized Tom.

  “Yes, sir,” said the chief teller, and departed as quickly as he had arrived.

  “Are you sure that was sensible?” asked Julia. “Aren’t you taking an unnecessary risk?”

  “We have the property and your five hundred thousand, so we can’t lose. As Nat would say, it’s a win-win proposition.” He turned the checkbook around and asked Julia to sign it and print beneath her signature the name of her company. Once Tom had checked it he said, “We’d better get back to City Hall as quickly as possible.”

  Tom tried to remain calm as he dodged in and out of the traffic while crossing Main Street before jogging up the steps to City Hall. He kept having to wait for Julia, who explained it wasn’t easy to keep up with him in high heels. When they reentered the building, Tom was relieved to find Mr. Cooke was still seated behind his desk at the far end of the hall. The chief executive rose when he saw them heading toward him.

  “Hand over the check to the thin man with the bald head,” said Tom, “and smile.”

  Julia carried out Tom’s instructions to the letter, and received a warm smile in return. Mr. Cooke studied the check carefully. “This seems to be in order, Mrs. Kirkbridge, if I could just see some form of identification.”

  “Certainly,” said Julia, and took a driver’s license out of her handbag.

  Mr. Cooke studied the photo and the signature. “It’s not a flattering picture of you,” he said. Julia smiled. “Good, now all that is left for you to do is sign all the necessary documents on behalf of your company.”

  Julia signed the council agreement in triplicate and handed a copy over to Tom. “I think you’d better hold on to this until the money is safely transferred,” she whispered.

  Mr. Cooke looked at his watch. “I shall be presenting this check first thing on Monday morning, Mr. Russell,” he said, “and I would be obliged if it were cleared as quickly as is convenient. I don’t want to give Mrs. Hunter any more ammunition than is necessary only days before the election.”

  “It will be cleared on the same day it’s presented,” Tom assured him.

  “Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Cooke to a man he regularly had a round of golf with at their local club.

  Tom wanted to give Julia a hug, but restrained himself. “I’ll just run back to the bank and let them know that it all went smoothly, then we can go home.”

  “Do you really have to?” asked Julia. “After all, they won’t be presenting the check until Monday morning.”

  “I guess that’s right,” said Tom.

  “Damn,” said Julia, bending down to take off one of her shoes, “I’ve broken the heel running up those steps.”

  “Sorry,” said Tom, “that was my fault, I shouldn’t have made you rush back from the bank. As it turned out we had more than enough time.”

  “It’s not a problem,” said Julia, smiling, “but if you could fetch the car, I’ll join you at the bottom of the steps.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Tom. He jogged back down and across to the parking lot.

  He was back outside Cit
y Hall a few minutes later, but Julia was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she had slipped back inside? He waited a few moments, but she still didn’t appear. He cursed, leaped out of the illegally parked car and ran up the steps and into the building to find Julia in one of the phone booths. The moment she saw him, she hung up.

  “I’ve just been telling New York about your coup, darling, and they’ve instructed our bank to transfer the three million one hundred thousand before close of business.”

  “That’s good to hear,” said Tom, as they strolled back to the car together. “So shall we have supper in town?”

  “No, I’d rather go back to your place and have a quiet meal on our own,” said Julia.

  When Tom pulled up in his driveway, Julia had already removed her coat, and by the time they reached the bedroom on the second floor, she had left a trail of clothes in her wake. Tom was down to his underwear and Julia was peeling off a stocking when the phone rang.

  “Leave it,” Julia said as she fell to her knees and pulled down his boxer shorts.

  “There’s no reply,” said Nat, “they must have gone out for dinner.”

  “Can’t it wait until we get back on Monday?” asked Su Ling.

  “I suppose so,” admitted Nat reluctantly, “but I’d like to have known if Tom managed to close the Cedar Wood deal, and if so, at what price.”

  33

  “Too Close to Call” ran the banner headline in the Washington Post on election morning. “NECK AND NECK” was the opinion of the Hartford Courant. The first referred to the national race between Ford and Carter for the White House, the second to the local battle between Hunter and Davenport for the State Senate Chamber. It annoyed Fletcher that they always put her name first, like Harvard before Yale.

  “All that matters now,” said Harry as he chaired the final campaign meeting at six that morning, “is getting our supporters to the polls.” No longer was there any need to discuss tactics, press statements, or policy. Once the first vote had been cast, everyone seated around the table had a new responsibility.