by Stephen Frey
After the man had been dragged into another area of the secluded farmhouse’s dank basement, he was stripped to the waist and hung by his wrists from the ceiling so that his toes barely touched the cold floor.
“Let him stay there for a while,” Tucker suggested. “That’ll tenderize him. That’ll make it easier for you to break him down. Don’t worry. You’ll get the information you want.”
“Yes, I will, Johnny,” Colby agreed confidently, staring back, wondering if he’d get the chance to break Tucker down one day, too. “You know, I still can’t figure out why Mr. Lawrence wanted me to bring you east.”
“Because Angela Day trusts me. After what he did to her at the cabin, he needs me to help him get back in contact with her.”
“You’re probably right,” Colby agreed, nodding slowly. “And God help her for it,” he whispered under his breath.
Typically, ExecCom didn’t meet like this. Typically, Booker, Abbott, and Thompson met to discuss operational strategy in a Sumter conference room, not in a cramped basement room of a West End church. But this wasn’t a typical meeting.
The church was a convenient location because each of the men lived within two miles of it. Ken Booker’s wife managed the church choir, so she had a key. As instructed, they had parked their cars on quiet side streets well away from the church, then walked the rest of the way to a back door, making absolutely certain they weren’t being followed.
“Anybody else read theWashington Post today?” Russ Thompson wanted to know. They were seated in folding metal chairs that Booker had arranged around a card table usually used by blue-haired ladies for Tuesday afternoon bridge games. Thompson was responsible for all of the bank’s liability management and trading operations. Each day his people made certain that Sumter’s thirty billion dollars in loans and investments were funded, as well as bought and sold everything from Treasury bonds to Japanese yen to interest rate swaps and shares of General Motors. “Helluv an article about this slavery lawsuit in it this morning.”
“What are you talking about?” Glenn Abbott asked, blowing his nose with a handkerchief. Abbott ran Sumter’s retail network, which now stretched from Virginia to Florida, thanks to the many acquisitions Bob Dudley had made. Over a thousand branches throughout the Southeast. “God, it’s dusty in here,” he muttered.
“A class action lawsuit a couple of high-profile black lawyers are trying to get off the ground,” Thompson explained. “They’re going to file a civil suit against the federal government demanding compensation for slavery.”
Booker clasped his hands behind his head, then leaned back and put his feet up on another metal chair. “Well, we all know they deserve the money,” he said sarcastically. “They’ve suffered so much.”
“At least a trillion dollars’ worth,” Thompson said.
“A trillion dollars?” Abbott thundered.
“That’s what they’re demanding as restitution,” Thompson explained. “And if they win and are awarded the money, they plan to give it to blacks hereand in Africa.”
Abbott shook his head. “The scary thing is that there are enough bleeding heart assholes in positions of authority in this country to allow a ridiculous thing like that to actually get legs. Then, watch out.”
Thompson removed a cigar from his shirt pocket and lit up. “Let me tell you something,” he said, pointing the smoldering tip at Abbott after taking several puffs. “A suit like that gets so much as a little toe, and we’ll have an all-out civil war on our hands. What happened in the 1860s will seem trivial compared to what will erupt if some court actually grants every black in this country his or her share of a trillion dollars.”
“About thirty grand per,” Booker chimed in.
“We all know plenty of people who would take matters into their own hands if every nigger in this country got thirty grand out of our pockets,” Thompson said. “There aren’t enough trees to hang ’em all from.”
“It’ll never happen,” Booker said confidently. “It’ll get some press, and a few senators will pay attention to it for a little while just to get votes. But nothing will ever come of it.”
“I think you’re wrong,” Abbott argued. “The Nazis are paying off the Jews for Christ’s sake. Why is it a stretch to think the pansies in Washington would buckle to the Nation of Islam?”
“Amen, my brother,” Thompson agreed.
Abbott shook his head. “Let me tell you guys something. If that lawsuit does get momentum, I’ll be one of those people Russ mentioned. People willing to take justice into their own hands. I’ve got shotguns at home, and I’ll use them.” He stashed the handkerchief in his pants pocket. “I was in that mall out Three Chopt Road last weekend. Took my boys to a sporting goods store there to buy a couple of things. Anyway, we’re walking down the main corridor and here comes this gang of black teenagers the other way. All of them looked—”
“Like they’d just broken out of jail,” Booker interjected. “Do-rags, big jackets, pants hanging way down off their asses, and big suede boots. Right?”
“Exactly.”
“Screaming and yelling.”
“Like fucking savages.”
Booker shrugged. “Well, that’s what they are. Savages. We all know that.”
Abbott snorted. “One of the bastards flipped the baseball cap off my younger boy’s head as he walked past. There were seven of them and one of me. They had everybody in the mall petrified, including a security guard. What the hell was I supposed to do?”
Thompson took another puff from his cigar. “You continue doing exactly what you’re doing. Exactly what we’re all doing. Making it as hard as we can for them to come into our neighborhoods and our schools. We do everything we can to keep them on their side of the fence.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Abbott snapped. “You run trading, Russ. I’m the one in charge of retail operations. I’m the one who’s going to take the heat if this thing ever sees the light of day.”
Thompson’s eyes narrowed. “Hey, I’m fighting the good fight.”
“What are you talking about?” Abbott shot back. “How are you fighting the fight?”
“First of all,” Thompson said evenly, “you won’t see a nigger on any trading floor of mine. Okay, maybe a secretary or two, but you’ve got to have a token here and there. But not in any position of authority. Second, who handles on-line mortgages?” he asked, pounding his own chest. “I do.”
Booker nodded. “That’s right, Glenn. Russ is in charge of all that.”
“Which ain’t easy,” Thompson said. “Especially when Carter Hill calls me at home tonight and tells me he’s not happy with 14 percent growth. Fourteen percent growth on a mortgage portfolio the size of ours is damn good, especially when it has to be clean.”
The three of them exchanged knowing glances. “Clean” was the operative word.
“And when thatTrib reporter keeps writing those damn articles,” Thompson continued. “What’s her name?” he asked, looking around.
“Liv Jefferson,” Abbott answered.
“Which reminds me,” Booker piped up, “as a result of those articles she’s writing, there will be no further written communication among us. No notes, no e-mails, no nothing. We can’t risk it. Seems that, somehow, Ms. Jefferson got hold of something substantive. We know theTrib is run by some of those bleeding hearts we were talking about before, but we also know they wouldn’t have printed that article without some kind of evidence.”
“Somebody ought to teach Liv Jefferson a lesson,” Thompson said quietly.
Booker glanced over at Thompson. “Maybe somebody will.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“What you have to understand is that Bob Dudley has dedicated his entire working life to Sumter Bank and its shareholders. That’s almost forty years, the last ten of those as the bank’s chairman. During his decade at the top of this institution, he has created a vast amount of wealth for the shareholders. When he took over as chairman, the bank was only worth a few
hundred million dollars. Today, Sumter’s stock market value is almost ten billion dollars.Ten billion, Angela. It’s incredible.
“But that success hasn’t come without huge risks and a great deal of personal sacrifice. Now, just as Bob Dudley ought to be relaxing and enjoying the fruits of his labor, he sees a potential raider at Sumter’s front door. A raider seeking to take advantage of his hard work and devotion. And it makes him furious. Can you understand that?”
Angela gazed up at Carter Hill from the chair in front of his desk. Hill was leaning back against the desk, arms folded across his chest, red tie falling down over the rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt.
“Angela?”
This was getting ridiculous. When she had arrived at her desk this morning there had been a message on her voice mail from Hill’s executive assistant requesting that she come to his office on the fiftieth floor at nine o’clock sharp. Hill had something of high importance he needed to discuss with her. There had been no mention of what that something was, but she’d had a pretty good idea. And she’d been right.
“Of course I can understand that,” she answered quietly. “You and Mr. Dudley made it crystal clear yesterday morning in his office that you didn’t appreciate the fact that Jake Lawrence was accumulating Sumter shares.”
“Yes, we did.” Hill nodded. “It’s not right for him to do that.”
Angela hesitated. She ought to just let it go. But it was against her nature just to let something go when she knew she was being manipulated. “Why isn’t it right for him to do that?”
“What?” Hill snapped.
“Shouldn’t Jake Lawrence be allowed to buy shares of any public company he wants to, just like anyone else can?”
“Not without making his intentions clear.”
“Intentions?”
“If he’s buying our shares as a passive investment, that’s fine. We welcome his participation in our business. But if he intends to take over the bank, if he intends to make a hostile offer to buy 100 percent of the outstanding shares, well, that would be totally unacceptable.”
“If he intends to take over the bank, won’t he have to send out information about his intentions to the shareholders in his tender offer documents? Won’t he ultimately offer a share price that’s at least 20 or 30 percent above the current market price? Isn’t that typical in a public takeover?”
Hill didn’t answer immediately.
“Mr. Hill?”
“Yes,” he finally admitted.
“Doesn’t that create a lot of value for the shareholders too? And that kind of value is created overnight, as opposed to over years.”
Hill’s eyes narrowed. “Jake Lawrence did convey something to you about acquiring Sumter when you and he met in Jackson Hole. Didn’t he, Angela?”
“No, he did not. I told both of you that yesterday.”
“He is going to take a run at Bob Dudley, isn’t he?”
“I have no idea,” Angela answered politely but firmly. “I just don’t understand how Mr. Dudley can arbitrarily decide it isn’t acceptable for Jake Lawrence, or anyone else, to buy as many shares in Sumter Bank as they want. If Lawrence is buying, then someone has to be selling. And the person who’s selling doesn’t have a gun pointed at his or her head. Lawrence isn’t forcing them to hand over their shares. If they accept his offer, they must figure the price he’s willing to pay makes it worth it. Otherwise they wouldn’t sell.”
“Sometimes shareholders don’t have all the information,” Hill muttered.
He hadn’t been prepared for these questions. That was clear to Angela. He’d probably assumed that she would meekly agree to everything he was saying and leave his office completely shaken. And maybe she should have left without questioning him. Maybe that would have been the smart thing to do.
“I, and many others, believe that, ultimately, Bob Dudley will create the most value for the shareholders,” Hill said. “If you’re holding back information about Mr. Lawrence’s intentions, you’d better tell me now. It’ll be much easier for you that way.”
“I don’t know how else to convince you, Mr. Hill. I’ve told you—”
“Has Lawrence tried to contact you since you visited him?”
“No.”
“Bob Dudley demands your loyalty here, Angela. He could make things very difficult for you if he found out you were assisting Jake Lawrence in any way,” Hill warned, his voice rising. “If you were somehow secretly acting as Lawrence’s agent in this whole thing.”
She stared at Hill for several moments. “What are you saying?”
“We know about your need to be in Richmond. We know about your son, Hunter, and how you lost custody of him after your divorce from Sam Reese.”
Angela felt her anger beginning to burn. How could these men be so cruel?
“Let me remind you,” Hill continued, “Bob Dudley is Richmond’s most influential business leader. People all over the mid-Atlantic region owe him favors. He is prepared to call in those favors if he needs to.” He paused. “As soon as you hear from Jake Lawrence you are to contact us immediately. And I meanimmediately . If we find out you have communicated with him and not reported that to us, even if it’s five minutes after you and he talk, you’ll be fired. On the spot, no questions asked. Themoment you finish speaking to Lawrence, or anyone you suspect is working for him, the very next thing you do is call me or my assistant. If it’s after hours, leave a message on her machine and call me at this number.” He handed Angela a piece of paper with his cell phone number on it. “Now you have no excuses.”
“Fired?” she asked, reluctantly taking the piece of paper.
“Fired,” Hill repeated.
“You can’t be serious,” Angela said, her voice betraying her emotion.
“I’m very serious.”
“I’ve worked hard for this bank. I haven’t done anything to deserve this.”
With her fear building, Angela could see that Hill was relieved. Perhaps he’d been worried she might do something drastic. Or that she might be capable of things Dudley and he hadn’t anticipated. “Just cooperate with us,” Hill advised, his voice softening as he moved back behind the desk and relaxed into his chair. “That’s all we want, Angela. Your full cooperation. If you give us that, I promise you will be safe.”
Angela stared into Hill’s eyes. “Safe?”
He looked away, then rubbed his eyes. “Yourjob , Angela. Yourjob will be safe.” She was still afraid. “Work with me, Angela. Please. I want to help you. I really do.”
“Mr. Lawrence?”
Jake Lawrence looked up from the report he was reading and motioned for Colby to enter the small room he was using as his temporary study. “Sit down.”
Colby eased himself into the rickety chair Lawrence had pointed to.
“What’s on your mind, Bill?”
Colby frowned as he cased the room. After so many years, he did this automatically every time he entered new surroundings. “No disrespect, Mr. Lawrence,” he said, nodding at the window behind his boss, “but I wish you would help make my job easier.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The window, sir. It’s a straightforward kill shot for anyone with a rifle and a half-decent scope. Dark outside, light in here. No curtains covering a second-story window. You are terribly vulnerable to attack right now.”
“We’re in a farmhouse in the middle of the Virginia countryside, Bill,” said Lawrence, not even attempting to hide his annoyance. “In the middle of two hundred acres. The closest house is half a mile away. There are huge oak trees all around the house, making it impossible for anyone to see this window from more than fifty yards away. That’s one of the reasons I bought this place, and not the one closer to Richmond. It was your recommendation. Remember? And I’m sure you have men patrolling the perimeter beyond the trees.” Lawrence sighed. “Let me send some comfort your way, Bill. No one’s going to get me tonight. Now, why are you bothering me?”
Colby che
cked the window once more, giving it a disdainful look. “I wanted to let you know that we have almost completed preparations for your entrance into the city. The target will be contacted later this evening.”
“By ‘the target,’ ” Lawrence said deliberately, tossing the report onto a table, “I assume you mean Angela Day.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lawrence waited for additional information, but there wasn’t any. “Is that why you came up here, Bill? To chastise me about sitting in front of a window, and to tell me that Angela would be contacted later this evening? If it is, I have to be honest. I’m not sure I needed to be interrupted for that.”
Lawrence’s brusqueness didn’t bother Colby. He had protected other wealthy individuals and celebrities, and he was immune to their arrogance. Besides, he was the best in the business, and he knew it. His job was secure. “I came up here to ask you to reconsider.”
“Reconsider?” Lawrence asked curiously. “Reconsider what?”
“I’d rather you not meet with Angela Day again.”
“Oh, really?”
“That’s right.”
“Why not?”
“Several reasons,” Colby replied.
Lawrence nodded. “Go on.”
“First of all, there was an attack on one of our teams today.”
Lawrence sat up in his chair and leaned forward, his smug expression becoming one of intense concern. “Was anyone hurt?”
“One of the men in the unit protecting your decoy lost an arm. Your decoy is fine. He was never in danger.”
“Jesus.” Lawrence grimaced. “Make certain the man gets his benefit.”
Colby nodded. The man would receive five million dollars as compensation for his injury—a practice Colby didn’t approve of. At least, he didn’t approve of making the men aware of it. The prospect of receiving five million dollars might cause certain individuals to act irresponsibly. To shoot themselves in the foot—or in the arm, as it were. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
