Now I shall leave this note for you and then see to my beloved Mary. Then I shall join her.
May God have mercy on my soul.
Elmer D. Pierce Tyler turned out of the precinct house parking lot and drove south. “Back to square one, huh?”
“No, don’t I think so,” Sloan mused.
“No?”
“No, I don’t think we ever arrived at square one.”
“Explain.”
“Whatever he had—if anything—is lost.”
The rode in silence for a while, then Tyler began again, “Yes, right, so what’s our next move?”
“Well,” Sloan began, fatigue and frustration evidenced in his voice, “I think our next move is to pack it in—draft the report and move on to Delaware.”
Tyler hesitated. “Yeah, maybe. I hate it, but maybe so.” He hesitated again. “But what about the documents in New York.”
“The flight in an ICP Gulfstream to the fabled cave of the files?” Sloan said derisively.
“They’ll be phony, but...”
“What they’ll be is the product of a better forger than the last one, but...” Sloan paused. “Yes, you have a point. If we quit now, we’re guilty of not completing our research, which might then reflect upon our conclusions.” He paused. “Yes, why not? Let’s fly to New York, peer at the documents, and record our observations. No more copies—make them give us photographs. We’ll get this last bit into our files. Then, on to du Pont.”
“Good. Scientific.”
“You go gaze at the alleged files,” Sloan said, “while I close the shop here.” “Done.”
Chapter 12
June 9, Atlanta. When Sloan called the next morning, the Secretary was not expected until 11:00. Helen Benson volunteered to transfer Sloan’s call to McQuade’s home.
“Good morning, Professor.”
“I apologize for calling you at home, Mr. McQuade, but...”
“Dan. Call me Dan.”
The tone was mocking or amicable? “Dan, I was wondering if you were ready for our New York visit?”
“Right, the trip to New York. We’re ready when you are.”
“Hmm. Fine. Woody Tyler will be making the trip.”
“Excellent selection. We are, of course, impressed with Mr. Tyler’s work—and his tenacity. Ask him to call my secretary to make arrangements. One of our new G-Vs is on standby.”
The helicopter flew south above the morning traffic moving into downtown Atlanta. Tyler gazed at the scene. “Beats being in that mess.”
“Mr. Mangrum hates wasting time.”
Atlanta tower gave the pilot clearance to land at the Mercury Air Center. A beautiful
white Gulfstream stood in the center of the general aviation ramp. The stretched Lincoln limousine arrived at 110 Wall Street at 2:45. A middle-aged man was waiting just inside the main entrance. “We’re very pleased to see you again, Mr. Howard. And your guest, as well.”
“Mr. Raleigh, Mr. Tyler. Mr. Raleigh is a senior vice president in operations.” The elevator arrived at Sub-Basement 4; Raleigh hurried from the elevator. “Attentive fellow.” Tyler said.
“Does little but take care of us,” Howard explained in a lowered voice. “Mr.
Mangrum demands service.”
“ICP has half of this level, Mr. Tyler,” Raleigh explained when Tyler and Howard
had rejoined him. “Operations files relative to the Company’s banking. And a few other
files prized by the Company.”
At a door marked ‘International Construction Products’ the banker blocked Tyler’s
view of a keypad and pressed a long series of numbers.
The corridor behind the entry door extended another forty feet, ending at another
secured door. At that door, Raleigh simultaneously placed his right eye and right hand in
a scanning device. After a few seconds, a light above the device turned from red to
green.
The walls in the room beyond were lined with dozens of buff-colored, four-drawer
filing cabinets.
“We’ve placed the documents we understand you wish to see on the table,” Raleigh
said.
There were fifty-odd pieces of paper on the tabletop, each between sheets of glass
sealed at the edges with strips of what appeared to be lead.
“The minutes from the initial meetings through 1901 are here, on the near side.”
Raleigh pointed at a row of yellowing sheets.
“Sealed under glass for a hundred years?” Tyler inquired.
“No. The ICP Secretary in the 1960s had them sealed. The gas surrounding them is
argon, an inert gas. And they are never exposed to daylight.”
Tyler read the four pages of the Directors’ meeting of April 26, 1900. “Can I have
photographs of these four pages?”
Raleigh handed Tyler a brown mailing envelope.
Tyler compared the photographs with the papers on the desk, then nodded to Howard
he was satisfied.
That evening Tyler exchanged the brown mailing envelope with Sloan for a perspiring can of Budweiser.
Sloan glanced at the photographs, then said, “Go.”
Tyler described the scene in the basement of the bank. “There was the same section we saw in the fakes—about accepting a thousand dollar loan from the Dryden woman— and then the rest of the page was devoted to a battle between two groups of Directors, one wanting to change the name of the Company to something different—Cement Innovations, Inc.—and the other wanting to keep the current name. Big battle—ugly words back and forth.”
“What about the repayment of the loan?”
“Not mentioned.”
“Reference to any security instrument—a note?”
“Nothing.”
“Default provisions?”
“Nothing.”
Tyler nodded at the photographs in Sloan’s hand. “I compared those with the pages on the table. The same.”
“Seems like an awful lot of fuss to cover a battle over a name change a hundred years ago, doesn’t it?”
Tyler nodded.
“A hundred-year mystery that, I must now conclude, has nothing to do with us whatsoever.”
“What about Mr. Pierce’s saying there weren’t any files in New York?”
“We have to discount his statement. One, we didn’t get anything from him. And, two, he wanted vengeance. Who knows the condition of his mind in those last hours? And as to what’s stored in the New York bank, maybe he just didn’t know.”
“But he was the number two guy.”
“Who also admitted he hadn’t known anything about ‘special demand’.”
Tyler nodded.
“So, on to Wilmington. I’ll inform Joe Earl and McQuade tomorrow morning.”
June 10, Atlanta.
Daniel McQuade was smiling as he touched his intercom button. “Find Mr.
Mangrum for me. Right now!”
McQuade had calmed a bit by the time Mangrum returned his call. “Sloan called me
just a few minutes ago. They bought the minutes at the bank. They’re leaving”
“The professor called earlier and is holding now, JE.”
Harding hurried to his desk. “Morning, Professor. Sorry I missed your earlier call.” “I just wanted to report we’re finished here. Woody and I are convinced the early
minutes aren’t relative to the Company’s financial start-up. We’re moving to Wilmington.” Harding hesitated. “Hmm, well, that’s excellent news, Professor, but tell me wh at convinced you?”
Sloan described Tyler’s findings at the Manhattan bank.
“Hmm, well, my congratulations on a job well done. Please give my special thanks to Woody.”
“I shall, sir. Thank you.”
Later that afternoon Harding called Sloan back.
“Professor Sloan.”
“Ah, good—I was afraid you might have left for du Pont.”
“Leaving tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“It’s those minutes—that loan you mentioned. I had a client back in 1966 named
Will Morgan. He was sure ICP owed his grandmother a lot of money. The Company refused to give my client access to their files and told him to take a hike.” Harding hesitated.
Sloan waited, then said, “Uh, I don’t quite see...” “The client really had no case, so I finally gave up.” Harding paused. “T he client decided to press ahead without me.”
“And so...?”
Harding took a deep breath. “Well, what happened was this Will Morgan made a great deal of fuss at the Company’s offices one day.” Harding hesitated again. “Then, not much later, a train out by the Doraville GM plant cut his new Mustang automobile right square in two—with him in it.”
“Oh!”
“And so, having remembered that incident and tying the names together...”
“Tying what names?”
“Let me explain, Professor.”
“OK—sorry, sir.”
“This fellow’s grandmother—woman whose maiden name was Dryden—had the same name as the woman in the fake minutes Woody shared with me in Washington.”
“Hmm. That name also appeared in the genuine minutes stored in New York.”
Harding hesitated. “Ah, well, it may be nothing, but, well, I thought you might have an interest in seeing my file.”
Sloan was uninterested, but Harding was the godfather of the study. “We’ll be very happy to see them, Joe Earl. When can you get the file to us?”
“You should have it tomorrow morning, assuming the file still exists and Rose, in my Decatur office, can dig it out. Afternoon at the latest.”
“We’ll wait.”
Chapter 13
June 11, Rolle, Switzerland. Walter Mangrum and a group from the management of La Compagnie de la Construction Marchand de Genève had finished a most pleasant round of golf and were enjoying luncheon when a waiter approached the table. Would Monsieur Mangrum accept a most important telephone call? Mangrum grimaced and left the table.
“Mangrum!” he snarled.
“Sorry to bother, but...”
“Damn it to hell, McQuade. What in God’s name can you have on your mind?” “I’m wondering about the release program. If we are finished with the academicians,
I wonder if we should cancel it?”
“Hmm. Yes.” He hesitated. “No. No, let’s proceed. Get the other two releases.
Pay everyone. Be done with it.”
A long FAX was lying on Sloan’s desk the following morning. DATE: June 11, 1999
TO: Professor Thomas Sloan
FROM: Rose Waldron
SUBJECT: Transmittal of the William Morgan file
Congressman Harding asked me to find the subject file and FAX it to you. The following two letters were in the file.
Rose
Sloan picked up the second sheet. Cement Products, Inc.
2185 Spring Street
Atlanta, Georgia
May 19, 1903 Miss Daphne Dryden 1007 Aster Way
Atlanta, Georgia
Dear Miss Dryden, Your request for a repayment of a loan you allegedly made to our Corporation on April 26, 1900, in the amount of $1,000.00 is finally and utterly denied. No record of such a loan exists, nor do any of the principals of the corporation at the time of the alleged making of the loan have any memory of such a loan.
The Board wishes to make it clear that if you cause any further trouble or embarrassment for the Company or its beloved founder, Professor Lawrence B. Armbrewster, you will be brought before the bar of justice and pilloried in the eyes of your family and the public.
You will do well, Miss Dryden, to mend your ways and turn to God for counsel as to how you will live the remainder of your life.
Very truly yours,
Maxwell N. Niederlander, Secretary
Sloan took the next sheet.
May 3, 1900
Dearest Mama and Papa, I have been unable to have a satisfactory conversation with either of you since you learned of my loan of $1,000 to Professor Armbrewster’s new company, so I am writing to you to explain my actions and to tell you what is going on with me.
I must admit to you that Professor Armbrewster, whom I can now call Lawrence, and I have become lovers. I know you will not be pleased with either that word or what it means, but I want you to know that I have loved Lawrence since I first laid eyes on him and he loves me. Our relationship grew suddenly and strongly. Lawrence swept me off my feet.
We are planning to be married soon. He is, as I guess you know, married, but he is going to divorce his wife as soon as he can be sure she will be able to stand the shock. She is very delicate, so Lawrence must be careful how he explains what has happened to us and what he must do. He assures me our wait will not be long.
You wonder where I got the money? Lawrence, who seems to know almost everything about everything, arranged for the Atlanta National Bank to lend me $1,000 based on what is called a ‘mortgage’ on Aunt Dorothy’s house. I got a loan from the bank for the $1,000 Lawrence needs for his company that is doing so well with his cement work. Then Lawrence and I will repay the loan by making payments each month during the next twenty-five years. Lawrence’s salary is much more than the payments, so making them won’t be a problem. It’s really just like rent, you see. And, besides, we are both sure Lawrence’s company, which means Lawrence himself, will make a great deal of money almost right away, so his company will be able to repay the loan to me very soon, then we will be able to repay the loan to the bank a long, long time before twenty-five years have passed.
I want you to know I understand only too well I have erred in my life and I am truly repentant. But I also want you to know I love Lawrence, he loves me, and everything will come out all right in the end.
Your loving daughter, Daphne ps: Lawrence has read over this letter to be sure I have it all correct and he wants me to add the fact that if for some impossible reason the loan to me (to us, really, or soon to be us) should not be repaid by his company as expected, I will become a part owner of Lawrence’s company. There is something to that effect that is called a note (that Sally’s beau, Ronald, helped to write) that the company signed.
Sloan’s bellow caused Tyler to spill his coffee. He rushed to Sloan’s office, where Sloan jammed the second sheet in front of his eyes. “Tell me what you see.”
Tyler mumbled through the second letter, then the mumblings became comprehensible. “‘—something to that effect that is called a note…that the company signed.’ Damn, Tom! There is a note!”
“Was, anyway.”
Tyler, calming, said, “Where does this leave us?”
“I’m not sure, but two things are clear: we’ve got to talk to Joe Earl and we’re not going to Delaware tomorrow.”
“I’ve reached Joe Earl on the phone quickly in the past, but this was a new record.” “What did he say?”
“He understood our assessment and thought we might be right.”
“So they didn’t repay the loan and they didn’t make good on whatever her protection
was to have been.” Sloan nodded
“And now what do we do?”
“Well, it occurs to me the first thing we have to do is to determine if it is any of our
business.”
“Again?”
“It appears a hundred years ago ICP beat some young lady out of a thousand dollars,
right?”
“Right.” “Well, while denying repayment of the loan was no doubt a reprehensible act, I wonder if our knowledge of that denial is meaningful to our study.” Sloan reached for his telephone.
“Straight through,” Sloan murmured as he waited for Harding to pick up. “You must have been waiting for my call,” Sloan laughed.
“Your calls are always welcome, Professor.”
Sloan presented the problem: was
there anything he should do with its new knowledge.
“Damn right! The scoundrels cheated an early supporter. Is that something that should be glossed over when reporting how American enterprises got started? You’re free to make your own decision on this, Professor, but I, for one, will be mighty disappointed if you don’t follow through with what you’ve found.”
Harding had left the line before Sloan could respond. “You heard?” Sloan said.
“From this side of the desk.”
“Get me Geoff Nester, please, Monica,” Harding yelled.
“Who?”
“Nester, Geoff Nester. Look in the 1990 Agency roster.”
Five minutes later, Monica yelled, “Line 2.”
“It’s JE. The business we talked about last Monday?”
“Yes.”
“Proceed.”
“You’re sure? It’ll take some money.”
“Can’t afford to be caught needing.”
“I understand. Have you decided on how much?”
“Well,” Harding said, “they’ve been such a damn nuisance I think we ought to go for
fifteen.”
Chapter 14 June 14, Atlanta.
“Bea,” Sloan said, “I want to find all of the descendants, live and otherwise, of a
woman who lived in Atlanta at the turn of the century.”
“OK.”
“How will I go about it?”
“Tell your associate the damsel’s full name, then turn yourself to matters more
worthy of your time.”
Sloan smiled and handed his secretary a slip of paper.
June 15, Atlanta.
Just before noon the following day Bea, a sheet of paper in her hand, tapped on
Sloan’s office door. “You have the Dryden descendants already?”
“It was easy. The Fulton County records indicated that one Daphne Dryden had
married one Dr. Peter Richard Morgan. I then began calling the Morgans in the
telephone directory. I found a David who was Dr. Peter Morgan’s grandson. He
recommended I call his sister-in-law, one Carol Morgan. We talked for a while, after
which she agreed to give me a family tree.”
“Did she ask why you wanted the information?”
“I told her my boss, a professor in the area of business history, had an interest in her
family.”
“No further questions?”
The Dryden Note Page 8
