A Family Trust

by Ward Just

  She said, “I know your father was against this project.” She looked at them all in turn, these men in their dark suits and polished shoes.

  Charles said, “I think that’s too strong, Marge. I don’t think he was against it as much as he was ... unconvinced.” He smiled. “My father was ... skeptical of change. He didn’t like it a whole lot.”

  “No,” she said. “He had a certain idea of Dement.” She paused, aware that she was sounding sentimental. She felt like a minority of one, arrayed against determined men. “I’m sure that Mr. Eurich has the best of intentions,” she said, though the truth was she was not sure of that at all. She felt helpless against Eurich’s logic, the sheer force and plausibility of it. Against this logic, her only weapon was sentiment; her understanding of history. And it wasn’t enough and she knew that, too.

  “I guess we’ve got to face the fact that Amos’s world is a thing of the past.” Townsend’s voice was slow and deliberate; she recognized it as his courtroom voice. This was the first time he’d spoken and she was eager to hear him. “Mine, too, when you come right down to it. I think what you’re getting at, Marge, is a way of life. But my goodness”—his voice rose indignantly—“we’re not living in a museum. For myself, I want to see the town be a part of things. The truth is, the town has to grow or it’ll die. That’s what happens to towns in this part of the world. They grow or they die.”

  Marge looked at Kerrigan, wondering if she had an ally there; it was clear to her that Townsend had thrown in with Charles. Her own thoughts were so muddled. But she saw Kerrigan’s half smile and she knew he’d come out somewhere else, somewhere in front of her and in back of Eurich. Kerrigan waited for Townsend to finish and then asked quietly. “How much profit? And who?” He was looking at Charles.

  Charles said, “Obviously, it is a business venture. Everyone involved will make a profit.” He stared blankly at Kerrigan, as if he didn’t understand the question.

  “Who? Who’ll make the profit?”

  “Everybody,” Eurich said. “That’s the beauty of the deal. Everyone involved will make a profit and a handsome profit at that, but it’s truly the town that will benefit.” He looked around the room, a wide smile on his face. “Anyone out there who doesn’t like a profit?” Harry Bohn and Joe Steppe laughed. Steppe shook his head and nudged Elliott Townsend. Only Tom Kerrigan could’ve asked a question like that. Steppe thought that sometimes there was something Socialistic about Kerrigan.

  Eurich leaned forward, clasping his hands; his expression disclosed concern and sympathy. He wanted very much to win over the woman, sensing that her support would be invaluable. The project would go without her, of course; but his first principle was harmony “Marge, I want to make sure that I’ve answered your questions. I don’t want to be in any way evasive, because there’s nothing to be evasive about.”

  “No, no,” she said.

  Too quickly, he thought. “I understand your doubts. It’s a big step for the town. But it’s also true that I’ve got to know the decision fairly soon, one way or another. This is only one of several projects my partners and I ...” Eurich smiled and let the sentence hang. Then he reached for the briefcase lying on the floor beside him. The threat was so subtle, she thought; it was more nudge than threat. “Well,” he said. “If there’s nothing else, I think it would be appropriate for me to leave now. You good people can talk about it among yourselves. I’ve left a sheaf of stuff with Charles, all the facts and figures. Every fact we’ve got, also some designs of the houses themselves ...” He turned pleasantly to Kerrigan. “There is a suit of some kind, is there not?” The judge nodded. “Presumably a decision will be forthcoming quickly?”

  “Presumably,” Kerrigan said.

  “Time is always of the essence,” Eurich said.

  Charles came around the end of his desk, thanking Eurich for coming. Excellent presentation, he said. Eurich put his arm around Charles’s shoulder and they spoke about a golf game; his club’s course was open until the end of the month.

  Marge Reilly listened to them, aware of something new. Suddenly she felt like a guest in a stranger’s house. Somehow, subtly, it was clear that Charles and this Eurich were very much on the same side. Of course she knew that but this was different; she’d known it in the concrete and this was abstract. The two men were friends, and she had not known that. This went beyond any financial interest. She felt an instant of irrational resentment. It was suddenly clear to her that Charles had moved a step away from his old friends. She wasn’t sure what that meant, or if it meant anything. But he’d allied himself with an outsider. A few days earlier she’d seen Eurich’s name mentioned in the Tribune. The Tribune had described him as an “industrialist,” whatever that meant. What was an “industrialist”? He owned no industries that she knew of. This outsider and Charles Rising were transmitting the same signals, in the way that her father and Amos had transmitted the same signals.

  Eurich was at the door now, shaking hands with all of them; he was particularly courteous to her. He was charming, there was no doubt of that; and as tough as he was charming. And, she supposed, as smart as he was tough.

  Charles walked down the hall with him, indicating that the others should stay and mix themselves a fresh drink. She watched them go, their voices receding. It was clear to her that Charles admired this Eurich. And she would have to agree that there was much to admire, the polish and the shrewdness and the ambition, and the charm. So far as she could tell he’d been level with them. There was nothing concealed—as he’d said, why should there be? The “deal” was perfectly straightforward, and did it matter so much that it came from the outside? She was suddenly weary and sad, uncomfortably aware of her minority. She was not a loner by nature, in fact she distrusted those who made a point of going against the grain; it was one of her complaints about Tom Kerrigan. But her instinct told her this meeting was important, and it went beyond the simple question of rezoning a tract of land; a bog, a useless swamp. It wasn’t as if they were going to remake the county. This was just one small parcel of land on the edge of town. A piece of property on the periphery. But my goodness, she thought, they’re going to jam those houses in there like rows of sardines. Well, she wouldn’t have to live in them. And no doubt they were correct in assuming the houses would be bought like hotcakes. Eurich was no doubt correct, there was a crying need. And a crying need must be satisfied. And no doubt he was correct that this project would act as a magnet for other projects. Of course there would be other projects and she imagined that in ten years the town would have a new face- A damned fine thing fir Dement, Eurich’d said, and he ought to know, this industrialist with his surveys chockablock with statistics. But it was a new kind of deal. No one took a risk; it was a riskless venture.

  Charles returned, all smiles. He mixed himself a drink and then went behind his desk, standing where Eurich had stood. “A hell of a guy,” he said. Steppe and Bohn and Townsend nodded and finally Marge Reilly nodded, too. Then Charles turned to Kerrigan. “Tom, what do you think?”

  Kerrigan shrugged. “Smart. Lucid.” Then, “What’s his cut?”

  Charles said, “I don’t know. I imagine it would be a percentage plus a broker’s fee. Hell, he’s the linchpin. Without him, it never would’ve got off the ground. And of course he has partners, too.”

  “Who are they?”

  Charles named Eurich’s partners, his associates in the law firm. He said, “These are quality people.” Then he turned to Bohn. “And. of course Harry here is going to handle the financing from this end. All the accounts are funneled through him; loans, too. Harry’s the bank of record. The point I’m trying to make is that it’s a local deal, exactly as Eurich said.”

  Kerrigan turned to the banker. “How do your people feel about it?”

  Bohn said, “Solid gold.”

  Kerrigan said, “Um.”

  “Look, Tom.” Harry Bohn leaned forward, “A banker friend of mine, a good friend and a reliable friend, worked with Euric
h on the deal he put together at the Indiana line. It was clean. There were”—he paused to clear his throat—“no problems whatsoever. No problems with the financing, the performance bonds, the construction, the legal work. There were”—he paused again—“no strikes. Work began on time and ended on time and everyone was satisfied. There’s a file a mile long on Bill Eurich and not one mark of red ink on it. He’s solid gold. That’s another thing to bear in mind. Not all of them are. Eurich’s a cut above that crowd. A good cut.”

  “Um,” Kerrigan said.

  “And, entirely confidentially and not to leave this room, but we’re making Bill a member of our board of directors.”

  “Why?” Kerrigan asked.

  “Because he’s damn valuable, that’s why. He understands the business, and he has contacts all over the state.”

  Marge was listening carefully to all of this and nodding. The truth was, it all came from outside; the ideas, the money. It was a little clearer to her now, how these men were linked. Someone had introduced Eurich to Charles. Charles had introduced Eurich to Bohn. Now Eurich would sit on Harry Bohn’s board and have a voice in Dement’s bank.

  Kerrigan said, “What do you suppose made him think of Dement for this project?”

  Charles Rising smiled. “Bill Eurich has done more research than you can imagine. He’s got the facts. When he put them together, they spelled Dement.”

  Marge had one question, but she didn’t know how to put it. “Charles,” she said finally. “It doesn’t make any difference to me. But do you have a financial interest?” She added quickly, “I’d feel better about the whole thing if you did.”

  “No,” he said. “Eurich and I may go partners in another thing he’s got cooking. Nothing in Dement, this is a thing near Saint Louis. Eurich and I and Harry may do something there. But believe me, I’ll keep my eyes open. Both as publisher here and as a member of Harry’s board. We all want this done right. But I confess I don’t see.” He shrugged. “The cause for concern.”

  She said, “It’s so abrupt, is all.” Then, “I don’t suppose there would be any point to a referendum.”

  “Oh, Marge,” Charles said. He was trying to keep the exasperation from his voice. “My God, that’s a can of worms. And how much would it cost? Thousands. That’s a lot of taxpayer money to decide what can be decided by the people in this room, the way we’ve always decided things. And you never know what’s going to happen in a referendum. This is a private business deal, after all. I mean, hell, you wouldn’t have a referendum to decide whether a new auto assembly plant would be located here. You’d say, Come on in, the water’s fine.” He shook his head vigorously. “There’s a last thing, I wouldn’t mention it at all because it isn’t completely wrapped up. But there are three firms, nationally known firms, ready to sign up for the center right now.” He named them. “That’s how eager businessmen are to locate here.”

  “Let’s let the court decide the issue of law first,” Kerrigan said.

  “And when would that be?” Charles asked.

  “Late next week,” Kerrigan said. “I would imagine.”

  She said vaguely, “It was just a thought.” Chain stores, they had an allure, no question of that. Local merchants were so often behind the times. She looked at Elliott Townsend, and then at Joe Steppe; no support there. Their faces were turned away from her. Elliott had said very little and Joe nothing at all. She sighed and smiled at Charles. Her opposition was ended.

  Townsend said, “The suit may be withdrawn.”

  They were all silent a moment. “One or two of the plaintiffs sound determined,” Kerrigan said.

  Townsend smiled. “I’ve read the briefs. I don’t believe there’s much of a case there. It’s hard to argue that the highest and best use of a bog is as a—bog. Wouldn’t you agree with that, Tom?”

  “The code is ambiguous,” Kerrigan said. “As you well know, as the author of it. However, if the proper appeals are filed it is a case that could drag on quite some little while.”

  “I don’t think anyone wants that,” Townsend said quietly. “Do you?”

  “I don’t believe, they do,” Kerrigan said.

  “I don’t either,” Townsend said. “Though it might be different—” He let the sentence hang.

  “Yes,” Kerrigan said.

  “—if Amos were still alive.” Townsend wanted that on the table, in plain view, where everyone could see it. He was sending a signal to Kerrigan, and to Steppe and Marge Reilly, notifying them formally of his shift of allegiance from the father to the son. The project would go forward because Charles Rising wanted it to go forward. The transfer of authority was complete.

  Kerrigan rose. “I’ve got to go.” He offered Marge a ride and she accepted. They finished their drinks and promised to meet again before the end of the week. They shook hands all around and the judge and the county clerk left the newspaper office. In Kerrigan’s car, silent, they began to drive up Blake Street. The lamps were dim and the dome of the courthouse and the Civil War monument were blurred against the night sky. She thought of Earl and the others in her office that morning, the funeral, and the meeting just ended; it had all gone so quickly, as if it had happened to someone else. She glanced at Kerrigan, pensive, driving cautiously through the uncrowded streets. She did not care to express all her doubts to him; there was no way of knowing what he’d make of them. He took a cigarette package out of his pocket, offered her one, and lit them both. He said, “It’s going to happen. It was true, the opponents didn’t have much of a case. They could’ve tied it up for a time, but that was about all. Too bad in a way because it’s an interesting case.” He looked at her and smiled. “They want it,” he said. “And it’ll go through and we’ll have four thousand new people and a shopping center. But hell, people have to live somewhere. In this life, everything’s a trade-off.” He eased up on the accelerator as they slid by the courthouse, its interior lights gleaming yellowly, casting shadows on the lawn. Across the street from the courthouse a neon sign flickered, TAVERN. Kerrigan pointed to it. A few figures could be seen leaning over the bar watching television. He said, “This is all going to hell, in twenty years the downtown will be deserted and all the action will be on the outskirts—”

  “Action?”

  “Money,” Kerrigan said. He braked for a red light and laughed. “That’s all this place’ll be good for. But by God, it’ll be good for that. Under the direction of our new publisher.”

  She looked out the window. “A boom town. Dement.”

  “It isn’t going to be a closed. corporation anymore, Marge.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Marge,” he said. “I don’t know Charles very well. Tell me about Charles.”

  “Well. As you no doubt know by now, Charles will manage the paper. He’ll do very well at it. Trouble is, he has no liking for politics. And of course that was the one thing Amos was a genius at. So it’ll be different.”

  Kerrigan looked over at her, surprised. He had not expected her to say so much.

  “Charles understood as a little boy that he could not compete with his father on that ground. The political ground. So he acquired an understanding of business, and let me tell you he does understand it. Of course business was something that Amos always considered beneath him. But he came to know soon enough that it was Charles who saved his paper for him, in the thirties when times were hard. And he knew that he didn’t have to understand the balance sheet as long as Charles did. Charles was blood and could be trusted. Now Mitch could have been the heir and God knows he has a taste for politics but he has no imagination. He’d simply try to imitate Amos and Amos knew that and knew also that it wouldn’t work. Trouble with Mitch, he discovered his taste for politics in the army, and that’s not the best place to discover it.” She paused but Kerrigan was silent, listening. “Mitch doesn’t like people, it’s as simple as that. And Tony—Tony is Tony. We all know Tony. And that’s the greatest irony of all because the old man liked Tony best of all
. Really liked him. They lunched together every week of their lives for thirty years.”

  “But Charles—”

  “—shares one characteristic with the old man. Charles wants his way. He believes he knows what’s best, just like Amos did. He’ll go about getting it in a different way. It won’t be Amos’s way It’ll be some other way. I guess we got a hint today. I don’t know,” she said. “I think it was too bad about his boy, Frank.”

  “Yes,” Kerrigan said.

  “It changed him,” she said.

  Kerrigan asked, “How?”

  “He felt—betrayed, I think. I’m not sure of my facts,” Marge said wearily. She realized she’d said too much. She was tired now.

  He was silent a moment. Then, “I have a theory, too—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Marge said.

  “All right,” said Kerrigan.

  Elliott Townsend left shortly after the other two. He and Charles agreed to meet for lunch on Friday; he wanted to satisfy himself that Eurich’s project was entirely checked out according to law. They knew now that Kerrigan would not pose any threat. He was free to rule for the defendants. They did not mention the meeting the next afternoon with Mitch and Tony; that was family business. Joe Steppe left with Townsend and Charles prepared a last drink for Harry Bohn.

  Bohn said, “Congratulations.” Charles Rising smiled broadly and dipped his glass in acknowledgment. “Just so you know, my people are very enthusiastic. This is going to be a hell of a profitable adventure all the way around. And I think Irish is going to be able to make a real contribution on the board. He’s new blood. He’s got angles I never heard of. We’ve already laid off part of this loan to two banks downstate that he’s done business with before—”

  “Absolutely,” Charles said.

  “And I owe you a vote of thanks,” Bohn said.

  “You’re damn lucky, you know that?” Charles said suddenly.