“The votes in the last two boxes,” said Su Ling, “are not statistically possible, when you compare them with the other ten that have already been counted. Someone must have literally stuffed those boxes with enough ballot papers to reverse the original decision.”
“But how could they have managed that?” asked Tom.
“It would be easy enough if you could get your hands on any unused ballots,” said Su Ling.
“And that wouldn’t have been too difficult,” said Joe.
“How can you be so sure?” asked Nat.
“Because when I voted in my dorm during the lunch hour, there was only one teller on duty, and she was writing an essay. I could have removed a handful of ballots without her even noticing.”
“But that doesn’t explain the sudden appearance of two missing boxes,” said Tom.
“You don’t need a Ph.D. to work out that one,” chipped in Chris, “because once the poll has closed, all they had to do was hold back two of the boxes, and then stuff them with ballots.”
“But we have no way of proving that,” said Nat.
“The statistics prove it,” said Su Ling. “They never lie, though I admit we don’t have any first-hand proof.”
“So what are we going to do about it?” asked Joe, as he stared across at Elliot, the same self-satisfied look still in place.
“There’s not much we can do except pass on our observations to Chester Davies. After all, he is the chief elections officer.”
“OK, Joe, why don’t you do that, and we’ll wait to see what he has to say.”
Joe left them to make his submission to the dean of students. They watched as the expression on the elderly academic’s face became grimmer and grimmer. Once Joe had made his point, the dean immediately called for Elliot’s chief of staff, who did nothing more than shrug his shoulders and point out that every ballot was valid.
Nat watched apprehensively as Mr. Davies questioned both men, and saw Joe nod his agreement, before they broke away to join their respective teams.
“The dean is calling an immediate meeting of the elections committee in his office, and he will report back after they’ve discussed the matter, which should be in about thirty minutes.”
Su Ling took Nat’s hand. “Mr. Davies is a good and just man,” she said, “he’ll come to the right conclusion.”
“He may well come to the right conclusion,” said Nat, “but in the end he can only follow the election rules whatever his personal reservations.”
“I agree,” said a voice from behind them. Nat swung around to see Elliot grinning at him. “They won’t have to look in the rule book to discover that the person with the most votes is the winner,” Elliot added with disdain.
“Unless they come across something about one person, one vote,” said Nat.
“Are you accusing me of cheating?” Elliot snapped back, as a group of his supporters drifted over and stood behind him.
“Well, let’s put it this way. If you win this election, you can apply for a job in Chicago as a teller in Cook County, because Mayor Daly has nothing to teach you.”
Elliot took a step forward and raised his fist just as the dean reentered the room, a single sheet of paper in his hand. He made his way back up onto the stage.
“You just escaped a beating,” whispered Elliot.
“And I suspect you’re just about to get one,” replied Nat, as they both turned to face the stage.
The chattering in the hall died down as Mr. Davies adjusted the height of the microphone and faced those who had hung around to hear the result. He read slowly from a prepared script.
“In the election for president of the student senate, it has been brought to my attention that two ballot boxes were discovered some time after the count had been concluded. When they were opened, the outcome of those votes varied considerably from all the other boxes. Therefore as delegated officials, we were left with no choice but to refer to the rule book on elections. Search as we might, we were unable to find any mention of missing boxes, or what action to take should there be a disproportionate ratio of votes found in any one box.”
“Because no one has ever cheated in the past,” shouted Joe from the back of the hall.
“And no one did this time,” came back the immediate reply, “you’re just bad losers.”
“How many more boxes have you got hidden away just in case … ?”
“We don’t need any more.”
“Quiet,” said the dean. “These outbursts do not reflect well on either side.” He waited for silence before he continued to read from his script. “We are, however, mindful of our responsibility as officers, and have come to the conclusion that the result of the election must stand.” Elliot’s supporters leaped in the air and cheered.
Elliot turned to Nat and said, “I think you’ll find it’s you who just got the beating.”
“It’s not over yet,” said Nat, his eyes still fixed on Mr. Davies.
It was some time before the dean could continue, as few present realized that he had not yet completed his statement.
“As there have been several irregularities in this election, one of which in our opinion remains unresolved, I have therefore decided that under rule 7B of the Student Senate Charter, the defeated candidate should be given the opportunity to appeal. Should he do so, the committee will be faced with three choices.” He opened the rule book and read: “a) to confirm the original result, b) to reverse the original result, or c) to call for a new election, which would be held during the first week of the following term. We therefore propose to give Mr. Cartwright twenty-four hours to appeal.”
“We won’t need twenty-four hours,” called out Joe. “We appeal.”
“I shall need that in writing from the candidate,” said the dean.
Tom glanced across at Nat, who was looking down at Su Ling.
“Do you remember what we agreed if I didn’t win?”
BOOK THREE
CHRONICLES
23
NAT TURNED AND watched Su Ling walk slowly toward him and recalled the day they had first met. He had chased her down a hill, and when she turned on that occasion, she’d taken his breath away.
“Do you have any idea how lucky you are?” whispered Tom.
“Could you please concentrate on your job. Now, where’s the ring?”
“The ring, what ring?” Nat turned and stared at his best man. “Hell, I knew there was something I was meant to bring with me,” Tom whispered frantically. “Can you hold things up for a moment while I go back to the house and look for it?”
“Do you want me to strangle you?” said Nat, grinning.
“Yes please,” said Tom, gazing at Su Ling as she advanced toward them. “Let her be my last memory of this world.”
Nat turned his attention to his bride, and she gave him that smile that he remembered when she’d stood at the entrance to the café on their first date. She stepped up and took her place beside him, head slightly bowed as they waited for the priest to begin the service. Nat thought about the decision they had made the day after the election, and knew he would never regret it. Why should he hold up Su Ling’s career on the off chance of winning the presidency? The idea of rerunning the ballot during the first week of the following term, and having to ask Su Ling to hang around for another year if he failed, left him in no doubt what he should do. The priest turned to the congregation. “Dearly beloved …”
When Su Ling had explained to Professor Mullden that she was getting married, and her future husband was at the University of Connecticut, they immediately offered him the chance to complete his undergraduate degree at Harvard. They already knew of Nat’s record in Vietnam and his success on the cross-country team, but it was his grades that tipped the balance. They remained puzzled as to why he hadn’t taken up his place at Yale because it was clear to the admissions office that they would not be carrying Su Ling’s husband.
“Do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?”
Nat wanted to shout “I do.” “I do,” he said quietly.
“Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?”
“I do,” said Su Ling, head bowed.
“You may kiss the bride,” said the priest.
“I think that means me,” said Tom, taking a pace forward. Nat took Su Ling in his arms and kissed her as he lifted his left leg sharply and kicked Tom in the shins.
“So that’s what I get for all the sacrifices I’ve made over the years? Well, at least it’s my turn now.” Nat swung around and took Tom in his arms and hugged him, while the congregation burst out laughing.
Tom was right, thought Nat. He hadn’t even remonstrated with him when he refused to appeal to the elections committee, although Nat knew Tom believed he would have been victorious in a rerun contest. And the following morning Mr. Russell had phoned and offered Nat the use of their home for the reception. How could he even begin to repay them?
“Be warned,” said Tom, “Dad will expect you to join him at the bank as a trainee once you’ve graduated from Harvard Business School.”
“That may turn out to be the best offer I get,” said Nat.
The bride and groom turned to face their family and friends. Susan made no attempt to hide her tears, while Michael beamed with pride. Su Ling’s mother stepped forward and took a photo of the two of them in their first moment as man and wife.
Nat didn’t recall much about the reception, other than feeling that Mr. and Mrs. Russell couldn’t have done anymore had he been their own son. He moved from table to table, especially thanking those who had traveled a long distance. It was only when he heard the sound of silver against crystal that he checked to make sure his speech was still in his inside pocket.
Nat quickly slipped into his place at the top table just as Tom rose to speak. The best man opened by explaining why the reception was being held in his home. “Don’t forget that I proposed to Su Ling long before the bridegroom did, although inexplicably on this occasion she was willing to settle for second best.” Nat smiled across at Tom’s aunt Abigail from Boston, as the guests applauded.
Nat sometimes wondered if Tom’s jokes about his love for Su Ling didn’t betray an underlying truth about his real feelings. He looked up at his best man, recalling, because he was late—thank you, mother—how he had come to sit next to the tearful little boy at the end of the row on their first day at Taft. He thought how lucky he was to be blessed with such a friend, and hoped it would not be long before he was carrying out the same duty for him.
Tom received a warm reception when he sat down to make way for the bridegroom.
Nat began his speech by thanking Mr. and Mrs. Russell for their generosity in allowing them the use of their beautiful home for the reception. He thanked his mother for her wisdom and his father for his looks, which brought applause and laughter. “But most of all I thank Su Ling, for going down the wrong path, and my parents for an upbringing that made me follow her, to warn her that she was making a mistake.”
“She made a far bigger mistake chasing you back up the hill,” said Tom.
Nat waited for the laughter to die down, before he said, “I fell in love with Su Ling the moment I saw her, a feeling that was clearly not reciprocated, but then, as I’ve already explained, I’m blessed with my father’s looks. And so let me end by inviting you all to our golden wedding anniversary on July 11, 2024.” He paused. “Only wimps and those who dare to die in between will be excused attendance.” He raised his glass. “To my wife, Su Ling.”
When Su Ling disappeared upstairs to change, Tom finally asked Nat where they were going on their honeymoon.
“Korea,” whispered Nat. “We’re planning to find the village where Su Ling was born, and see if we can trace any other members of her family. But don’t tell Su Ling’s mother—we want to surprise her when we return.”
Three hundred guests surged out to join them in the driveway, and applauded as the car carrying the bride and groom disappeared on its journey to the airport.
“I wonder where they’re spending their honeymoon,” said Su Ling’s mother.
“I have no idea,” Tom replied.
Fletcher held Annie in his arms. A month had passed since the funeral of Harry Robert, and she was still blaming herself.
“But that’s just not fair,” said Fletcher. “If anyone’s to blame, it must be me. Look at the pressure Joanna was under when she gave birth, and it made absolutely no difference to her.” But Annie couldn’t be consoled. The doctor told him the quickest way to solve the problem, and Fletcher happily acquiesced.
As each day passed, Annie grew a little stronger, but her first interest remained supporting her husband in his determination to be top of his year. “You owe it to Karl Abrahams,” she reminded him. “He’s invested a lot in you, and there is only one way you can repay him.”
Annie inspired her husband to work night and day during his summer vacation before he returned for his final year. She became his assistant and researcher while remaining his lover and friend. And she only ignored his advice when he pressed her to consider going on to graduate school herself.
“No,” said Annie, “I want to be your wife and God willing in time …”
Once he’d returned to Yale, Fletcher accepted it would not be too long before he would have to start the meat run. Although several firms had already invited him for an interview, and one or two had even offered him jobs, Fletcher didn’t want to work out of Dallas or Denver, Phoenix or Pittsburgh. But as the weeks passed, and he heard nothing from Alexander Dupont & Bell, his hopes began to fade and he concluded that if he still hoped to be invited to join one of the big firms it would require a full round of interviews.
Jimmy had already sent out over fifty letters and to date had only received three replies; not one of them had offered him a job. He would have settled for Dallas or Denver, Phoenix or Pittsburgh if it hadn’t been for Joanna. Annie and Fletcher agreed on the cities they would be happy to live in, and then she carried out some research on the leading firms in those states. Together they composed a letter that was duplicated fifty-four times, and then dispatched on the first day of the term.
When Fletcher returned to college later that morning, he found a letter in his mailbox.
“That was quick,” said Annie, “we only posted them an hour ago.”
Fletcher laughed until he saw the postmark on the letter. He tore it open. The simple black-embossed heading announced Alexander Dupont & Bell. Of course, the distinguished New York firm always began interviewing candidates during March, so why should it be any different for Fletcher Davenport?
Fletcher didn’t stop working during those long winter months leading up to the interview, but he still had every reason to feel apprehensive when he finally set out on the journey to New York. As soon as he stepped off the train at Grand Central Station, Fletcher was intoxicated by the babble of a hundred tongues, and feet that moved more swiftly than he’d experienced in any other city. He spent the cab ride to 54th Street peering out of an open window, taking in a smell that no other city produces.
The cab drew up outside a seventy-two-floor glass skyscraper, and Fletcher knew right away that he didn’t want to work anywhere else. He hung around on the ground floor for a few minutes, not wishing to be stuck in a waiting room with several other candidates. When he finally stepped out of the elevator on the thirty-sixth floor, the receptionist ticked off his name. She then handed him a sheet of paper, which listed a schedule of interviews that would take the rest of the day.
His first meeting was with the senior partner, Bill Alexander, which Fletcher felt went well, although Alexander didn’t exude the same warmth as he had at Karl Abrahams’s party. However, he did ask after Annie, expressing the hope that she had fully recovered from the sad loss of Harry. It also became clear during the meeting that Fletcher was not the only person who was being interviewed—six upside-down names appeared on a list facing Mr. Alexander.
Fle
tcher then spent an hour with three other partners who specialized in his chosen field, criminal law. When the last interview ended, he was invited to join the rest of the board for lunch. It was the first time he came into contact with the other five applicants, and the lunch conversation left him in no doubt what he was up against. He could only wonder how many days the firm had put aside for interviews with other would-be applicants.
What he couldn’t know was that Alexander Dupont & Bell had carried out a rigorous sifting process months before any of the candidates had been invited for interview, and he had made the final six, on recommendation and reputation. He also didn’t realize that only one, perhaps two, would be offered a position with the firm. As with a good wine, there were even years when no one was selected, simply because it just wasn’t a vintage crop.
More interviews followed in the afternoon, by which time Fletcher was convinced he wouldn’t make it, and would soon have to begin the long trek around to those firms who had replied to his letter and offered him an interview.
“They’ll let me know by the end of the month if I’ve made it to the next round,” he told Annie, who was waiting for him at the station, “but don’t stop sending the letters, although I confess I no longer want to work anywhere but New York.”
Annie continued to question Fletcher on the way home, wanting to know every detail of what had taken place. She was touched that Bill Alexander had remembered her; more so that he had even taken the trouble to find out the name of their son.
“Perhaps you should have told him,” said Annie as she brought the car to a halt outside their home.
“Told him what?” asked Fletcher.
“That I’m pregnant again.”
Nat loved the hustle and bustle of Seoul, a city determined to put all memories of war behind it. Skyscrapers loomed on every corner, as the old and new tried to live in harmony. Nat was impressed by the potential of such a well-educated, intelligent workforce who survived on wages a quarter of what would be acceptable back home. Su Ling couldn’t help noticing the subservient role women still played in Korean society and silently thanked her mother for having the courage and foresight to set out for America.
Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune Page 76
