Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune

by Jeffrey Archer

  “So you would have spoken to him?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “Even if you’d known that Logan was a homosexual?”

  “I neither knew nor cared.”

  “You didn’t care?”

  “No, I did not consider Logan’s private life was any of my business.”

  “But it might have been the firm’s business, which brings me to more important matters. Are you aware that Logan Fitzgerald has since joined the firm that employs your brother-in-law?”

  “Yes, I am,” said Fletcher, “I told Mr. Gates that Logan would be looking for a job and they’d be lucky to get a man of his caliber.”

  “I wonder if that was wise,” said Bill Alexander.

  “When it comes to dealing with a friend, I have a tendency to put decency and fairness ahead of my own self-interest.”

  “And ahead of the firm’s?”

  “Yes, if it’s morally right. That’s what Professor Abrahams taught me.”

  “Don’t bandy words with me, Mr. Davenport.”

  “Why not? You’ve been bandying them with me, Mr. Alexander.”

  The senior partner turned scarlet. “You must realize that I could have you thrown out of this firm.”

  “Two of us leaving in the same week may take some explaining, Mr. Alexander.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No, I think it’s you who is threatening me.”

  “It may not be that easy to get rid of you, Mr. Davenport, but I can make damn sure you never become a partner while I’m a member of this firm. Now get out.”

  As he rose to leave, Fletcher recalled Annie’s words. Then it’s not the firm you should have joined in the first place.

  He returned to his office to find the phone ringing. Was Alexander calling him back? He picked it up ready to offer his resignation. It was Jimmy.

  “Sorry to bother you at work, Fletcher, but Dad’s had a heart attack. He’s been taken to St. Patrick’s. Can you and Annie get over to Hartford as quickly as possible?”

  27

  “I’VE GOT MYSELF a proper job,” said Nat as Su Ling walked through the door.

  “You’re going to be a New York cab driver?”

  “No,” replied Nat. “I don’t have the qualifications for that job.”

  “That’s never seemed to hinder anyone in the past.”

  “But not living in New York might.”

  “We’re leaving New York? Please tell me that we’re going somewhere civilized where skyscrapers will be replaced with trees and exhaust fumes by fresh air.”

  “We’re going home.”

  “Hartford? Then it can only be Russell’s.”

  “You’re right, Mr. Russell has offered me a job as vice-president of the bank, working alongside Tom.”

  “Serious banking? Not just speculating in the currency market?”

  “I’ll oversee his currency department, but I can promise you that it concentrates mainly on foreign exchange, not speculation. What Mr. Russell most needs is for Tom and me to work on a complete reorganization of the bank. During the past few years Russell’s has been falling behind its competitors and …” Su Ling placed her bag on the hall table and walked over to the phone. “Who are you calling?” asked Nat.

  “My mother, of course, we must start looking for a house, and then we’ll have to consider a school for Luke, and once she’s got to work on that, I’ll need to be in touch with some former colleagues about a job, and and then …”

  “Hold on, little flower,” said Nat, taking his wife in his arms. “Am I to assume from this that you approve of the idea?”

  “Approve? I can’t wait to get out of New York. The idea of Luke starting his education in a school where the kids use machetes to sharpen their pencils horrifies me. I also can’t wait …” The phone rang and Su Ling picked it up. She cupped her hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s someone named Jason, from Chase Manhattan. Shall I tell him you’re no longer available?”

  Nat smiled and took the phone.

  “Hi, Jason, what can I do for you?”

  “I’ve been thinking about your call, Nat, and we may just have an opening for you at Chase.”

  “That’s kind of you, Jason, but I’ve already accepted another offer.”

  “Not one of our rivals, I hope?”

  “Not yet, but give me a little time,” said Nat, smiling.

  When Fletcher reported to Matt Cunliffe that his father-in-law had been taken to the hospital, he was surprised to find that he was not all that sympathetic.

  “Domestic crises arise fairly often,” remarked Cunliffe curtly. “We all have families to worry about. Are you sure this can’t wait until the weekend?”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” said Fletcher, “I owe more to this man than anyone other than my parents.”

  Fletcher had only left Bill Alexander’s room for a few moments, and already there was a less than subtle change in the atmosphere. He assumed that, by the time he returned, that change would have spread like a contagious disease to the rest of the staff.

  He phoned Annie from Penn Station. She sounded calm, but relieved to know he was on his way home. When Fletcher stepped onto the train, he suddenly realized that he hadn’t brought any work with him for the first time since he joined the firm. He used the journey to consider his next move following his meeting with Bill Alexander, but he’d come to no definite conclusions by the time the train pulled into Ridgewood.

  Fletcher took a cab from the station, and was not surprised to find the family car parked outside the front door, two suitcases already in the trunk, and Annie walking down the drive with Lucy in her arms. How different from his mother, he thought, yet how similar. He laughed for the first time that day.

  On the journey up to Hartford, Annie reported all the details she’d picked up from her mother. Harry had suffered a heart attack a few minutes after arriving at the Capitol that morning, and was immediately rushed to the hospital. Martha was by his side, and Jimmy, Joanna and the children were already on their way down from Vassar.

  “What are the doctors saying?”

  “That it’s too early for anything conclusive, but Dad has been warned that if he doesn’t slow down, it could well happen again and next time it might prove fatal.”

  “Slow down? Harry doesn’t know what the words mean. He’s one of life’s speeding tickets.”

  “He may have been,” said Annie, “but Mom and I are going to tell him this afternoon that he has to withdraw his name as a senate candidate at the next election.”

  Bill Russell stared across his desk at Nat and Tom. “It’s what I’ve always wanted,” he said. “I’ll be sixty in a couple of years’ time, and I feel I’ve earned the right not to be opening up the bank at ten every morning, and locking the front door before I go home at night. The thought of you two working together—to quote the Good Book—fills my heart with joy.”

  “I don’t know about the Good Book,” said Tom, “but we feel the same way, Dad. So where do you want us to start?”

  “Of course I’m aware that the bank has fallen behind its rivals during the past few years, perhaps because as a family firm we’ve put greater emphasis on customer relations than on the bottom line. Something your father would approve of, Nat, which is perhaps why he’s had an account with us for over thirty years.” Nat nodded his agreement. “You’ll also be aware that there have been one or two approaches from other banks with a view to taking us over, but that isn’t how I wanted to end my career with Russell’s—just ending up as an anonymous branch of some vast corporation. So I’ll tell you what I have in mind. I want both of you to spend your first six months taking the bank apart from top to bottom. I’ll give you carte blanche to ask any questions, open any doors, read any files, study any accounts. At the end of those six months, you will report back what needs to be done. And don’t give a moment’s thought to trying to placate my feelings, because I know that if Russell’s is to survive into the next century, it will nee
d a complete overhaul. So what’s your first question?”

  “Can I have the front-door keys?” asked Nat.

  “Why?” asked Mr. Russell.

  “Because ten o’clock is a little too late for the staff of a progressive bank to be opening.”

  As Tom drove them back to New York, he and Nat set about dividing their responsibilities.

  “Dad was touched that you turned down Chase to join us,” said Tom.

  “You made exactly the same sacrifice when you left the Bank of America.”

  “Yes, but the old man has always assumed that I’d take over from him once he reached his sixty-fifth birthday, and I was just about to warn him that I wasn’t willing to do so.”

  “Why not?” inquired Nat.

  “I don’t have the vision or ideas that are required to rescue the bank, but you do.”

  “Rescue?” said Nat.

  “Yes, don’t let’s kid ourselves. You’ve studied the balance sheet, so you know only too well that we’re just about clearing enough to allow my parents to maintain their standard of living. But the profits haven’t risen for some years; the truth is that the bank needs your particular skills more than it requires an efficient packhorse like me. So it’s important to settle one thing before it ever becomes an issue—in banking terms I intend to report to you as chief executive.”

  “But it will still be necessary for you to become chairman once your father retires.”

  “Why?” asked Tom. “When you’ll obviously be making all the strategic decisions?”

  “Because the bank bears your name, and that still matters in a town like Hartford. It’s equally important that the customers never find out what the chief executive is up to behind the scenes.”

  “I’ll go along with that on one condition,” said Tom, “that all salaries, bonuses and any other financial considerations are allocated on an equal basis.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” said Nat.

  “No, it’s not,” said Tom. “Shrewd perhaps, but not generous, because fifty percent of you will bring in a far higher return than one hundred percent of me.”

  “Don’t forget that I’ve just lost Morgan’s a fortune,” said Nat.

  “And no doubt learned from the experience.”

  “Just as we did when we were up against Ralph Elliot.”

  “Now there’s a name from the past. Any idea what he’s up to?” asked Tom as he turned onto Route 95.

  “The last thing I heard was that after Stanford he’d become a hot-shot lawyer in New York.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be one of his clients,” said Tom.

  “Or go up against him for that matter,” said Nat.

  “Well, at least that’s something we don’t have to worry about.”

  Nat looked out of the grimy window as they traveled through Queens. “Don’t be too sure, Tom, because if anything were to go wrong, he’ll want to represent the other side.”

  They sat in a circle around his bed, chatting about anything and everything except what was on their minds. The one exception was Lucy, who remained firmly in the middle of the bed and treated Grandpa as if he was a rocking horse. Joanna’s children were more restrained. Fletcher couldn’t believe how quickly Harry Junior was growing.

  “Now before I get too tired,” said Harry, “I need to have a private word with Fletcher.”

  Martha shepherded the family out of the room, clearly aware of what her husband wanted to discuss with his son-in-law.

  “I’ll see you back at the house later,” said Annie, as she dragged a reluctant Lucy away.

  “And then we should be starting back for Ridgewood,” Fletcher reminded her. “I can’t afford to be late for work tomorrow.” Annie nodded as she closed the door.

  Fletcher drew up a chair and sat by the senator’s side. He didn’t bother with any small talk, as his father-in-law was looking tired.

  “I’ve given a great deal of thought to what I’m about to say,” said the senator, “and the only other person I’ve discussed it with is Martha, and she is in complete agreement with me. And like so many things over the past thirty years, I can’t be sure if it wasn’t her idea in the first place.” Fletcher smiled. How like Annie, he thought, as he waited for the senator to continue. “I’ve promised Martha that I won’t run for reelection.” The senator paused. “I see you’re not putting up any protest, so I must assume that you agree with my wife and daughter on this subject.”

  “Annie would prefer you to live to an old age, rather than die making a speech in the Senate Chamber, however important,” said Fletcher, “and I agree with her.”

  “I know they’re right, Fletcher, but by God I’ll miss it.”

  “And they will miss you, sir, as you can see from the flowers and cards already in this room. By this time tomorrow, they’ll have filled every other room on this floor and be spilling out onto the pavement.” The senator ignored the compliment, clearly not wishing to be diverted from his course.

  “When Jimmy was born, I had the crazy notion that one day he would take my place, perhaps even go on to Washington and represent the state. But it wasn’t long before I realized that was never going to be a possibility. I couldn’t be more proud of him, but he just isn’t cut out for public office.”

  “He made a damn fine job of getting me elected as president,” said Fletcher, “Twice.”

  “He did indeed,” said Harry, “but Jimmy should always be in the engine room, because he isn’t destined to be the driver.” He paused again. “But then some twelve years ago I met a young man at the Hotchkiss-Taft football game, who I knew couldn’t wait to be the driver. A meeting, incidentally, that I shall never forget.”

  “Nor me, sir,” said Fletcher.

  “As the years passed, I watched that boy grow into a fine young man, and I’m proud he’s now my son-in-law and father of my granddaughter. And before I grow too maudlin, Fletcher, I think I ought to come to the point in case one of us falls asleep.” Fletcher laughed.

  “Pretty soon I shall have to let it be known that I will not be running for reelection to the Senate.” He raised his head and looked directly at Fletcher. “I would, at the same time, like to say how proud I am to announce that my son-in-law, Fletcher Davenport, has agreed to run in my place.”

  28

  IT DIDN’T TAKE six months for Nat to discover why Russell’s Bank had failed to increase its profits in over a decade. Almost every modern banking tenet had been ignored. Russell’s still lived in an age of written ledgers, personalized accounts and a sincerely held belief that the computer was more likely to make mistakes than a human being, and was therefore a waste of the bank’s time and money. Nat was in and out of Mr. Russell’s office three or four times a day, only to find that something they had agreed on in the morning had been reversed by the afternoon. This usually occurred whenever a longstanding member of the staff was seen leaving the same office an hour later with a smile on his or her face. It was often left for Tom to pick up the pieces; in fact, if he hadn’t been there to explain to his father why the changes were necessary, there might never have been a six-month report to present.

  Nat would come home most nights exhausted and sometimes infuriated. He warned Su Ling there was likely to be a showdown when his report was finally presented. And he wasn’t altogether sure that he would still be the bank’s vice-president if the chairman was unable to stomach almost all of the changes he was recommending. Su Ling didn’t complain, although she had just about managed to get the three of them settled in their new house, sell the apartment in New York, find a nursery school for Luke, and prepare to take up her new appointment as professor of statistics at UConn in the fall. The idea of moving back to New York didn’t appeal to her.

  In between, she had advised Nat on which computers would be most cost-effective for the bank, supervised their installation and also given night classes to those members of the staff who appreciated there was more to learn than how to press the ON button. But Nat’s b
iggest problem was the bank’s chronic overstaffing. He had already pointed out to the chairman that Russell’s currently employed seventy-one staff and that Bennett’s, the only other independent bank in town, offered the same services with only thirty-nine employees. Nat wrote a separate report on the financial implications of overstaffing, suggesting an early retirement program that, although it would cut into their profits for the next three years, would be highly beneficial in the long term. This was the sticking point on which Nat was unwilling to budge. Because, as he explained to Tom over dinner with Su Ling, if they waited for another couple of years until Mr. Russell retired, they would all be joining the ranks of the unemployed.

  Once Mr. Russell had read Nat’s report, he scheduled a Friday evening at six o’clock for the showdown. When Nat and Tom walked into the chairman’s office they found him at his desk writing a letter. He looked up as they entered the room.

  “I’m sorry to say that I’m unable to go along with your recommendations,” said Mr. Russell even before his two vice-presidents had sat down, “because I do not wish to fire employees, some of whom I have known and worked with for the past thirty years.” Nat tried to smile as he thought about being sacked twice in six months, and wondered if Jason at Chase might still have an opening for him. “So I have come to the conclusion,” continued the chairman, “that if this is going to work,” he placed his hands on the report, as if blessing it, “the one person who will have to go is me.” He scribbled his signature on the bottom of the letter he had been writing, and handed his resignation over to his son.

  Bill Russell left the office at 6:12 that evening, and never entered the building again.

  “What are your qualifications to run for public office?”

  Fletcher looked down from his place on the stage at the small group of journalists seated in front of him. Harry smiled. It was one of the seventeen questions and answers they had prepared the previous evening.

  “I don’t have a great deal of experience,” admitted Fletcher, he hoped disarmingly, “but I was born, brought up and educated in Connecticut before going to New York to join one of the most prestigious law firms in the country. I’ve come home to put those skills to work for the people of Hartford.”